This is a series of one-shots based on the lyrics of Regina Spektor's 'That Time'. They're going to be in somewhat of a chronological order, but they are one-shots. Full lyrics are at the end if you're curious. Enjoy. ;)

"It...well, it was—"

"Revolutionary? Life-altering? Orgasm-in-your-mouth amazing?"

Stark Tower is growing increasingly large on the horizon as they walk up 5th Avenue. Their destination, oddly enough, is the glossy set of double doors ordinarily used by employees, clients, delivery men—really, everyone that wasn't Pepper or one of the Avengers.

Happy is on speed-dial, probably expecting a call, but Steve Rogers, the man with the plan, had insisted they walk home, wanting to do it the old-fashioned way, to take their time and enjoy the evening. Whatever the hell that meant.

"Tony. Let me—"

"Addictive, definitely, that's a good one," he continues, taking the opportunity to let his hand slide unceremoniously into Steve's back pocket. "These are all valid answers, by the way, E: all of the above being the most logical choice, I think—"

"Tony." Steve reaches down to remove the hand, holding it against his waist instead. Fun-ruiner.

"If you want me to answer the question, you're going to have to shut up long enough for me to give you an answer."

They're taking their time, walking slowly along the cracked pavement, trying to avoid stepping on each other's feet. It isn't the most efficient of positions for walking down a sidewalk— Steve's right arm draped around Tony's shoulders to match the one holding on to his torso— but they're making it work, and at this point, neither of them are in a rush to get anywhere.

Tony only hums in affirmation, biting back several different jokes that would probably only get him an eyeroll or a frown.

"It was...different? Squishy. I wasn't really sure what to expect, so the presentation caught me off guard right at first, and the aesthetic of the whole joint—"

"Oh god, different can only mean one thing: you hated it, why didn't you tell me sooner, I could've—"

"Hey, hey. Could've nothing." It was obnoxious, being repeatedly cut off, but Steve couldn't help laughing at the note of panic that had suddenly crept into Tony's voice.

"Let a man talk, will you? It was delicious." He squeezes Tony's hand, trying to drive the point home.

"I will admit, the second course...er, just the chunks of salmon on rice, whatever you called it. That was a bit too much raw fish in one mouthful—tasted too...fishy? But everything else was delightful. I loved it, I promise."

They are about four blocks away now, brightly lit windows and street lamps contrasting sharply with the dark haze that is New York around 11 o'clock at night. The streets are reasonably quiet, save for a few cars and the occasional door slam.

Tony skips a little bit, smiling entirely too widely over Steve's response. "You better not be lying. I knew you'd like it. Sushi is a considerable step on your mandatory quest to discover the many wonders of the twenty-first century."

Quest is a good word for it. Whatever 'it' is.

About three weeks ago, he'd almost knocked over a very hot mug of coffee when Steve had casually mentioned that he'd never eaten pancakes before. Tony had instantly declared that a national tragedy—because come on, he was Captain America, and it was pancakes they were talking about, here—and spent the next half hour drilling him on everything from calzones to cupcakes, swearing that he was going to fix this problem immediately.

When he'd suggested they take a short drive to IHOP that night, he wasn't expecting to spend a full thirty seconds staring as Steve made obscene noises while demolishing a large stack of their blueberry hotcakes. He wasn't expecting him to want it to become a repeat occurrence, either—wasn't expecting that stupidly perfect grin as Steve licked his fork, asking what was up next, where they'd go tomorrow night.

Pad Thai was next on the list, and it took more willpower than he thought he possessed to not spend the entire meal watching Captain goddamn America suck up rice noodles like it was his job, and when Steve asked him if there was something wrong with his lips—why was Tony was staring, did he have food in his teeth—he wondered what the hell had he gotten himself into this time.

Tonight had been a daring move—sushi, straight up raw fish, but Steve is shaking his head, laughing softly. "Yeah, sushi's good. Was that so hard for you? Listening? You make me want to tape your mouth shut sometimes."

