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“Okay, so, like I said earlier, everything falls to earth with the same acceleration. It is the acceleration due to gravity. We usually just call it gravity because seriously, who has time to say ‘acceleration due to gravity’? No one. Especially not scientists, although I swear Dr. Banner is so mellow he might as well say all that because it takes him just as long to explain something when using the shortcut words—anyway! Who remembers the number we use—it’s always the same number—when we’re talking about gravity? Hands up, people, there might be a pop quiz on this tomorrow! Barnes, you!”
Bucky, whose head had been flat on the desk in a position Steve doubted could be confortable, shot straight up, panic and confusion dim in his eyes. Mr. Stark didn’t even bother trying to hide his smirk; he knew Bucky hadn’t been paying attention; that was why he chose him. Bucky glared back, muttering curses under his breath that would only earn him detention if uttered aloud.
“Nine point eight meters per—“ Steve tried to whisper inconspicuously to his best friend sitting a few feet to his left.
“NINE POINT EIGHT!” Bucky said loudly over the rest of the answer, confidence bursting from him like a pungent odor. Beside him, Steve cringed and sank lower into his seat. Bucky crossed his arms defiantly, gaze held at the front of the class where Mr. Stark’s face revealed absolutely nothing until,
“WRONG! Oh, Barnes, you never fail to amuse me. That, Mr. Barnes, is what we call a naked number. That poor, poor, 9.8 you just assaulted was buck-ass nude, digits and decimal point bared for all the world to see. Now, I don’t know about you, Barnes, but there’s a whole list of things I would prefer to see naked over my numbers, but, hey, to each his own. No judgment. What you and your numbers do behind closed doors is nobodies business but yours.”
The class was screeching with laughter as Mr. Stark grinned pompously and Bucky fumed, face red and eyes burning. Even Steve couldn’t help but laugh, though he stopped pretty quickly once Bucky shot him an angry frown. He lowered his eyes to hide the smile he couldn’t erase. Mr. Stark got the class to quiet down after another minute or so and said, nearly causing Steve to have a heart attack.
“Rogers!”
Scrawny little Steve Rogers sat up straight in his seat, a familiar blush spreading across his pale cheeks; it was the same blush that always appeared whenever his dashingly handsome Physics teacher said his name in that sharp tone of voice. He thought he saw Mr. Stark’s mouth twitch up in a funny little smile at Steve’s reaction, but it was probably just his imagination.
“Would you care to tell us the correct answer? I don’t think we’ll have any problem with naked numbers from you. You’re much more wholesome than your friend Barnes over here.”
Steve blushed even deeper at that.
“Nine point eight meters per second squared, sir.”
Mr. Stark had no idea just how un-wholesome Steve really was. Naked numbers were nothing compared to what he thought about his older, engaged, male, teacher when he was all alone in his bed at night. Steve felt himself heat up just thinking about it. His heart fluttered in his chest. Sometimes physics was Steve’s most difficult class; not because he didn’t understand the material, but because it was so damn hard to concentrate when all he was thinking about was how soft and sweet Mr. Stark’s lips looked, or how nicely his pants fit. Steve had had far too many fantasies about Mr. Stark’s ass during class (how round it looked, and squeezable. Steve really, really wanted to squeeze it, just once). It was a damn miracle he hadn’t passed out yet from sheer sexual frustration alone.
“Very good, Rogers. Although what did I tell you about callin’ me sir?” Mr. Stark praised, giving Steve one of his favorite eyebrow quirks and then adding something that would do absolutely nothing to dampen Steve’s crush (who was he kidding? it was totally love). “This is why you’re my favorite, Steve. Keep it up. Just quit that sir nonsense.
His favorite. Steve felt a little lightheaded. Mr. Stark was saying something more about gravity but Steve couldn’t pay attention anymore, not after something like that. He slipped his sketchbook out of his book bag, careful not to let any other pages show as he turned to a blank one and started doodling a little cartoon of his favorite subject, back turned and scribbling some formula on the whiteboard.
Steve wasn’t really sure when it started, but it was probably the very first day of school. Mr. Stark had come into class hung-over. He turned all the lights off and told the students that if they didn’t make a single peep all period he would buy them all donuts the next day. No one had really believed him, but no one was willing to risk a free donut breakfast either, so the class remained silent for a whole 45 minutes while Mr. Stark stumbled around, handing out the class syllabus and explaining things in between groaning and drowning handfuls of advil with seemingly never-ending cups of coffee.
