Steve still likes Tony
Jan. 6th, 2012 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
resonantContinued from here
"Look here," Steve says. "I know all you people expect me to be like everybody's grandpa, but I never looked down on a man if he wanted to go to bed with other men. Never. It's his business, and that's the end of it. And if you're one of those --" He falters at that, because it runs smack up against all these pictures in his head. Tony at a party with some gal in a fringed skirt, doing a dance that's not too much different from screwing standing up. Tony in a limo with a blonde whispering into each ear. "Or only some of the time, if you --"
Tony smirks at him, and he goes on doggedly: "But it's got to feel different for a fellow like that. Because what I feel when I'm with my best pal and what I feel when I'm with a girl I like, they're totally different feelings."
Tony bounces the soccer ball idly off his knee, catches it in his outstretched hand without looking at it. "Have you ever been as close to a woman you liked as you were with me just now? Physically, that close, for that long a time?"
Steve gives it some thought. Tony, being Tony, takes the fact that he's giving it some thought as evidence that he's already conceded the argument. "The fact is -- and I say this as your friend -- the fact is that that certain something that you feel when you're with a woman you like is not some special heterosexual exclusive feeling. It's sheer mortal terror."
"Now that is just --" Fairness stops him from finishing the sentence. "Sure, but it can't *only* --"
Tony is bouncing the ball off his foot now, still not looking at it, with this annoying expression of polite attention on his face. It's driving Steve batty. He grabs the ball out of the air before Tony can do anything else annoying with it. "It's like the difference between," he says, and he kisses Tony soundly on the mouth.
It's meant to demonstrate the huge gap between the brotherly sensation of two sets of male lips together and the mysterious flame that results if one set of lips belongs to a girl, and so, to be fair, he doesn't make it quick. He's not going to get sloppy, but he knows very well that Tony will refuse to accept his conclusions if he doesn't make it the best kiss he knows how to give.
Steve closes his eyes, because that's just simple politeness.
Tony's lips aren't slick the way a girl's would be, because of the lipstick, just warm and dry. His moustache prickles Steve's mouth a little bit. Even sweaty, he smells pretty nice, in a way that is not like a girl at all.
Steve's not aware of dropping the ball, but distantly he hears it hit the floor as he cups Tony's face in his hands, running his thumbs down the thin line of whiskers on either side of Tony's mouth, and Tony makes a little noise in his throat, like a cut-off sigh.
Oh, jeez, he's kissing Tony.
He steps back. Tony is standing there with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his eyes shut, his face a little pink, his chest visibly rising and falling with his breath. Steve wasn't deep-kissing him, but his mouth is wet. It's very, very obvious that that didn't feel like a brotherly kiss to him.
Steve touches his own mouth, which is also wet. It didn't feel like a brotherly kiss to him, either.
concluded here
"Look here," Steve says. "I know all you people expect me to be like everybody's grandpa, but I never looked down on a man if he wanted to go to bed with other men. Never. It's his business, and that's the end of it. And if you're one of those --" He falters at that, because it runs smack up against all these pictures in his head. Tony at a party with some gal in a fringed skirt, doing a dance that's not too much different from screwing standing up. Tony in a limo with a blonde whispering into each ear. "Or only some of the time, if you --"
Tony smirks at him, and he goes on doggedly: "But it's got to feel different for a fellow like that. Because what I feel when I'm with my best pal and what I feel when I'm with a girl I like, they're totally different feelings."
Tony bounces the soccer ball idly off his knee, catches it in his outstretched hand without looking at it. "Have you ever been as close to a woman you liked as you were with me just now? Physically, that close, for that long a time?"
Steve gives it some thought. Tony, being Tony, takes the fact that he's giving it some thought as evidence that he's already conceded the argument. "The fact is -- and I say this as your friend -- the fact is that that certain something that you feel when you're with a woman you like is not some special heterosexual exclusive feeling. It's sheer mortal terror."
"Now that is just --" Fairness stops him from finishing the sentence. "Sure, but it can't *only* --"
Tony is bouncing the ball off his foot now, still not looking at it, with this annoying expression of polite attention on his face. It's driving Steve batty. He grabs the ball out of the air before Tony can do anything else annoying with it. "It's like the difference between," he says, and he kisses Tony soundly on the mouth.
It's meant to demonstrate the huge gap between the brotherly sensation of two sets of male lips together and the mysterious flame that results if one set of lips belongs to a girl, and so, to be fair, he doesn't make it quick. He's not going to get sloppy, but he knows very well that Tony will refuse to accept his conclusions if he doesn't make it the best kiss he knows how to give.
Steve closes his eyes, because that's just simple politeness.
Tony's lips aren't slick the way a girl's would be, because of the lipstick, just warm and dry. His moustache prickles Steve's mouth a little bit. Even sweaty, he smells pretty nice, in a way that is not like a girl at all.
Steve's not aware of dropping the ball, but distantly he hears it hit the floor as he cups Tony's face in his hands, running his thumbs down the thin line of whiskers on either side of Tony's mouth, and Tony makes a little noise in his throat, like a cut-off sigh.
Oh, jeez, he's kissing Tony.
He steps back. Tony is standing there with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his eyes shut, his face a little pink, his chest visibly rising and falling with his breath. Steve wasn't deep-kissing him, but his mouth is wet. It's very, very obvious that that didn't feel like a brotherly kiss to him.
Steve touches his own mouth, which is also wet. It didn't feel like a brotherly kiss to him, either.
concluded here