Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/391688. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage Category: M/M Fandom: The_Avengers_(2012), Thor_(2011) Relationship: Steve_Rogers/Tony_Stark, Loki/Thor Character: Steve_Rogers, Tony_Stark, Loki_(Marvel), Thor_(Marvel) Additional Tags: Escort_Service, Challenge:_cap_ironman_bingo, challenge:_avengers_tables, Romance, Angst, non-superheros_AU, Alternate_Universe_-_Serial_Killers, Alternate_Universe, Underage_Character, Fluff, Silly, Cat_Tony, magical transformation, Mind_Control, Presumed_Dead, Fake/Pretend_Relationship, Object_Insertion, Drunkenness, Enemas, Sharing_Body_Heat, Mistaken Identity, Telepathy, Bodyswap Stats: Published: 2012-04-26 Completed: 2018-02-27 Chapters: 32/32 Words: 30512 ****** Short Stories ****** by blue_jack Summary A collection of short fics for my Cap_Ironman Bingo and Avengers_Tables cards. Notes I’m going to post some of my shorter fics for the two cards I’m filling out over at the Cap_Ironman and Avengers_tables communities on LJ. These are stories that, quite honestly, should probably be longer, but I just don’t want to do it. >_> Each chapter will be a separate fic and won’t be related to any of the other chapters, and I’ll post chapter specific warnings in the notes. See the end of the work for more notes ***** Carry Me Home Tonight ***** Chapter Summary Every month, Tony pays an exorbitant fee to an extremely discrete company that makes sure he is never without companionship when he wants it. Chapter Notes For the prompts “Proper use of first aid” (Cap_Ironman bingo) and “Undercover operation” (Avengers_Tables). Title from Fun's "We Are Young." Warnings: Escort!Steve, some blood and violence Word count: 1,400 Every month, Tony pays an exorbitant fee to an extremely discrete company that makes sure he is never without companionship when he wants it. He’s always been impressed by the employees they send over. Attractive obviously, but that’s the least of their qualifications. They’re well-read, knowledgeable on politics, philosophy, pop-culture, fluid dynamics, whatever he could want, he’s never been disappointed, and that’s saying something considering Tony can be a demanding son of a bitch, or so he’s been told. Steve though, Steve is special, and the fact that he thinks so is enough to make him bury his head in his hands and groan. Somehow, he’s developed a little bit of a crush on an escort, and isn’t that the biggest laugh in the world? He blames Steve completely. It’s his fault for being so good-looking and funny and kind and hell, stubborn and opinionated and sexy—did he mention the sexy? Because damn. Damn. He once spent the whole time he’d reserved having Steve try on one outfit after another—with Tony in the room the whole time, he’s not stupid—and they’d never even gotten to the sex. Well. Okay. Maybe he’s a little stupid. But he still doesn’t regret the fashion show. Steve had been reluctant to accept the clothes afterward—it was against company policy or something else equally inane—which Tony had found oddly endearing (but then, he finds everything Steve does endearing, and he’s going to make himself gag, he really is), but he’d insisted. He likes seeing Steve in nice clothes, likes peeling him out of them even more, and Tony can admit that he gets a bit of a thrill knowing Steve’s wearing them especially for him. Besides, if nothing else, it’s something for Steve to remember him by. Tony’s not naïve enough to think Steve feels the same way. He's exchanging money for a service when all is said and done, and while he likes to think that Steve’s enjoyed himself during their time together—actually Tony knows he’s enjoyed himself because Steve comes like a fucking geyser—he knows it can’t last. That’s why he’s cancelled their appointment tonight. Rather than wait for Steve to notice he’s gotten too attached, he’s decided to end it. Time to move on to bigger and better things. Or if not that, then at the very least, it’s time to move on to something else. Tony takes a sip from his tumbler, staring into the fireplace and reminiscing about the first time Steve had come over. They’d ended up sitting in these chairs, drinking and talking, and after a couple of hours, it’d somehow turned into a drinking contest, with Tony confident that he could put Steve under the table without too much trouble because while Steve was bigger, he’d had years of practice on his side. The next thing he’d known, he’d been waking up in his bed with the mother of all hangovers and a note on the pillow saying Steve had had a wonderful evening but maybe Tony should learn how to handle his liquor. It was that cheekiness that had gotten Tony to ask for him again. And then