Steve had not been alone in thinking that Mr. Stark wasn’t your typical teacher. This became even more apparent the next day when he arrived to class followed by a mysterious, tall redhead carrying about ten boxes of fresh, warm Krispy Kreme donuts. The rest of the class had gone bonkers. Bucky, mouth full of donut, swore up and down that Mr. Stark was the best teacher he’d ever had (he changed his tune pretty quickly after the first pop quiz and somehow he and Mr. Stark became enemies).
Bucky was of the opinion that Mr. Stark was a crappy teacher, and that was why he always failed the pop quizzes (this opinion was shared by a few of Steve’s less-than-favorite classmates), but Steve strongly disagreed. He found Mr. Stark’s teaching perfectly suitable and the pop quizzes were never very hard if you actually studied. The others said he moved too quickly, always bouncing from one topic to the next without even stopping to take a breath, but again, Steve disagreed. Mr. Stark spoke at just the right speed, and his fast-talking, if anything, only added to his teaching, making everything he said seem exciting and interesting. Mr. Stark was clearly passionate about physics—or any science at all—and the way he taught made physics exciting for the students as well. It was almost like he could get them to see physics like he did, all magic and numbers and wonderful creation.
Steve noticed pretty quickly that Mr. Stark was a genius. The way he muttered to himself sometimes, like he was designing plans for some physics-powered device in his head, or how messy he was, desk covered with stray papers from day one, or the way his eyes seemed to glint sometimes, like he’d just come up with a brilliant idea and wanted nothing more than to go right away and start work on it. Steve wondered very often why he had decided to become a teacher when he could probably be doing about a billion other things with his time.
The rumor was that his family was actually shockingly wealthy (which was why he was so willing to buy the donut breakfast) and he had inherited that wealth at a young age when his parents suddenly died. He had then spent quite a few years designing things (no one really knew what), then a couple years ago something happened and he had a change of heart, deciding to become a teacher. Another rumor was that the redhead who came by to give him lunch or help him organize (“the infamous Pepper Potts,” the students called her) was Mr. Stark’s fiancé; but that rumor was mostly confirmed by the look he got on his face when Pepper showed up at his classroom door.
Steve couldn’t say it didn’t hurt to think about Mr. Stark getting married to some pretty lady, but it wasn’t like it was surprising or anything. Steve knew from the first moment when he realized he had a crush on his teacher that it was completely impossible. Number one because Mr. Stark was his teacher. That was bad enough, but add that he’s male and also engaged—Steve couldn’t even believe how ridiculous some of his fantasies sounded when he thought about all that.
Not to mention that Steve was, well, Steve. He’d always been small, and weak, and a little sickly, and all those things added up to him being the dork of the school. Steve was not cool. He didn’t know anything about pop culture and spent most of his time either drawing or reading old war novels. He would never, ever be like Mr. Stark, all flash and bravado and overflowing with confidence. There was no way someone like him would ever look Steve’s way, even without all the other obstacles that made Mr. Stark just a nice (and sometimes very, very hot) dream.
“Oi! Rogers!”
Oh.
And, Steve forgot to mention: he was the school’s number one punching bag.
“Is there a reason you haven’t done my homework yet, wimp?”
It had been a while since the intimidating and loathsome Gilmore Hodge had taken time out of his busy day to bother Steve, ever since Bucky told him in no uncertain terms what he would do if Hodge even laid a hand on Steve. But Bucky had gotten lunch detention for two weeks for sleeping in class, which meant he wasn’t really around during lunchtime when Hodge decided to pay Steve a visit.
“I told you the other day, I’m not going to do your homework for you,” Steve replied; gaze fierce despite how far up he had to look to stare at Hodge’s face. Why did football players have to be so tall?
Hodge sneered at him and Steve stood his ground. He never ran from this kind of situation, even though that may be the smarter choice. Bucky sometimes wondered if something was wrong with his head, maybe he just didn’t know how to run away.
“And why not?”
“Because that’s cheating!” Steve spat, voice hopefully bigger than his body was.