Tony nearly trips. "Well, you could do that anyway. I've got plenty of duct tape, just say the—"

"Not what I meant." Somehow, Tony can hear the blush in his voice. "You're filthy, you know that?"

Most of all, Tony wasn't expecting this to still be happening three—actually, almost four, seeing as it was Friday night—four weeks later. He wasn't expecting Steve to want to spend more time with him than necessary.

So, naturally, he didn't expect that unsolicited kiss on the cheek on Chinese takeout night, couldn't possibly have expected Steve to let him kiss back, this time with tongue, tasting sweet and sour sauce on his lips as he tried not to scare him off.

But it's Friday night, and here they are, walking down 5th like a couple of teenagers—it's here Tony decides that his expectations never really mattered all that much in the first place. Whatever 'it' was didn't really need a name.

"Oh, come on, 'tape my mouth shut'? You were asking for that one, I've been so good, I—"

He stops short, not because he doesn't want to finish the sentence, but because all of a sudden there's a man walking towards them, hands shoved deep into his pockets—had he come out of the alley?

Even through his suit jacket, Tony feels Steve tense up, and he briefly wonders if maybe they should cross the street, but no, they're the Avengers, he's with Steve. So they keep walking, a bit faster than before, their conversation halted.

Tony realizes that there isn't enough sidewalk for the three of them, so he falls back just a step, trailing behind for a moment to let this guy pass them. They're two blocks from Stark Tower now, which is stupidly close, and anyway, there are a lot of homeless people in New York, even if it is odd to see one in this neighborhood.

It all happens so fast that Tony doesn't even have time to say 'I told you so'.

The man does pass, silently, head bowed, and Steve's exhaling deeply, but it's premature. In an instant, the man is grabbing Tony by the neck of his jacket, the other hand busy pressing a knife to his throat, and isn't this just his luck, isn't this great.

He's defeated armies single-handedly, he's carried a nuke to outer space, and now he's going to get his throat slit by a bum on the streets. It reminds him of his dad, going out like this, and his mouth is suddenly dryer than before, if that's even possible right now.

"Wallets. Phones. Watches. Shoes. Right now, let's go." The man's voice is raspy, and Tony wants to elbow him in the gut, but that knife is just way too close for comfort, so he stays still, silently urging Steve to make a move.

Steve's eyes are wide, a mixture of something—anger, probably, and maybe a trace of fear, because they both know Tony is as defenseless as a stray kitten without the suit—and he's got his hands up, putting on his hero face, the one that comes out in front of the cameras and the crowds. It makes Tony feel useless and small, smaller than he's ever felt, but right now he's more focused on a plan of defense just in case this psycho decides to move that knife any closer to his jugular.

He's reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet—Tony knows it's got no more than five dollars in it, because Tony Stark always pays for dinner, that beautiful faker—and dropping it on the concrete. The watch comes off too, probably for good measure. They meet eyes briefly, and it's clear exactly where Steve is going with this.

"Sir, we'll give you anything you want, just please let him go. Please. No one has to get hurt."

Holy shit. Steve's voice is trembling. Did he take acting classes when he was a kid or something? Did they even have those in the forties? Steve was the worst liar Tony had ever met, yet here he was, about to put on the fake tears—then again, there were no knives involved when Steve had eaten Natasha's dark chocolate by mistake—well, probably not.

The guy is scrambling for the wallet like it's going to disappear if he doesn't pick it up fast enough, and the second that knife is far enough away from his vital regions, Tony is ducking out of his grip, hooking his foot around the man's leg and jerking forward. The guy can't even hold on to his own knife, falling to the sidewalk in a heap.

Now, here's where Tony expects a speech, a call to the police, something heroic, but it doesn't come. Instead, Steve's picking up the wallet, hesitating slightly, and then—remember, this is Captain America we're talking about, here—he slams his fist into the guy's face, the resounding crack sending him reeling, skull meeting pavement.

"Fuck, Steve." Tony is more than shocked, and when he meets Steve's eyes, there's something hard, something protective that he can't quite place. "That works, I guess."