one thing had led to another, and suddenly they’re spending nearly every day in each other’s company, and they’re fucking over every conceivable surface, and Tony has to remind himself that they’re not dating, he’s paying for this, and Steve’s smiles aren’t meant just for him. It’s nice to pretend for a while though. He raises his glass in a silent toast to the vacant seat across from him. It’s the only reason he sees the shape out of the corner of his eye. Tony dives out of the chair at the same time as he hears the muffled shot, and he lets out a pained gasp at the sudden intense burn in his shoulder, rolling as far away as he can, knowing his chances of getting out of this with just a scar to impress the ladies are slim to none. “Tony? Tony?” Well, this is unexpected, he thinks, as Steve comes barreling into the room wearing skin-tight leather, and maybe it’s shock setting in, but the foremost thought in Tony’s mind is that he didn’t buy him that. Steve throws himself at the gunman, dodging the first bullet and deflecting the second with a—is that a shield? The assassin doesn’t have time for a third, and wow. If Tony weren’t bleeding out on the floor, he’d be so turned on right now. “What are you doing?” Tony grits out as Steve kneels next to him, talking into a little radio that Tony really wants to get a closer look at, although maybe not right this second, the wound like another heartbeat in his shoulder, pulsing and pulsing. He’s putting as much pressure on it as possible, and perhaps he’s biased against watching his blood run through his fingers, but it doesn’t look good. “What am I doing?” Steve asks, and Tony shouts as Steve covers his hand with his own, pressing down, and shit, that hurts. There goes Steve’s tip for the night, fucking hell. “What were you thinking canceling tonight? I was already downtown by the time I got the call! I could’ve been too late! I could’ve been—” “Hey, I’m fine, it’s okay—” “You are not fine!” Steve tears at Tony’s shirt with his free hand, something Tony would normally be down with, but what with having just been shot and all—oh, ha, yeah. He groans as Steve applies the makeshift bandage, everything turning hazy around the edges from the pain, and it’s all he can do to not throw up. When Steve lifts him off the ground, it’s a relief to let go, the blackness sucking him under, down and down and down. ----- “So,” Tony says. He stares at the flowers in Steve’s hand, at the clothes he’s wearing that have spent more time on the floor of his house than on Steve whenever he’s come over, and he doesn’t know what any of it means. He’s been briefed. Death threats, corporate espionage, possible terrorists, the need for a bodyguard, blah, blah, blah. He gets it. What he doesn’t understand is the guilty, vaguely hopeful look on Steve’s face. “Tony. I’m sorry.” “For what?” he asks and wonders if he could play the “recuperating from a near- fatal bullet wound card” and pretend to fall asleep. “You were just doing your—” “I’m sorry,” Steve repeats, taking a step closer to Tony’s bed. “I wanted to tell you the truth—” “You don’t have to apologize,” he says, plucking at the thin hospital blankets. “You saved my life—” “It wasn’t all fake—” “Which parts, Steve?” he bursts out, and he doesn’t mean to, he wasn’t going to get into this. Tony knows that he shouldn’t be angry, or at the very least, he shouldn’t be this angry. It’s not like it was ever real considering he’d been paying Steve to spend time with him, and in the end, Steve had saved his life. He knows, but he can’t help feeling deceived, can’t stop thinking that even though it’d been a business transaction, it’d been an honest one, something he’d entered with his eyes open, and if he’d been crazy enough to fall in love, well, it was no one’s fault but his own. But this? “Which parts weren’t a lie?” Luckily for him, the nurse comes in just as Steve’s about to respond. Unluckily, she tells them that it’s just a standard checkup and that Steve can stay if he wants to, but Tony says, “No, he’s done. He was just leaving.” And Steve goes. ----- “I’m going to bring the car up,” Happy says, and Tony nods, signing the last of his discharge papers. Except when he walks outside, it’s not Happy waiting for him, but Steve, standing in front of a Prius, and of course he drives a Prius. Of course he does. “Hi, Tony,” Steve says, wearing clothes that Tony definitely did not buy him because they are ugly, like seriously ugly, and really, that's what Steve buys with his own money? He looks like an overgrown puppy, staring at Tony with big, soulful eyes and a downcast expression and damn it. Damn it. “I can’t believe you’re picking me up in a Prius,” he sighs, and the dawning happiness on