Hodge didn’t seem to find cheating quite as horrific as Steve did, as he just snarled and grabbed Steve bodily by the collar, dragging him out of the cafeteria before anyone even noticed. Steve sighed; that was pretty typical. Nobody ever noticed except Bucky.
When they made it outside, Steve braced himself for a punch. He wasn’t sure if it ever helped, but he did it anyway. He was really pretty good at it by now. He didn’t think Hodge would go too hard on him though, probably wouldn’t hit his face. The bullies at school usually didn’t want to leave a noticeable mark in case Steve decided to tell someone. If they left bruises they could just say he hurt himself. Hodge was the captain of the football team, which meant he had more to lose if he got caught. Steve braced his stomach and closed his eyes—which was why he really hadn’t seen it coming.
Hodge had been stupid enough to punch his face and damn did it sting. The bracing definitely helped except Steve hadn’t braced his face for that punch; he was amazed his head hadn’t flown off. He opened his eyes and saw the ground, not totally sure how he got there. He took a deep breath, tasted blood in his mouth, and pushed himself up off the ground.
“Unng,” he groaned, his whole face felt like it’d been hit instead of just his cheek.
“Gonna do my homework for me now, Rogers?”
“No way in hell,” Steve managed to say though he couldn’t even really see what he was saying it to; might as well have been a tree for all he knew.
“We’ll see about that,” Hodge said and Steve heard the familiar sound of cracking knuckles. He blinked, trying to focus his vision and braced his whole body for another attack.
“No, I don’t think we will,” another voice chimed in, and even with his ears still ringing Steve knew who that voice belonged to. “Look, Hodge, was it? If you ever want to graduate, and I do mean ever, you should step back from the kid and probably never, ever talk to him again. Or look at him. And you should pray to whatever god you so choose that Barnes doesn’t find out you’re the one who left that pretty little bruise on Rogers’ face. See, I’m a teacher, which means I can’t really give you the payback you deserve. Barnes, on the other hand—not so much. Now skedaddle, before I change my mind.
Steve blinked away the stars in his eyes to see Hodge, looking like a frightened child, nearly tripping over himself to get away. When Steve chanced a look at Mr. Stark it became very clear why. Mr. Stark’s eyes were blazing; he was angry, seriously, really angry. It sent a little shiver down Steve’s spine so intense he started to lose his balance and fall over—although that might have had more to do with the punch to the face he’d just sustained than Mr. Stark’s expression.
“Woah, woah! No fainting!” Mr. Stark said, grabbing a hold of Steve’s arm and sitting him gently on the nearest bench, then (Steve thought his heart might burst out of his chest) gently grabbed Steve’s chin and turned his face to look at his blossoming bruise.
Steve heard Mr. Stark suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Is it bad?” Steve asked, though he pretty much knew the answer to that when it sort of hurt to talk.
Mr. Stark eyed him cautiously for a moment then shrugged and let go of Steve’s face.
“Nah! Nothing to worry about. A little ice, maybe a bottle of the good stuff to take the edge off—I’m joking, by the way. Don’t tell anyone that Mr. Stark told you to drink hard liquor.”
“I won’t.”
Steve was smiling. It hurt when he smiled but he was smiling and he didn’t want to stop. Mr. Stark was talking to him and making him smile and he had defended him when Steve was about to get the shit beat out of him. Steve didn’t really care about the giant bruise he was sure was forming on his face because Mr. Stark wasn’t leaving him or taking him to the nurse who would only fuss over him—he was just sitting beside Steve to make sure he was okay. Steve could feel Mr. Stark’s body heat just a few inches from him. This wasn’t a bad day.
“Good,” Mr. Stark nodded seriously. Then he raised an eyebrow in that way that always drove Steve crazy. “So, wanna explain how you ended up with your face a color an eggplant would be jealous of?”
Steve shrugged and winced, but added after a moment,
“He—He wanted me to do his homework and I wouldn’t.”
Mr. Stark laughed; a short bark that echoed in Steve’s ears forever.
“Really? I don’t know what’s more pathetic, that he even asked for something so stereotypical in the first place or that he would use violence to try and get you to agree. Damn, that kid is an idiot. It’s not like him beating you up would’ve done any good anyway.”
Steve looked up at Mr. Stark questioningly, wishing they could keep on talking like this for the rest of time.