"Yeah, ah—sorry, I—"

"No, no, you were fucking brilliant, don't apologize—jesus."

Steve is breathless, but he straightens up and nods, like he needed Tony's approval for that whole thing to be okay. "Are you okay? Nice legwork, by the way."

"Not a scratch. You kinda carried that show, but thanks anyway."

Steve extends his arm. "Can we go home now? This was such a nice date, but we're only two blocks away, and I don't really want to get jumped again. Need to get to a phone, too—call the police..."

For a second, Tony completely tunes out the rest of whatever he's saying, focusing only on the first part of that sentence.

Date?

Only for a second, though. "Uh—yeah. Let's do that."

He ignores Steve's arm, bending down. "You almost forgot this. It's a really nice watch, you shouldn't—oh, holy shit. Wow, Steve."

He stands up, extending his palm. "Look at this."

Steve looks, unsure at first, but then he sees the blood pooling in the center of Tony's hand. "Ugh, oh god, Tony, that's a tooth. Don't show me that."

Tony obliges, but only because Steve is looking visibly nauseous. "Fine, fine, I'm putting it back where I found it, you sound like Pepper—man, Steve, you don't mess around."

"You could've been hurt. Badly. I wasn't going to take any chances." Steve links their arms and starts walking, and Tony follows, shrugging it off because Steve is protective of everyone—literally.

This arm linking thing is new. Now they really look like teenagers.

They don't say much until they're back in the elevator, partly because Tony feels guilty for the whole human tooth thing and partly because they're both still a little rattled, and Tony busies himself, swiping his card and leaning down for the retina scan.

The elevator is ascending quickly, and Tony can't help himself—can't keep his mouth shut, even though he knows that this is probably a bad idea, knows that labels are always bad.

"You said this was a date."

It didn't come out right—it wasn't even a question, and he wants to rephrase and keep talking, but he stops himself and just runs a hand through his hair instead.

Steve smiles at him, teeth and all, eyes lighting up like some kind of angel—angel? What was happening to him?

"Is that okay?"

When Tony doesn't answer immediately, his smile fades a little bit.

"I didn't mean to assume, I just figured—well, the kiss on the couch that one night, and all of these dinners, you know, I guess things were—different back in wartime."

Tony laughs, grinning fondly, because now Steve is the one babbling, tripping over his words, and it's such a pleasant, unexpected reversal of roles.

"They were pretty different, but this doesn't...have to be." Tony steps forward, eyeing Steve in his sleek suit, and he feels the strangest impulse to mess up his hair, so he does, letting his fingers card through it slowly.

Tony forces himself to meet Steve's eyes. "So, I'm dating Captain America. That's got nice ring to it."

Steve's smile is back, and he's starting to say something, but Tony doesn't let him, doesn't know if he wants to continue this conversation—instead, he wraps a hand around Steve's tie, quickly pulling him down and capturing his lips.

It's soft, as gentle as Tony can mange, and he feels the hesitation at the sudden contact, but it only lasts for a moment—soon Steve is pressing his tongue against Tony's lips, parting them and sighing into Tony's mouth like he's wanted this for as just as long—

A glass shatters, and they break apart, still on edge from before, but the panic quickly fades to embarrassment when they realize that the elevator door had opened without them noticing, putting them in full view of the bar where Clint and Natasha were sitting.

"Tasha, I believe you owe me twenty bucks."

Regina Spektor - 'That Time'

Do you remember the time when I found a human tooth down on Delancey?

Hey, remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?

Hey, remember that time when my favorite colors were pink and green?

Hey, remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines?

Hey, remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare?

Hey, remember that other time when I would only read the backs of cereal boxes?

Hey, remember that time I tried to save a pigeon with a broken wing?
A street cat got him by morning, and I had to bury pieces of his body in my building's playground, I thought I was going to be sick.

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments?
Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros?
Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Camels?

Hey, remember that time when I was broke?
I didn't care; I just bummed from my friends.

Hey, remember that time when you OD'ed?