Their scheduled basketball games were accompanied by articles on their body language and sexual history. Lunches at cafes and other eateries around town with unnecessarily grainy photographs and long editorials about the supposed corruption of American values (thank you, Jameson). Their private life became decidedly more public in a way that Steve had never experienced before, and Tony could see the strain it was having on him.
One evening, Tony found him in the gym lifting weights with a sour expression on his face. Tony had come down to ask him if he had anything black tie for the fundraiser next weekend, but instead he found himself asking if Steve wanted to spar.
Tony held back a grin as the furrows in Steve’s brow smoothed out and tried not to get too obviously distracted by the sweat gleaming off Steve’s arm muscles.
It wasn’t long before Tony found himself flat on his back pinned under Steve’s rather impressive bulk, out of breath and a little dizzy from the way Steve had thrown him over his hip. Steve was smiling down at him, flushed and relaxed for the first time in days, and Tony felt a surge of emotion somewhere underneath his ribcage. He blamed what happened next on that.
“Mmph! Tony what are you-”
“You kissed me-”
“You kissed me first!”
“For the plan, yeah, but-”
“Right! Right. The plan. Sorry, I just… slipped for a second,” Tony squirmed out from under Steve, who in his distraction had loosened his grip enough to let Tony escape. “Won’t happen again!”
“Wait, Tony, we should-”
But Tony had already fled to out the door towards the workshop, something like shame or heartbreak burning in his throat.