“You weren’t going to do his stupid homework for him, Steve,” Mr. Stark replied to Steve’s question with a roll of his eyes. Steve felt his heart swell at the idea that Mr. Stark believed in him so strongly. It was true anyway; Steve never conceded to bullies. It may get him killed one of these days, but at least he’d die with honor.
“He wouldn’t even ask if I weren’t so…” Steve trailed off, glancing down at his scrawny form and sighing. He wasn’t really sure why he said it; he didn’t usually like to complain about the way he looked. Mr. Stark followed his gaze and shook his head.
“Don’t get so down about it. You look just fine to me. Anyway, chances are you’ll hit a growth spurt and outstrip even that Hodge kid. And just think, all he has to look forward to are endless days of trailer parks and ugly ex-wives.” Mr. Stark caught Steve’s eye and continued, “Besides, you’re smart. I know it’s hard to tell now but the girls really go for smart guys—at least, all the good ones do.”
“Too bad I’m not really into girls,” Steve mumbled before he knew what he was saying. As soon as he realized what he’d said, Steve’s eyes went wide. He saw Mr. Stark’s eyebrows shoot up and felt his face go bright red.
The tears started before he could stop them, first just blurring his eyes then dripping down his cheeks as he stared at the ground in horror at what (and to whom) he just confessed. He hadn’t told anyone yet—not even Bucky.
“Woah, shit, no! No tears! I do not do tears, Steve!”
He reached up and tried to wipe away the water from his eyes with the back of his hand, muttering breathlessly through his already swollen cheek,
“S—sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry, I—I’m sorry. So, so—“
“Stop, stop apologizing Steve! Seriously, just—look, are you crying because of, because you said you don’t like girls? Because that’s ridiculous, okay? Girls are way overrated, alright? And they—they smell! Oh, please just stop crying, I can’t do crying, I have a thing—“
Before Steve realized what was happened he was laughing, eyes still watering but not pouring out anymore. He hiccoughed and tried to regulate his breathing. Beside him Mr. Stark took a deep breath.
“I—I really am sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said when he thought he could manage it.
“Tony,” Mr. Stark replied, giving Steve a weary, amused look. “You can call me Tony. I wasn’t bullshitting earlier when I said you were my favorite. And my favorite gets to call me Tony. I hate the whole ‘Mr. Stark’ thing anyway. Mr. Stark was my father, you know, and I am not him. So call me Tony, and I’ll call you Steve, sound fair?”
Steve smiled shyly and nodded, hoping that everything else that had just happened would disguise the way Steve’s heart was beating a mile a minute and his face was probably beet red. Mr. Stark—Tony, heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand through messy hair.
“About the whole, not liking girls things, it’s really not a big deal. I know it might seem like one now, but in the real world no one cares. People just kind of, I dunno, go with the flow? Er, well, the people I used to hang out with, anyway. I guess most people aren’t like that, but, whatever, that’s not my point—the point is, is that it’s totally okay, and nothing to cry about, or you know, kill yourself—you don’t want to kill yourself, do you?”
Steve shook his head, frowning, and Tony nodded, eyes deep and seriously.
“Good, good… Because if you did I’d have to report it and look after you and I’d be worried and, you know, it’d just be a pain in the ass so, stay like you are now. But maybe with less crying.”
Steve smiled, then winced because his cheek hurt. That was when Mr. Stark—Tony seemed to remember that Steve had been knocked to the ground by a mean left swing just a few minutes before and instantly started freaking out.
“Oh, fuck! I mean, shit—shoot! We need to get you some ice, or take you to the nurse or something. You know what, screw the nurse, she’ll just tell you to sleep it off, lazy hag, we’re going to Banner, he’ll patch you right up. Come on, Steve.“
Steve let Tony drag him to Dr. Banner’s room and had to fight a smile when he stayed to watch the chemistry teacher carefully apply healing medicine and a cooling bandage to his cheek. Steve thought he might be dreaming when Tony then made Steve skip his next class so he could rest. He spent the entire time listening to Tony talk about some new idea he’d come up with for rocket powered boots. Steve had never skipped a class before in his life, but nothing had ever been more worth it.
