Tony gets away with nothing with a boyfriend like Steve - but that’s not to say he’s not enjoying their time in DC.
“I hate you,” Tony pants, and Steve twirls himself around so he’s jogging backwards.
“Of course you do,” he says amusedly.
“Oh, stop trying to pretend you believe me. It’s patronizing,” grumbles Tony, momentarily glancing over at the Air and Space museum, lighting up now that the sun is starting to go down.
“Stop trying to pretend you mean it,” Steve chuckles back at him, and starts slowing down.
“Stop trying to pretend you mean it,” Tony repeats mockingly, watching Steve slow himself to a halt before abruptly stopping himself, not totally caring that he comes damned close to crashing into the other man. Steve’s strong arms catch him just before he does, anyway, settling at his shoulders.
“You okay?” Steve sounds like his typical concerned self.
“Hey, now, that’s a harsh word,” Tony teases, and revels in the ease with which he’s able to push himself forward - and onto his toes, though he’d never admit to it - and kiss Steve. The kiss is accepted gently, and then he feels Steve start to laugh - only a few seconds before he hears the scrape of another pair of shoes against the hot Washington pavement.
“On y’all’s left,” Sam Wilson shouts as he passes them, and even though they’d both known it was coming they snap away from each other. Tony looks past Steve to see him, and Sam’s turned himself backwards and slowed down, laughing at all three of them.
“Fuck you, Wilson,” Tony growls jokingly.
“Hey, man. Best friend’s boyfriends are automatically not my type, Stark,” Sam shrugs, then turns back around and continues running. Tony considers saying something, but decides against it, since it’s not like there’s anything to actually contest.
“Hey, now,” Steve says, barely keeping himself from laughing, “those are some fightin’ words.”
“Oh, I’ll show you fightin’,” Tony barks with a self-satisfied nod. “One of these days, I’m gonna punch both of you in your stupid patriotic faces.”
“That so?” Steve grins, stepping closer to him to emphasize the height difference; Tony knows he’s aware of everything else that he emphasizes by doing so - which, of course, is the game they’ve been playing for longer than they’ve known they were playing at all, but only as aggravating as usual, since Tony hasn’t said anything particularly obnoxious recently, giving Steve no reason to tease him more than the daily quota.
Too bad they aren’t lucky enough to be the only involved parties; some excited onlooker - reporter or not, he can’t tell - snaps a picture, foolishly leaving their flash on. Tony’s more on edge today, so his immediate response is be pissed, but for whatever reason Steve decides to play that game, too, and pulls him back in for another kiss without so much as a look at the source of Tony’s annoyance.
They stop after a few more pictures, apparently realizing that Captain America really isn’t the type to fuck in a public place or something like that. Well, not as far as the public knows, that is.
“How’re you feeling?” Steve pulls away from the kiss to ask, sliding a gentle hand against Tony’s wounded side, and Tony frowns.
“Not dead yet, and you’re still sexy. I’ll survive.”
“Good to know. Didn’t answer the question.”
Tony sighs. “Okay, okay, yeah. It hurts. I can feel my body compensating for it. But it’ll be okay.”
“Damn right it will.”
“Aww, babe, are you getting all protective of me again?” Tony taunts, happy for the opportunity to change the topic of conversation.
Sam comes running by again as Steve raises his eyebrows at Tony.
“Cap and Iron Man, standing on the sidew- woah, dude,” he chants, stumbling when Steve grabs his arm and stops him.
“Wanna go for dinner? I think we’re done here for now,” Steve explains, and Sam’s expression turns to one of concern.
“You okay, man?” he asks Tony.
“I am not made of porcelain! I am fine,” Tony groans, and Steve tightens his grip on Tony’s side the slightest bit. Tony winces, smacks his hand away, and looks back up at him to see his eyebrows raised even higher than they had been before.
“Someday I really am gonna punch you in your -”
“Stupid patriotic face, I know,” Steve cuts him off. “Are we looking at food trucks or restaurants today?”
Tony squints with annoyance, as though he thinks Steve has an ulterior motive. (Truthfully, he does - the sooner they’re back in their hotel room, the sooner they’re able to be all over each other with abandon. The only reason they were out on the Mall in the first place was that Steve insisted that Tony focus on getting his post-injury strength back. If it had been Tony’s choice, well, no one would have seen the couple for days.)
“Restaurants. I’d rather sit down,” replies Tony, and Sam and Steve glance at each other.
“So, he’s not okay,” Sam says, and Steve nods. Tony rolls his eyes and pushes between them, grabbing Steve by the bottom of his shirt and pulling him further down Jefferson Drive. Steve soon falls into step with him, Sam grinning at them from Tony’s other side.
Steve pulls Tony’s hand off the shirt and slips his own into it, as (unintentionally?) reassuring and loving as always.
Maybe we’ll just go to the Smithsonian Castle today, Tony thinks.