Steve’s face makes his heart clench in his chest. ***** His Blue Boy ***** Chapter Summary Fandral referred to Loki as his “Blue Boy,” which, considering how long they’ve been at war with Jotunheim, was far kinder than Thor had any reason to expect. Chapter Notes For the avengers_tables prompt “fulfilling a prophesy/destiny.” Word count: 930 Fandral referred to Loki as his “Blue Boy,” which, considering how long they’ve been at war with Jotunheim, was far kinder than Thor had any reason to expect. Not that he’d thought much of kindness in the beginning as he’d looked down at the blue, wrinkled infant, eyes the color of heart’s blood staring back at him. Then, he’d been angry and bitter that duty required so much of him, certain that the marriage was a punishment for his father’s sins, for even if their union brought peace to their realms, it would mean ruin for him. Give him time, Thor. He is but a babe, and you scarcely older. You will learn to love each other. At the time, he hadn’t thought to question whether his mother spoke those words as reassurance or as prophecy, but he wondered now what she had seen of their life together. He had asked years later, but as with all her visions, she had held the knowledge tight to her bosom and refused to answer. His Blue Boy. If only it were so. Thor could recall when he first began to view Loki as more than a burden, when Loki’s quick way with words turned from being something he scorned to something he admired. It’d been during one of their annual visits, three hours of cold and inactivity as Loki read from some heavy tome and Thor seethed over the injustice of his companions going on a week-long hunting trip without him. A wager then, son of Odin? Something to keep you from stomping around the room, huffing like some great, wounded beast. A feat of strength, Loki had said. Of course, it was only after Thor had been toppled to the ground by magic that Loki had explained it wasn’t necessarily a feat of physical strength. How wroth he’d been with Loki at the time, accusing him of cheating and muttering vile deprecations of his honor, but months after, when he’d thought back to the stripling of a boy that had defeated him, he’d found himself smiling. And so it had begun. As the years went by, he’d gone from dreading their encounters to tolerating them to eagerly anticipating each and every meeting, pacing in front of the Bifrost and counting the minutes until his father arrived to accompany him, as was agreed. Before Loki, the only knowledge he’d had of the Jotun were through warriors’ accounts—that ice flowed in their veins; that they drank the blood of their enemies; that they would sooner tear off their own limbs than show mercy or kindness to another—and while he’d realized that embellishment was part of any good story, all the talebearers were in agreement that Jotun were fierce fighters, proud, and monstrous in form and power. After being with Loki year after year after year, he’d learned also that they appreciated beauty, from the perfection of a snowflake to the stark monoliths carved from ice that made up their home; that they possessed a sense of humor that was at times gentle as well as cruel; that their touch could burn in such a way that made him ache for more. He watched as Loki grew, his muscles filling out and the clumsy awkwardness of a colt turning into the confident power of a stallion. Long accustomed to the unforgiving climate of their planet, Jotun eschewed most clothing, save what modesty dictated, and there came a time when Thor yearned to touch that exposed flesh, to trace the scars that marked Loki as a warrior with his hands as well as his eyes. And Loki? Who knew what he wanted. Not Thor, who couldn’t understand his mercurial shifts of temper, who arrived early to their meetings, only for Loki to make him wait. He didn’t know what it meant that Loki watched him more and smiled less as the years progressed but would stand so close that Thor could mark the passing of the minutes by his steady breaths. “Your Blue Boy has you wrapped around his finger, Thor. Have a care that he never discovers this and be tempted to abuse that power,” Fandral had said once, his tone light, but his eyes without humor. Thor had nodded in recognition of the words, but even then, it’d been too late. There was nothing he could hide from Loki, his feelings least of all. When he’d seen Loki for the first time, he’d thought their marriage would be the end of him. Now that he knew him better, he wondered even more if it would be true. “You are a fool,” Loki said, and Thor couldn’t help himself. He reached out, cupping his precious face in his hand, marveling at the ability to do so freely and without harm. He