From that point on, Tony wasn’t just Steve’s teacher, he became Steve’s friend. Steve had always been the kind of student who was the teacher’s favorite, but it was never like this. Tony invited Steve to have lunch with him and Dr. Banner (“The Science and Sandwich Club!” he called it). He sometimes had Steve help him after school or during class, and if Steve was having trouble with anything in another class, Tony or Dr. Banner were willing to talk him through it.
Bucky didn’t understand it. He thought Steve was insane—at first. Then one day he accidentally saw Steve’s sketchbook lying open on his bed and noticed all the pictures of Tony, and he never said Steve was insane again. He didn’t tell Steve that he knew and he didn’t pretend to like Tony, but he let Steve go off and spend time with Tony without giving him too much of a hard time. Even the next year when Steve no longer had Tony’s class he still spent time with him in Dr. Banner (“you can call me Bruce, Steve”)’s room (it was less messy than Tony’s and far less likely to contain something possibly explosive). After a while Bucky grew curious enough to join them and it turned out that he and Tony got along much better when one of them wasn’t giving the other a grade (they were about the same level of maturity though Tony was several years older. Steve and Bruce sometimes shared sympathetic glances when their best friends started acting childish). Bucky didn’t spend as much time with them as Steve did, but he visited and Steve was never happier than when all his friends were together.
Steve’s feelings for Tony never went away. In fact, they probably got stronger. Tony wasn’t just a faraway dream anymore, he was real, right in front of Steve, laughing and smiling and teasing and sometimes Steve could barely stand it. It hurt, especially when Tony talked about Pepper, or when he introduced her to Steve and Steve had to admit that she was a kind, beautiful woman—perfect for Tony. Steve continued to think about Tony privately; he felt guilty about it, but he couldn’t help it. The more Steve knew about Tony the more he wanted him. The longer they spent together the harder it became.
Around the same time that Steve finally got that growth spurt Tony had predicted he would, Pepper decided that she couldn’t marry Tony and left him.
Steve had never seen Tony look so bad, not even on the first day of school when he’d come in hung-over. Tony looked defeated, ruined, and absolutely miserable. Steve was a senior by then and had more free time, so for a few days he helped Tony with his classes and made sure Tony didn’t do anything he would really regret.
One night, Tony started drunk texting Steve and Steve woke Bucky up at one in the morning to borrow his car and drive to Tony’s house. He found Tony lying on the floor, crying into the carpet. As he hooked one of Tony’s arms around his shoulder to help walk him to the bathroom (thank god Steve had muscles now), he said jokingly,
“I thought you had a thing about crying, Mr. Stark?”
Tony laughed dryly, hurled into the toilet that Steve had set him in front of, then started rambling something about how he never lived up to his father, and he had run Pepper away because he was too, well, Steve never found out, because Tony passed out before he finished. Steve picked him up and carried him to his bed, too busy worrying about him to even think about the fact that he was in Tony’s room on Tony’s bed.
When Tony woke up a few hours later he stared through narrow eyes at Steve and said, voice rough from a long night,
“Isn’t this a little backwards? Shouldn’t the teenager get shit-faced drunk and the grown-up tuck him into bed?”
Steve had just smiled and looked at Tony sadly as his teacher snuggled up into the covers to go back to sleep.
After that incident, things changed. Tony quit moping about Pepper as much, thought his eyes still grew dark when he thought no one was looking (Steve always was). Some things went back to normal; Steve would still go eat lunch with Tony and Bruce and hang out with them in their classrooms after school as they worked out complicated mathematical formulas and scientific theories.
Other things were different. Sometimes Steve would catch Tony looking at him, but as soon as he saw Steve notice he would look away and pretend to be busy. The air between them when they were alone felt thicker, hotter—though Steve thought it was probably just his imagination. Sometimes it seemed like Tony would tense up if Steve stood too close, but surely that was Steve’s imagination as well.
One afternoon, after a student Steve had been helping tutor had left, Tony pulled out a couple of iced-coffee drinks from his mini-fridge and sat beside Steve, taking a long sip before asking quite suddenly,
“Have you thought about dating, Steve?”
Steve tensed up instantly and thought he saw Bruce’s back straighten up as well. Tony didn’t flinch; he just stared straight at Steve with those deep eyes, making Steve’s face heat up and his hands start to sweat. Just because he wasn’t small and weak anymore didn’t mean he could stay cool under pressure like this.
