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When Tony managed to pull himself out of his mashing, inappropriate thoughts, he grabbed a newspaper on his way to his car and got on his phone. In between waiting for pages to load, he rummaged through the art section, squinting at the freakishly small print and tapping his foot impatiently. He was supposed to own the most advanced tech, yet it’s taken more than twenty seconds for this page to load! Finally, after what seemed a century, the page popped up, listing the artists that would be attending the show next Thursday at 19:00. Tony smiled to himself. In the back of his mind he knew it would come off as weird bumping into the man again, but he had to. Something about the way their encounter had ended made him feel incomplete, yearning for Steve’s touch—or was it the way he talked so evenly and clear headed.
After marking the event in his phone he called up Pepper. “I need you to do me a huge favor and cancel any plans I have after 5 p.m next Thursday…and possibly the next morning.”
“Why?” She sounded more curious than impatient, which was both a blessing and a curse.
Tony huffed. “I have something planned, a date thing—“
“A date thing?”
“Yes a date thing. I go on dates sometimes.” He didn’t know why he was getting so defensive, probably because he just convinced himself he was going on a date with a man who probably didn't even remember his name.
She paused for a moment, and then said “alright Tony. I hope it goes well.”
“I’ll be sure to keep you updated on my misfortunate dating adventures.” He’d probably have to keep his self-deprecation in check when meeting Steve again. The man seemed as if he had a sort of comforting confidence, as if he knew himself enough to express himself through lines and canvas. Tony hung up, suddenly feeling a sense of dread about their next meeting.
The event was marked evening casual, so Tony dressed himself in a well-fitting suit that fell into that category, yet looked incredible on him. Yes, he was trying to impress Steve, and yes it did bother him slightly that Steve seemed like the type to look for something deeper than aesthetics; something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.
At any rate, the gallery visitors looked a bit more eccentric, to say the least. It was rare to find someone with a hair color that didn’t come out of a bottle, or someone who wasn’t littered in tattoos. They were all works of art themselves. Needless to say he felt (and looked) out of place, but he tried to focus on the pieces of art themselves. He wasn’t sure why, but this time he felt more inclined to pay attention to the works. Most of it focused on some aspect of nudity. It wasn’t perverse in any sense (no matter how much the twelve year old in him wanted to snicker at the gaggle of dicks). However, any sort of out of place amusement fell once he saw Steve’s art.
He instantly recognized it; the art style was classically American in a sense, but still much of his own—he had a feeling that if he knew Steve more he would be able to describe it better. The first painting was of a woman, her body hunched over tightly, and ripples of muscles were apparent in her arms, her breasts were full yet relaxed against her chest in this position. Her hair was a mess of curls toppling over her face, her stomach creased and folded, and her thick thighs tapered off to strong calves and slender feet; beautiful to say the least.
Tony kept his eyes locked, tracing over each line with his eyes before he was interrupted by the gorgeous man himself.
“It’s you again,” Steve said smoothly, his lips upturned into a grin. This time he was in a crisp white button down and some slacks that had Tony’s eyes lingering for more than a second.
Tony rushed out a hand to shake. “Tony Stark—“
“I know who you are,” Steve took his hand gently, but his hands felt firm and strong. The type of hands he wanted to feel touching every part of him. Tony shook himself from those thoughts and nodded.
“Good. that’s great. Your piece looks amazing,” Tony said. He wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say. Really, he hadn’t even thought their next encounter through besides them having the most intense sex of his life.
Steve raised a brow. “I appreciate the compliment, truly. And, don’t take this the wrong way but... why are you here? This doesn’t seem like your type of environment. I can’t imagine my art dragged you down to another hipster art gallery.” Steve stepped closer, invading Tony’s personal space like last time, and just for that, Tony was glad he showed up.
“I like art, and I like your art,” Tony said simply, as if that were a perfect justification. Steve was right- he did look obviously uncomfortable.
“Lying might work when you’re doing it to yourself, but it won’t work on me. Why are you really here?”
“Alright… I hope this doesn’t sound creepy but," Tony paused to take a short, steadying breath. "I wanted to see you again. There’s something about you and… I don’t know. The way you talked to me last time made me want to see you--not that your art isn’t something to marvel at it truly is. But I wanted to see you.” Long winded for something that could be answered with a sentence, but Tony tended to ramble under pressure.