mourned the loss of blue, even though Loki had informed him it was not a permanent change. Still, it felt almost a betrayal to find this pink-skinned version of him as appealing as he did. “And I, doubly so, for your idiocy excuses you, but I previously had no such failing to blame for my feelings for you. Perchance it is madness. Or your brand of foolishness is contagious perhaps.” “Do you mean it?” Thor asked, searching his eyes for the truth. “That you are a fool? Yes, there can be no doubt.” “Loki,” he pleaded, sliding his fingers down to clutch at Loki’s tunic and dropping his head to his shoulder. He heard and felt Loki’s sigh, his hand coming up to slowly stroke his hair. “Yes. Yes, and that, too.” ***** Perfect for Me ***** Chapter Summary Tony used to kill people from a distance. Chapter Notes Warnings: Non-superhero AU, blood, violence, and minor and major character death. For the prompts “Dark fic” (Cap_Ironman Bingo) and “Soulmates” (Avengers_Tables). Word count: 1,030 Tony used to kill people from a distance. It was safer that way. They were less likely to be able to fight back, it reduced the chance of any potential witnesses, and the likelihood of getting splatter on his clothes went down to nil. But it was boring. Fucking boring. It was like playing the same video game over and over again, but there were no bosses to fight, and the only points were the ones he gave himself. Hmmm, maybe he should’ve created a theme song? Had JARVIS call out “Fatality!” or something equally ridiculous every time he—anyway, getting distracted. The object was to get some damn excitement in his life, and killing just wasn’t doing it for him anymore. He had everything he could ever want, fame, money, power, sex, and what was left? Drugs? Too many side-effects. He didn’t want to live a shorter life, or to spend all his time looking for the next hit or recovering from the last one. Inventing? There was nothing in the world to compare with envisioning new designs and making them into reality, and Tony would sooner die than have that ability taken away from him. But if it had been able to fill the void, he wouldn’t be where he was today. He needed something more. He’d toyed with idea of giving up killing, considered taking up, hell, knitting, or building a better spacecraft than anything NASA could put together and going to outer space, and given enough time, perhaps he would've even done it. But then he and Pepper had gotten into a big fight, and she'd made a passing comment about his problems with intimacy, and suddenly, it'd become a thing, and he'd been driving home an hour later, still fuming. He’d thought he’d been doing rather well actually. He had Pepper. And Rhodey. And he couldn’t forget Happy. That was three right there. Three was more than luck or coincidence. What did she know? Except he’d kept thinking about it, the argument popping up at odd times over the following week. Intimacy implied exposure, implied being open and vulnerable and that really was only fun during sex, and even then, it was better when he was on the other ends of things. It implied letting people see him for the man he was, and that was vaguely terrifying to be perfectly honest. He hadn’t had much luck with it in the past, what with people trying to take over his business and/or kill him, so yeah, maybe he did have a problem with intimacy, but he kind of thought he was justified, all things considered. Who wanted to open up to someone and then wait to be stabbed in the back— Huh. Interesting. Who said . . . he had to be the one stabbed? The first time he’d killed someone up close, slitting a guy’s throat in the middle of the night, he’d kept eye contact the whole time. He’d seen the fear, the panic, the anger and denial, and he’d let his victim see him, too, the excitement of the hunt, the worry that he was going to be caught, the rush that went through him at the kill, and even the guilt that he was taking a life. The connection between the two of them had been amazing, profane and profound, and with the body still warm, he’d known that he’d wanted to do it again. He’d needed to do it again. He’d been shaking by the time he’d let the body drop to the ground, and he’d fumbled the knife, his hands covered in blood, so much fucking blood. He’d started crying at some point, when he didn’t know, maybe when he’d slid the knife in, or maybe when his victim had taken his last breath, but what did it matter really, and he’d had to use the back of his wrist to wipe at his nose, snot and blood smearing across the cuff of his five thousand dollar suit. He remembered thinking his drycleaner was going to be so annoyed about the stain. The thought had made him laugh so hard at the time that