“I—Uh, n—no, not really,” he managed to say, swallowing thickly and adding, trying to sound indifferent, “Why?”
Tony shrugged, finally glancing away.
“You’re a teenager. It’s what they do. Hell, it’s what I did, anyway.” He turned to grin at Bruce and tease, “I’ll bet Banner didn’t though, did you? Lemme guess, your hottest date in high school was your Bunsen burner?”
Bruce glared good-naturedly then turned up his nose.
“I had a sweetheart, if you must know.”
“Oh yeah, what happened to her?”
Bruce looked down and his face grew grim. He didn’t answer, which Steve understood—some things were hard to explain—but that only switched Tony’s attention back to him, which wasn’t good.
“So, Steve? Nobody caught your eye? You’re like, a prime specimen right now. You ought to take advantage of it before you get old and wrinkled like Brucey and I.”
Steve blushed and ducked his head. All he wanted to do was tell Tony how not-old he thought he was; how he was anything but wrinkly and, shit, the one who’d caught Steve’s eye was him. But, Steve knew he couldn’t say that, so he just shook his head and replied quietly,
“I haven’t really been looking to date, Tony.”
Tony watched him carefully and silently for a moment, something unknowable hidden behind his dark gaze, then that depth faded and he shrugged, walking to the other side of the room and muttering,
“To each his own, I guess. Not everyone can be a natural-born social butterfly like yours truly.”
Steve smiled and rolled his eyes but his heart was beating fast. After all this time, Tony still had that affect on him.
That very night Tony called Steve, tipsy but not dangerously drunk. Steve didn’t really understand half of what he said, but the bits he didn’t understand kept him awake until morning as he lie in bed thinking them over.
“Jesus, Steve, you’re justso, ugh, what am I even—? I don’t know. You’re like, all tall and built now. How did that even happen? What are you, like, a superhero or something? Shit, and you’re so, stupidly handsome and fuck, you’re like, my student. I mean you’re a student, not mine, but you still do the school thing and just, how did I ever become friends with you? You’re so good and tall and your ass is like, oh fuck! I mean—your hair is really yellow. Sooooo yellow, Steve, Steeeeeeeeeeve!”
By the time morning came, Steve had come to the decision that he was going to confess to Tony on graduation day, no matter what. It would probably ruin the friendship they had, but Steve couldn’t go on like this forever, and part of him sort of, kind of had a little hope that maybe Tony liked him back.
About a month before graduation Steve was sitting on a table in Bruce’s classroom doodling while Tony was busy at work building some bit of tech that required the use of a soldering iron. Bruce had left a few minutes before, giving Steve strict instructions not to let Tony burn down the school (“hey!”). It was quiet besides the scribbling of Steve’s pencil on his paper and the hiss of the soldering iron, when suddenly,
“Ah, shit, fuck!”
Steve dropped his sketchbook and pencil in a wink, racing over to where Tony was clutching at his cheek while trying not to drop the soldering iron at the same time. Steve rushed to turn the iron off and take it from Tony, placing it somewhere safe and then pulling Tony’s hand from his cheek to look at the wound. There was a cut just at his left cheekbone, red and about to start bleeding.
Steve went into action right away. He dragged Tony over to the sink, grabbed a handful of paper towels and ran them under the water then quickly pressed them to the cut on Tony’s cheek. Steve ignored Tony’s hiss and held the paper towels there, applying light pressure to staunch the flow of blood.
“What happened?” he demanded, brow furrowed seriously. Tony, who was pouting in the way that usually made Steve give in right away, huffed and replied with exaggerated hand movements,
“I don’t know, I soldered a piece off and all of the sudden something shot up and clipped my face—must have been a spring in there somewhere that I didn’t know about.”
Steve sighed and let his shoulders slump. He didn’t notice that he was still holding the wet paper towels to Tony’s cheek until Tony started fidgeting, eyes darting back and forth nervously. Steve quickly flushed and let go of Tony’s face. Tony grabbed the mock-bandage before it could fall and pressed it back to his cheek. He wasn’t looking at Steve as he replied sharply,
“Thanks.”
