cathydeff: heyokay163:the rage and love, the story of my lifeSteve’s been at the bag for a whi
cathydeff:heyokay163:the rage and love,the story of my lifeSteve’s been at the bag for a while now. The bag stays firm, though, holding up to the barrage of punches that should have destroyed it from the first five blows.But this bag was made by him, a present of sorts, when they realised that Steve was going through a whole lot of them, and even a billionaire knew that it was a bit of a waste. Recently, though, he had been using it more and more. Everyone is worried about Steve, but Steve didn’t care. Sometimes…sometimes people forget that as enhanced as he is, he still feels it.Pain.Visceral, blinding pain. The kind it’s hard to get up from, and you just want to lie down and wish everything was over. But he’s Captain America. So he forces himself up, hooks his shield on his back, and carries on.A paragon of virtue. Strength. Resilience.But he is still Steve Rogers. He still has a name. People forget that especially, that there is a face to the title. That there is a man underneath that kevlar and vibranium.He, though, he can never forget. He is painfully aware that Steve is human. And humans do hurt. He knows hurt; it’s an old friend who stops by once in a while to let them know that there are downs to every up. He can see the blood on Steve’s knuckles, seeping through the wrapping around his fists. He can only surmise how much force it would take to split that skin. “FRIDAY,” he says quietly from the other side of the glass. “How long has he been down here?”“Three hours, boss,” a voice pipes up. “He’s used most of the equipment but he’s been at the bag for the past hour. He hasn’t had a rest. I tried to remind him that he needs to take a break but he has ignored me.”Tony detects the little sniff of disapproval from the AI and he smiles.“Okay,” he decides. “I’m going in.”As soon as he says it, Steve stops, sits on the bench nearby and Tony sees the weariness in Steve’s shoulders as he slumps forward, his countenance one of defeat.Tony raps on the glass to announce his arrival and the glass door slides open for him. He steps inside, careful to let his footfall be as noticeable as possible. He can’t help it, though, as he approaches from behind, when he sees those muscular shoulders sloping down and puts a cautious hand on Steve, and when it isn’t shrugged off, the other one as well.Steve, surprisingly, reaches out one hand to touch his hesitantly before gripping tight.“Steve,” Tony is careful to call his name. “Would you like to come up with me to the roof? It’s sunset, and looking glorious. I thought you might like the view. And I can take care of your knuckles for you.”A deep breath. A straightening of the shoulders. Tony can’t see his face but can imagine the dullness in the blue of his eyes disappearing a bit as he focuses on Tony, on his hand that he hasn’t let go of. “I’d like that,” Steve says, his voice quiet but grateful. Steve turns, looks at Tony. And Tony is right, the blue is clearer today, and there is a spark of something there.Tony smiles at him, soft and encouraging. Without thinking he lifts Steve’s hand and places a feather light kiss on the bloodied knuckles. Steve stares, and the smile breaks through. His first in days. Tony knows hurt. Steve does, too. But they both know that for every ache, a balm to soothe it can always be found.They just so happened to be each other’s. (Some days, the noises in Steve’s head doesn’t stop, so he keeps at the bag until blood appears. He wipes everything down, showers, changes, and goes up to the roof and Tony is there, waiting, first aid kit in his hands.Tony applies the cream to the itchy, red skin and reverently, as if he can’t believe he is allowed to do this, presses a kiss to the tips of Steve’s fingers. Like a mother would to her son’s grazes, but this means more, and Steve wants more.The noises quiet. And Steve’s heart heals.) -- source link
#im crying