he’d stumbled and nearly sliced a chunk out of his leg. Nearly a year later, Tony couldn’t remember each of their faces, not after so many deaths. But this one . . . oh, there was something special about him. “Shhh,” he whispered, stroking blond hair away from his face, leaving behind streaks of vivid, gleaming red. He’d put up such a fight, even though Tony had taken him completely by surprise. And while Tony had won in the end, it had been more luck than skill, the fallen leaves and recent rain making everything slippery. As it was, he was going to have to get medical treatment for the cut on his chest, and something told him he’d carry the scar for the rest of his life. He stared down into blue eyes made brilliant by shock and horror, and he thought maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Just like with all the other deaths, the feeling of connection between the two of them was there, but it was magnified somehow with this guy. Like they were linked together. Like it was meant to be. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, even as the body in his arms starting to convulse. “I’ve got you.” He was glorious. Even now, he was still trying to push Tony away. No matter how many people Tony killed, he knew that he was never going to forget him. For a moment, he was almost regretful that he’d chosen him for his latest victim, that this would be all they’d ever have together. But then again, who was to say that he would ever have met him in the real world? That even if they had managed to find each other, that it would've lasted beyond a few months? Better that they should share this, Tony realized, a moment frozen in time, pure and perfect. “You . . .” the man whispered. “I’ve got you,” he said again, calming his thrashing, and watched the last light fade from his eyes. Beautiful. ***** It Should Be Easier Than This ***** Chapter Summary But what it boils down to is that there is a teenage version of himself from an alternate reality running around, and he spends about eighty percent of his time hitting on Tony. Chapter Notes For the prompts “Clones/doppelgangers/AU versions” (Cap_Ironman Bingo) and “kids or babies” (Avengers_Tables). Warnings: Underage pining, although nothing sexual happens; angst Word count: 530 (I know, it's so short! It's amazing! They were all supposed to be this short...) It makes him feel incredibly guilty, but Steve just doesn’t like him. Even if it is him. Just not . . . him. It’s all very confusing. But what it boils down to is that there is a teenage version of himself from an alternate reality running around, and he spends about eighty percent of his time hitting on Tony. His Tony. Well, not his Tony per se—they’re not dating or anything—but it’s his reality’s Tony, so it’s basically the same thing. The other Steve Rogers, however, is different. His mother had been hit by some type of alien ray on the way to the hospital to give birth, so he’s had all his abilities from the moment he was born. Super strength, faster healing, the only big difference it seems between the two of them is that he can fly. Which means he spends a lot of time in the air with Tony. Steve used to spend a lot of time in the air with Tony, though admittedly, it was with Tony carrying him, which was . . . which was nice actually, but SHIELD doesn't want the two of them to interact too much—better to be safe than sorry—so Steve's busy doing missions with the rest of the team while Tony keeps his other self company. They don’t want the younger Steve out in public or doing anything that'll draw attention, but they don't want to make him more agitated than he already is by keeping him isolated either. He’s been through enough of a traumatic experience already, and if he feels comforted by hanging around with Tony—never mind that he undresses Tony with his eyes every time he looks at him and that Tony is over twenty years older than he is—then the team can humor him until they figure out a way to get him back to his own universe. It can’t happen fast enough as far as Steve’s concerned. Which is horrible, he knows. He feelshorrible. He’s a horrible, horrible person. He can't believe he's being so uncharitable as to jealous of—no, not jealous, he’s not—he’s— He stares glumly at the far end of the room where Tony is showing the other Steve something, their heads bent over one of Tony’s numerous gadgets, their sides pressed together. He’s gotten used to this body, being able to run without breaking a sweat, ducking whenever he walks under a low doorway, holding onto cups and pens and what-have-you with a soft and careful grip, it’s all second nature to him now. But he remembers what it was like before, and there’s a part of him that just