“Uh, right,” Steve replied, noticing his sketchbook on the floor and nearly racing to get back over and pick it up. He tried to take a deep breath as he stood up and placed it on the table, laying the pencil on top of the cover. Tony bit his lip, eyes tracing the lines up and down Steve’s back. He walked over to the table Steve had been doodling at and asked curiously,
“What were you drawing?”
Steve blushed red; he’d been drawing Tony, of course. He never grew tired of it. Tony asked him what he was drawing a lot, and eventually Steve came up with a good answer that didn’t involve showing Tony the sketches of himself. He always had a backup drawing to show Tony, something mundane and not incriminating—except for this time.
He placed a large hand of the cover of the sketchbook, refusing to look at Tony’s face as he replied thickly,
“Nothing—I mean, I just, yeah, nothing.”
Tony raised an eyebrow—and, really, this was the worst time for Steve to get turned on—and Steve glanced away. It felt awfully warm in the room; he tugged at his shirt collar and the fabric felt rough under his fingertips.
Tony took a step towards him, eyes suddenly dark and lidded in a way Steve had never seen them look before. He swallowed when Tony took another step forward; it felt like there was some sort of smoke in the room messing with his head.
“Steve,” Tony said, and it sounded like—Steve wasn’t even sure, it sounded like so many different things. Tony placed his own hand over Steve’s that was on top of the sketchbook and Steve gave a sharp inhale of breath. His body moved without his permission, leaning towards Tony who leaned right back.
Steve couldn’t believe it, but it seemed like they were about to kiss—he was going to kiss Tony!
Tony’s eyes started to close and if Steve bent down just a little his lips would touch Tony’s. The thought was staggering, but just when he was about to do it, he froze.
He was still a student, and Tony was still his teacher. It wasn’t right. Tony could get fired! He could wait; he would wait until graduation; that was his original plan anyway. He grit his teeth and pressed his other hand lightly to Tony’s chest, closing his eyes as he pushed the other man away.
“Tony,” his voice sounded unnaturally loud. He didn’t look at Tony’s face, sure that his resolve would break the second he did. “I, uh, I need to go. Bucky! We’re meeting up today, so I, um—“
“Yeah, no, Steve, it’s cool,” Tony replied quickly, too quickly, Steve felt like he couldn’t breath. He grabbed his sketchbook and started towards the door.
“Sorry Tony,” Steve mumbled as he headed towards the door.
“Yeah, um, me too, Steve,” Tony replied, something Steve couldn’t place catching in his voice. After Steve had left he realized he had no idea what Tony had been apologizing for.
The day of graduation came like a monsoon—suddenly and wildly. Steve didn’t remember much of it, but he remembered a lot of laughing (Bucky) and a lot of crying (also Bucky). After the ceremony Steve’s teachers came up to him, offered him a word or two of advice and then moved on to the next student. Bruce came and shook Steve’s hand, telling him to keep in touch, and if he ever needed anything, just call and ask.
Steve hadn’t seen Tony once all day and was starting to get a little nervous. Things between them had been weird ever since that day in the classroom; so weird that they had barely seen each other since then (though that was partly because Steve had become really busy preparing for graduation and heading off to college). His nervousness must have show on his face because Bruce smiled and muttered lowly,
“He’s waiting for you in his classroom. I think he has something to give you.”
Steve gave Bruce a thankful, embarrassed expression and started to walk away towards the science hallway.
“Thanks for everything, Steve,” Bruce called back to him as he made his way through the crowd. “I imagine I’ll be seeing more of you pretty soon!”
Butterflies in the stomach was never an expression Steve particularly agreed with—to him it felt more like hamsters on crack in his stomach as he made his way down the hall towards Tony’s classroom, shoes clacking down the empty hallway. He tried to focus; he’d already planned out what he was going to say. He’d even written it down to help him remember because he knew it was going to be that much harder to remember when he was standing in front of Tony. He finally reached the door and took a deep breath before knocking twice.
“Come in!” Tony called back and Steve stepped inside, heart fluttering wildly in his chest.
They locked eyes as soon as he entered and time seemed to freeze.
“Hi,” he managed to say, and it sounded weak and pathetic to his ears and oh, god, he couldn’t start blushing already.
“Hi,” Tony replied, face unreadable. They were silent for a long, painful minute, then Tony cleared his throat.
“I have something to tell you—“ Steve started to say as Tony talked on top of him.
