Acing History (Stony - GA)

Musician!Tony and Teacher!Steve - Blind Date

“He’s a teacher,” Tony stated flatly, placing a pick between his teeth as he leaned forward to scribble some notes along the margin of his music sheet.

“So?” Pepper countered as she picked her way around the small towers of boxes littering Tony’s apartment floor. “Oh, Tony. You haven’t even started signing the cases.” She muttered that mostly to herself, because bemoaning the fact wouldn’t actually get her anywhere with Tony.

“So, he’s probably some stick in the mud. Blah blah stereotypes, blah blah. What can I say that’ll offend you the most, so I don’t have to do this?” Tony shoved the pen into his hair, took the pick from his mouth, and strummed his guitar a little. The notes were twangy, thin, since his guitar was unplugged, but that didn’t stop Tony from playing the song out. His foot tapped in time with the music in his head, mouth moving silently to words he hadn’t written down.

Pepper stopped on the other side of the coffee table, hands on her hips as she regarded Tony. He could just make out her expression out of top of his peripheral vision, but since it was an unhappy expression, he chose to ignore.

“Tony, you haven’t dated since Tiberius,” she said, tone cautious around the ex-boyfriend’s name. “You haven’t even pretended to bring home a groupie! It’s been four months, the press has noticed. I know you don’t care, but I’m tired of the rumors and the gossip that you’re still heartsick over him.”

Tony dropped his head as the pick stilled against the strings. His fingers spasmed along the neck of the guitar. “I don’t care what the press says. I don’t care what they think. I don’t-”

“He’s dragging you through the mud, Tony! If he keeps getting you negative press, your f-”

“Stop! I don’t care!” Tony snapped, gaze flashing angrily up to Pepper. “None of it matters, don’t you get it? He broke my goddamn heart, so what?! I’m more fucking pissed that he stole my goddamn song. I don’t give a good fuck about my heart.”

Pepper watched Tony try to calm down, the heaving set of his shoulders breaking her own heart. She stepped around the table and sank onto the couch beside Tony. She pressed her fingers through his hair, catching some longer strands and tucking it behind his ear.

“I know,” she said softly, stroking her fingers down along the black, curving lines of the music notes tattooed on Tony’s neck. “I know you’re upset, and I just think… I think you should go. He sounds like a really nice guy. The least of it, you get a dinner with someone who might bore you a little bit. It’s Amara’s, if you want, so you know it’ll be a good dinner.”

Tony continued to clutch at his guitar like a security blanket, contemplating on using it as a defense if he had to, but Pepper’s touch was soothing, and he felt himself relaxing next to her.

“I do like Amara’s,” he muttered and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze to the nape of his neck. He rolled his eyes and muttered; “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Just...tell me when.”

“Tomorrow night,” Pepper replied immediately, smiling. “His name is Steve an-”

“And he’s a History teacher,” Tony said, finishing Pepper’s sentence with a mock of her voice. “I hate History.”

“You aced History,” Pepper said with a raised brow.

“Uh yeah? I aced it so I didn’t have to keep doing it.” Tony snorted like it was obvious, and Pepper just rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” She stood and smoothed her skirt down before stepping back around the table. “I’ll be back tomorrow to help you get ready.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered, ducking his head back to his notes in front of him.

“And get some of those cases signed, Tony. I mean it!”

~~

The next night, Tony slipped into Amara’s with a hat and sunglasses on. He felt like a complete douchebag, but to be fair, he always did when he had to wear sunglasses at night, because that old song always, always, got stuck in his head. He kept his back to the restaurant doors and waited for the maitre d’ to return to elegant podium.

“I wear my…” Tony murmured under his breath, fingers tapping absently against his slack-covered thigh. “So I can, so I can…”

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hm, oh. Sorry.” He flashed the man a bright smile. “I’m here for-”

“Yes, right this way. Your guest arrived just a few minutes ago, so he hasn’t been waiting long. Ms. Potts requested your usual table. I hope that will be to your liking?” The maitre d’ made a notation on the podium and then gestured for Tony to follow.

It was a familiar path through the low-lit tables, and several of the guests glanced after them out of curiosity. Tony paid them no attention. They turned a corner, and the maitre d’ stepped to the side to allow Tony to pass.

“Enjoy your meal, Mr. Stark.” He bowed and retreated. Tony thought the word retreated like the man leaving was a betrayal because the man standing up from the table at Tony’s arrival had to be a god come to slay Tony down for any bad thing he’d done up until that point.

Tony’s brain was rambling.

It was also flooded with a thousand different middles to songs he’d instantly want to sing under a window like a lovesick moron.

The man, Steve, was beginning to look nervous. Right. Date. Motion. Tony stepped forward, finally taking off his hat and the glasses. His smile was wide, wider than it should’ve been. It probably looked fake.

According to the way Steve’s gaze dipped down to Tony’s smile, and the way his own expression flattened, there was no ‘probably’ about it. Steve held out a hand.

“Mr. Stark?” Steve queried, and Tony tucked his things under his arm to return the handshake.

“The one and only,” Tony said, trying to force his mouth back to something normal. Honestly, it was like he’d never seen tall and muscled before. Tony licked his lips and hoped to God he wasn’t actually drooling. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally do, um, blind dates. It’s not really a thing for-”

“People like you?” Steve asked. He waited for Tony to take a seat before returning to his. “Peggy said it was difficult for you because you’re a musician.”

“Peggy?” Tony blinked. “Peggy Carter?”

“Yes.” Steve smiled, folding his napkin across his lap. “We work together. She’s a mentor...of sorts.”