can’t believe that someone like Tony—handsome, funny, brilliant Tony—would ever look twice at him. Inside, he’s still that scrawny kid from Brooklyn who never won a fight or stole a single kiss, and okay, yes, he’s jealous. Because that Steve never had to deal with being a sickly, ninety pound weakling and flirts with Tony as easily as breathing, while this Steve sits on the sidelines and wishes like anything that Tony would pay half as much attention to him. ***** I Will For You ***** Chapter Summary “Floral, Steve? Floral?” Chapter Notes I have committed fluff. There’s no excuse for this. *hangs head in shame* For the prompts “shopping for curtains” (Avengers_Tables) and “kink: rushed sex” (Cap_Ironman Bingo). Word count: 1,050 “What do you think of this one?” Tony frowned, bouncing lightly on the cushion. “Too hard. You know I like taking naps on the couch, and there's no way I'll be able to fall asleep on this. And the fabric’s scratchy, too. It’s like you don’t want me to be rested, Steve,” he accused. “Well, you could always try sleeping on the bed for a change,” he said, shaking his head. “Shocking, I know, but most people seem to like it.” “It stifles my creative spirit. Next!” Steve sighed, but he followed Tony as he surveyed the other offerings in the store. “What about that—” “You can’t be serious. That’s just ugly.” “Well, what about—” “Floral, Steve? Floral?” “It’s not so bad,” Steve muttered defensively, but yeah, okay, it really was. When Tony had asked him to move in with him, he’d been so happy. It was a big step, and they’d only known each other for three months, but it felt right with Tony, had from the very beginning. They were so good together, and he’d wanted that commitment, wanted to be able to say he was going home to Tony, to their home, and know that Tony would say the same. But the more shopping they did, the more he started wondering if maybe they were taking things too fast. “What about that one?” he asked, pointing to a piece that he knew Tony wouldn’t like, but there were only three couches left that Tony hadn’t insulted, and by golly, they were walking out of the store with a couch if he had to sit on Tony until he picked the one he disliked the least. “Are you kidding me?” Tony moved closer until he could whisper in Steve’s ear. “That looks like it’d fall apart the first time you tried to fuck me over the back of it. We need something . . . sturdier.” Steve swallowed. Maybe Tony was right. There was nothing wrong with being selective after all. Three hours later though, they’d gone through six stores without purchasing even a measly decorative item, and Steve’s patience was reaching its limit. “What about these curtains?” he asked grimly, wondering what Tony would say about them, too thin, too thick, too frilly, they didn’t fall aesthetically enough, what, what could possibly be wrong about them? “I don’t like the pattern,” Tony said dismissively. “It makes me look fat.” And that was it. He was done. He was so done. He grabbed Tony’s wrist, dragging him into the bathroom that was one aisle down. “Look,” he said, shutting the stall door closed and glaring at a mutinous Tony. “If you didn’t want me to move in with you, why did you even ask—” “If I didn’t—you think I—what are you even talking about?” “What else am I supposed to think, Tony?” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest as if that would keep the hurt pinned inside. “The whole point of today was to find furniture together that we’d then put in the home where we lived together, because we wanted to be together. But you keep rejecting everything, and you could’ve just told me that you’d changed your mind about moving in with me instead of going through this—” “That couch,” Tony said, hitting the wall, “that stupid, cheap Ikea couch you own is the first place we ever had sex! Every time I go over to your apartment, I sit on that couch, and you come over and force me to cuddle, and there’s that dip in the middle from the number of times we’ve fucked on it, and it’s old and uncomfortable, but I always fall asleep on it, and maybe I don’t want to throw that damn couch out, Steve! Maybe I want to keep it, alright? And those curtains you were looking at? The ones that look like they’re straight out of some damn issue of Better Homes and Gardens? Maybe I like the ten dollar ones we had to buy when your neighbor across the street nearly had a heart attack seeing us making breakfast naked! Maybe I like having those reminders of our—” Steve yanked him close, twisting his fingers into his hair and kissing him until he couldn't breathe properly, until all he could taste and touch and feel was Tony, and it was fitting that he'd taken over his senses, the same way he'd taken over everything else in Steve's life. Had he really thought he'd be okay if Tony hadn't wanted to be with him? Had he really thought that'd be possible? But no matter how caught up he was in Tony’s kisses, reality eventually reasserted itself when he jammed his elbow against the stall a few too many times. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he said, his hand down Tony’s pants. “There were only two other couples in the store. They’ll notice we’re missing—” “No way,” Tony said, shimmying the rest of the way out of his clothes and making Steve lose his train of thought. “We’re in the back corner of the building. They won’t start looking for us for at least another five minutes. Plenty of time.” Fifteen minutes later, they stood outside the front doors, flushed and still sticky with sweat, and Steve moaned, covering his face with his hand, "I can't believe we got kicked out!" Tony laughed. "Think of it as just one more first time that we got to experience together. Besides, they didn’t really kick us out, just suggested that if we were finished shopping that we should enjoy the beautiful day outside.” “I’m sorry you had to spend so much money,” Steve said, referring to all the furniture Tony had purchased in order to soothe the manager’s anger. “Don’t worry about it,” Tony said, shrugging. The movement made Steve realize to his horror that Tony’s buttons didn’t match up to the right holes. How had he missed that? No wonder she’d kept staring at Tony’s chest. “It’s an investment anyway. We’re going to be breaking a lot more couches and tables and beds in the years to come,” he said, reaching out to hold Steve’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “Might as well be prepared.” ***** You're Purrfect ***** Chapter Summary “What just happened?” Steve asks as he stares at the black kitten sitting in the spot where Tony used to be. Chapter Notes This is me, being silly and trying to get back into the writing Avengers mood. :) For the “magical transformation” square of avengers_tables and the “cute fluffy animals” square of cap_ironman bingo. Cheesy title is cheesy. Word count: 794 “What just happened?” Steve asks as he stares at the black kitten sitting in the spot where Tony used to be, the armor lying in pieces around it. SHIELD agents are running around, shouting about where Loki just disappeared to, but he has more important things to worry about. “It seems my brother is attempting to distract us from searching for him,” Thor says, looking oddly sheepish. “Be not troubled, friend Steve. Loki’s transformation spells were always for mischief and not harm, and they never lasted longer than the time it took the sun to travel across the sky.” “This isn’t permanent? Tony will change back by tonight?” he asks, crouching down and tentatively reaching one hand out. “Of course, that was on Asgard. I believe it is equal to four of your Earth days.” “What?” Tony chooses that moment to pounce and ferociously attack Thor’s cape. ----- Tony as a kitten is surprisingly adorable. He likes to go around demanding affection from all the Avengers, winding between his chosen victim’s feet, tripping them if necessary and even nipping at their ankles until they pick him up and start petting him. Then he purrs loudly and smugly, flexing his claws in warning if they seem like they’re getting ready to stop giving him the attention he deserves. Steve is his apparent favorite. Tony can spend hours on his lap, purring all the while and hissing at anyone who gets too close. Steve tries to lecture Tony on the importance of sharing, but it doesn’t seem to take. Tony just stares at him, unblinking, and then flops on his back, meowing for cuddles. Steve would like to say he resists Tony’s blatant manipulation, but truthfully, he folds each and every time, rubbing Tony’s belly and possibly cooing at him and saying embarrassing things like, “Who’s a sweet boy? You are; yes, you are!” He can’t help the fact that he thinks Tony is unbearably cute. Steve doesn’t know if that’s a step up or a step down from his normal state of finding Tony attractive, but it’s not like he has a say in the matter either way. Tony has a habit of getting under a person’s skin and then making himself at home, and Steve is not immune. At least with cat-Tony, Steve doesn’t have to worry about not touching him, and he doesn’t know who enjoys their petting sessions more. It’s just really relaxing stroking Tony. He’s soft and affectionate, and Steve kind of wants to keep him, although obviously, he wants regular Tony back more. “I miss the real you,” he tells cat-Tony quietly, and cat-Tony butts his head against Steve’s fingers in reply. ----- “Who keeps turning on the television