“Did you ever figure out the answer to my question?” Steve asked.
Tony thought for a second, then remembered that Steve had asked how does sex felt for him. If Tony were being honest, he did think about it a few times. Sex for him had always been for instant gratification. It was a form of release or a coping mechanism, a pleasurable distraction that was sweaty and quick and only mattered if an orgasm was involved. That was sex to him, and considering that Tony was an impatient man, that would probably always be sex to him.
“Yeah, I like sex, but it’s never been about how I feel. It’s just a good thing, like any other distraction. It’s good for when I need it.”
Steve’s brows furrowed for a moment, as if he was analyzing his statement. “Did you think I was going to play a part in that distraction? Fuck you for a solid ten? Then hopefully you can stop thinking about what that question was about? That’s not what I meant when I asked you,” Steve’s hands ran across his hips, then settled there. “If we were going to have sex, it would be something to remember. We’d lick every crevice of each other’s bodies and every inch of skin, because we would want to actually feel each other. I'm not taking part in a grunting session for you to feel better about yourself afterwards. And I’m not fucking you—yet.”
Tony’s eyes were blown wide, and his lips were parted in a dumbfounded way. He felt humiliated and overwhelmed all at once, but he also felt a great sense of wanting. He cleared his throat. “Oh, well I’m not sure if that’s something I’d be able to do.”
Steve shrugged. “Luckily, I love a good challenge.” He looked around, then grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled him along. Tony nearly fell over, but followed behind, not knowing where they were headed but trusting him for some reason. Steve took him to the back of the building outside; all that could be heard was the typical New York traffic.
Tony leaned against the wall and looked up at Steve, meeting his clear eyes briefly, then his eyes trailed over the man's nose and lips, followed by the sharp lines of his jaw. Like the paintings he kept tracing the lines of with his eyes over and over again. Steve’s finger traced over his bottom lip gently, one hand at his waist, and Tony’s heart was strumming out of control. The pit of his stomach was a pool of mush and his thoughts made no sense, until Steve finally kissed him.
His lips were soft, but the kiss insistent, demanding Tony’s attention. Tony kissed back and tried to match his passion. Next thing he knew, he was lost in the heady feeling of it all. It was a steady rhythm they created, increasingly frantic, each collision of their tongues and mouths sending sparks down his spine. Tony reached a hand down to feel the texture of Steve’s skin, tracing up his forearm while keeping his eyes glued shut and enjoying the experience of feeling without seeing. Too much did he let his ability to examine deter from experiences and feelings of pleasure.
“You’re good kisser,” Steve interjected after biting Tony’s lower lip. For some reason, that felt good to hear, and it motivated him to pull at the back of Steve’s head and kiss him harder. Steve had no problem keeping up, moving his lips from Tony's own to the back of his ear, then slowly down his neck and, oh god, he was going to die. Tony was never one for neck kisses because up until now they never felt like anything, but Steve’s lips on his neck felt carefully orchestrated, as if he knew every single nerve ending that would drive him wild and used that knowledge to a fault. Steve then switched to the other side of his neck and never moved his hands below the belt, so patient and thorough and probably planning his demise.
When Steve pulled away from his neck, he landed a kiss onto his lips again, this time no tongue and almost too innocent for the numerous sex driven thoughts Tony’s brain had been formulating. When they finally pulled apart, Tony was sure he looked a mess, his lips felt bruised in the best of ways, his suit jacket was half off of him and he knew his hair was ruined. His legs were shaking from trying not to buckle underneath him as he tried to catch his breath.
Steve pulled out a pen from his pocket and outstretched Tony’s palm, writing down his number with a smile plastered on his face.
“Call me.”
Tony’s voice nearly cracked. “I will,” he said, holding up a hand to gesture ‘goodbye’ awkwardly.
“Good night Tony.”
Once Steve walked away, Tony did a little jig while staring at his palm and grinning, as if this night couldn’t get any more teenager esque. After putting Steve’s number into his phone, he sighed deeply and left the gallery.