“That explains it.” Tony dropped his hat and glasses under the table by his foot and futzed with his napkin in turn. “I’m sure she told you she’s my godmother. She won’t be satisfied until I’m happily settled down.”

Steve’s smile was fond. “Yes, so she said. It’s hard to tell her no. I hope you’re not too terribly put out. I know a musician’s schedule is never clear.”

Tony fidgeted a little, letting his gaze sweep over Steve’s gray suit, the clean and crisp lines of the pressed fabric. “No, it’s not, but we all have to eat. I’m finding it not such a hardship.” The smile this time felt normal, felt genuine.

That earned a brighter smile from Steve, and Tony felt his breath catch a little. Before he could stop himself, he asked; “You’re a History teacher, right? I bet that’s fun.” Steve flushed a little, but at Tony’s insistence, he began to talk about the grades he taught and the points in history he particularly liked. Tony couldn’t help but hang on every word.

By the time their dinner plates were scraped clean and removed from the table, Tony was gesturing expansively to describe the importance of the tone on his next album. Steve’s chin was on his fist, watching Tony with rapt attention. Dessert went by in a blur of soft laughter and the impending sense of the evening coming to an end.

When the check was presented, Tony automatically reached for his wallet, but Steve beat him to it with a smile and an insistent press of the bill back to the server.

“Wow,” Tony breathed, slumping a little back in his seat.

“I’m assuming you don’t get treated a lot,” Steve replied, folding his arms on the table. “Just because you’re Tony Stark, doesn’t mean you can’t be treated.”

Tony blinked at him, flushing a little, before he ducked his head to hide his smile. Ty had always expect Tony to cover everything, and Tony did. He’d just been used to it.

“Thank you,” Tony said, lifting his head to show his sincerity. “This...this has been the best date I’ve had.”

“Can I walk you home?” Steve asked then flushed himself. He cleared his throat. “I...Sorry, I guess you have a driver, right? That was stupid of me.”

“No!” Tony nearly shouted. “No, it’s okay. You can walk me.” Then he pressed his face to his hands and laughed. “It’s too far to walk. Okay, I’m apparently really bad at this.”

Steve was biting his lip, hands in lap. “I’m not good at this either,” he admitted. “But I think we’re doing okay. We could just, uh, walk for a little bit? Don’t really need to...need to have a destination.”

Tony smiled, fingers tapping against his jaw. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

They chose to go left outside of the Amara’s, walking with only a little space between them. Steve was a solid wall of heat on Tony’s right side, and he found it very distracting. His fingers twitched, and he wanted to reach out and hold Steve’s hand, but just shoved them in his pockets to avoid the temptation. A few moments later, Steve followed suit.

“I think your album is going to be great, Tony,” Steve was saying. “It sounds swell. I don’t normally listen to soft rock, but I’m definitely going to put some of your songs into rotation. I’ve need new jogging music.”

Tony laughed. “You don’t have to change your music tastes just yet. It’s only the first date.”

Steve stopped, and Tony turned to face him. Steve was watching him with thoughtful expression. “Will there be a second one?” he asked.

Tony tipped his chin up and had to remind himself that Steve was completely different than Ty. Ty was lean and dark where Steve was broad and light. Ty was obnoxious and edgy and Steve...Steve was clearly neither of those things.

Steve with his perfectly pressed suit and combed hair and gentleman’s respect. Steve was fresh air compared to Ty’s toxic presence.

“If you want,” Tony said, heart pounding. “Because I do, and I might sound a little desperate, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have said that, but you’re really hot and nice and your smile is-I should stop...talking…”

Steve stepped in closer, hands coming out of his pockets as he searched Tony’s face. “May I kiss you goodnight, Tony?”

“Yeah, uh, um.” Tony flushed and swallowed. “Please.”

Steve carefully cupped Tony’s chin up to brush a chaste kiss, and his laugh was warm against Tony’s mouth as they met.

Tony felt the flare of heat that could be fanned to something more, and the question was mirrored - he was sure - in Steve’s gaze as they pulled apart. For some reason, though, he knew that he wasn’t going to let it go further.

“I really want to invite you home,” Tony said, startling them both. “And I’m sure anything people read about me would expect just that, but I’m not going to. I want to, but I think…”

Steve gently touched Tony’s chin before dropping his hand. “It’s best to wait. I don’t want to rush things either, and I think you might just be worth waiting for.”

Steve stayed with Tony until his driver showed up and, this time, he held Tony’s hand.

~~

A few months later, Steve stirred sleepily on his stomach. Something tickled at his skin, and he murmured wordlessly without opening his eyes.

“Sorry,” Tony whispered, moving his hand across Steve’s bared back. “I’m almost done. Go back to sleep.” Steve hummed in reply and turned his face away. The scent of marker was strong in the air. Which, even to Steve’s sleep-fogged mind, he knew meant inspiration had struck his lover in the middle of the night. Judging by the position of Tony’s hand, Steve wouldn’t be able to see exactly what that inspiration was, but he just sighed and let sleep take him under again.

Tony scribbled note after note along Steve’s spine, words and bars taking up the broad expanse of his muscles. He worked on it for another hour until the words finally stopped scrolling behind his eyes. He capped and tossed the marker and sank back against Steve’s side, sighing in satisfaction. He kissed Steve’s shoulder, lips going slack as he fell asleep.

The next day in class, one of Steve’s students had a question.

“Yes?”

It’s just...Did you get a tattoo?” the girl asked, blushing furiously. Several other students murmured their agreed curiosity.

Steve stilled for a moment in confusion then huffed in amusement. Right. Shouldn’t have worn the white shirt. He’d forgotten about the black marker.

“It’s a love song,” he answered. “Now, who can tell me about the Manhattan Project from their review last night?”