“I want to give you a—“
“I really want to go first,” Steve said, taking a step forward, eyes determined and set.
Tony shook his head, reaching for a stray envelope on his desk and passing it from his left hand to his right nervously.
“No, no, seriously, Steve, I should go first. Here.
He held the envelope out for Steve to take and Steve sighed, barely able to keep his breathing steady as he slowly opened it and looked inside.
“Oh my god, Tony, no I can’t—“
“Stop, Steve, seriously, it’s nothing. Think of it as a graduation present. Think of it as a scholarship! Or a paycheck for all the help you gave Banner and I these few years. Just, please, Steve, you have to take it. I know how much that art school costs, and I know you had to take out a whole bunch of loans. I would have given it to you earlier to help you pay but—I mean, I would pay for your whole college if you’d let me but—“
“No, Tony, seriously you can’t—“
“—I know you’re too stubborn or proud to let me, so, this is what I’m giving you and you have to take it. That and—and my apology.”
Steve frowned, unsure what Tony could possibly want to apologize for. Tony noticed his expression and rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at Steve as he began uncomfortably,
“For the, uh, the other day. In here. With the, um,” he stopped and cleared his throat. Steve had never seen him looking so nervous before; he could barely believe his eyes. “The thing with the ki—see, I should have known, but I’m just, really I’m bad at this kind of thing and I’m stupid—well, I’m not stupid, but—and I just, I’m sorry. You’re my student, and I was—I was out of line, obviously, and I’m just sorry. I fucked it up, I know, but I hope you can accept my apology and we can go back to… Friends? Sorry, Steve, I just—“
“Tony,” Steve said, taking a step closer, grin breaking on his lips no matter how hard he tried to keep it back. He smiled and Tony looked confused, and he just said, eyes wide to convey what he was trying to get Tony to hear,
“Tony, I’m not your student anymore.”
Tony was holding his breath, eyes changing emotion one second to the next. It seemed Tony wouldn’t get it until Steve made it absolutely clear. He couldn’t remember what he been planning to say before so instead just took a step forward, thinking about all those times when he’d been sitting in this very classroom listening to “Mr. Stark” teach, wishing with all of his heart to make Tony his, and now was his chance.
He let his hands fall to Tony’s waist, then past, and he smirked as he finally grabbed Tony’s ass and squeezed (and, fuck, it was nicer than Steve ever imagine), and Tony yelped, looking with wide eyes at Steve until Steve leaned down and pressed his lips to Tony’s, relief and affection rushing through him like a tidal wave.
And when Tony started kissing him back Steve thought he might need somebody to pinch him to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Tony moaned into his mouth, tongue slipping between his lips aggressively as he reached up to wrap his arms around Steve’ s neck, pulling him close as he kissed Steve with everything he had.
Tony tasted so much better than Steve ever could have predicted, and he kept moaning, fisting his hands into Steve’s hair until Steve had to pull back to take a breath and Tony’s chest was rising and falling, his eyes as deep and penetrating as ever—and all of it was for Steve, because of Steve.
“You,” Tony gasped, mouth still only a fraction of an inch from Steve’s. “You had to wait until you graduated.
“I couldn’t get you fired, Tony,” Steve replied, one hand still grasping Tony’s ass and the other rubbing gently along his side, underneath his shirt. Steve wasn’t sure why he was getting so bold so suddenly—maybe it was all the years of fantasizing.
Tony gaped at him and took a step back.
“You—do you have any idea—we could have had an illicit relationship! We could have been doing this all this time except you would have been my student! Fuck, Steve! It would have been so fucking hot!”
Steve rolled his eyes and felt as though his smile was permanently glued to his face. Tony looked determined all of the sudden and grabbed Steve by the front of his graduation robes, pulling him over to the wall that the whiteboard was on and pushing him up against it. Steve felt his temperature go up at least twenty degrees.
Tony smirked, eyes bright and playful.
“We have a lot of catching up to do. You’re going to have to work super hard if you want to pass this class, Mr. Rogers.”
Steve laughed, pulling Tony into another short kiss.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark.”
Tony groaned lowly, eyes rolling enthusiastically. Steve did have to admit there was something really naughty about calling Tony that while there were in his classroom. Tony grinned up at him, eyes nearly glowing with excitement.
“I always knew you were my favorite.”