for you?” Steve asks as he walks into the common room and sees Tony sitting in front of the huge screen, jumping and batting at the moving objects. There’s no one else in the room besides the two of them. “Sitting this close to the television can’t be good for you. And what if it falls down? You’d be squished,” he says and turns it off. Tony yowls and jumps down, heading toward the book case. “Oh no you don’t,” Steve says and picks him up. One of Tony’s favorite games is to jump onto unsuspecting people’s heads as they pass by, and Clint has threatened to dropkick him if he does it one more time. Steve doesn’t think he’d actually go through with it but better to be safe than sorry. “What am I going to do with you?” he sighs as he rubs under Tony’s chin. Tony just purrs. ----- It’s nearly a week before Tony turns back to normal. Darn it, Thor. Steve goes to sleep with cat-Tony asleep on the pillow next to him, and he wakes with a very naked, very affectionate human-Tony on his chest, licking up Steve’s neck and making rumbly sounds in the back of his throat. “Tony?” he gasps and realizes he’s got his arms wrapped around Tony. He lets go in a hurry and tries to shift away, but that’s when he realizes he’s very happy to see Tony, and okay, there’s no way he’s going to hide that. Of course, Tony isn’t trying to hide that he’s happy to see Steve either, but it’s the principle of the matter. “Did you know that you talk about me a lot?” Tony asks, biting down briefly and making Steve jerk. “Seriously, a lot.” “D-do I?” he asks and somehow his arms have gone around Tony again without him even noticing. “I like it,” Tony says, lifting his head up enough to grin down at Steve. “I like you,” Steve says helplessly and Tony grins even wider. “I know. I like you, too.” ***** I am not there, I do not sleep ***** Chapter Summary “My . . . my car broke down about two miles east of town,” the man said, oddly tentative even though his eyes were running all over Tony like he didn’t know where to look first but couldn’t bear to miss any of it. “The sheriff said I should come here, that you can fix just about anything.” Chapter Notes For my “mind control” (cap_ironmang bingo) and “not really dead” (avengers_tables) squares. Title from the poem “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye. This has been sitting on my computer for like a year, and I realized I'm never going to write more, so why not post it as short fic? Yay, short fic! Word count: 1,144 Tony looked up when the door opened, the little bell hanging from the handle jangling cheerfully, making him sigh. Clara claimed the door needed a bell so she could know when people came in even if she was in the back room; he was just as insistent that it didn’t, especially since more often than not, whoever came in announced themselves with a “Hey, Clara!” anyway. For each one he took down, however, Clara put another one up, and it’d somehow become a contest of wills between the two of them. Of course, the fact that a bell had just announced a new customer even though he hadn’t seen Clara by the door all day indicated that—at least for the moment—he seemed to be losing. Damn it. “Can I help you?” he asked, his eyebrows rising as he took in the view. Tall, blond, handsome in that clean-cut, boy-next-door type of way with enough muscle to make the button-down shirt he was wearing stretch appealingly across his chest, why it had to be Tony’s lucky day. “My . . . my car broke down about two miles east of town,” the man said, oddly tentative even though his eyes were running all over Tony like he didn’t know where to look first but couldn’t bear to miss any of it. “The sheriff said I should come here, that you can fix just about anything.” Now, Tony got his share of appreciative looks all the time, and he liked nothing more than to flirt a little to break up the tedium of the day, but there was something about this guy that was making him tense up and not in the good way; something . . . off. “We do alright,” he said, his voice brusque. “Well, I would really appreciate it if you could take a look,” the stranger said, and he smiled. Damn. Off or not, he had a good smile, wide and adorable like a basket full of puppies, and it made Tony want to clutch at his chest just a little bit. “My name’s Steve by the way,” the guy said, sticking his hand out, palm tilted up slightly instead of to the side, like he was expecting Tony to give him something, or like he was asking for something from him. And he wasn’t looking at him all funny anymore, but he was still looking at him, all bright baby blues and sincere smile, and if Tony had thought that having him look into his eyes would be better than having him stare everywhere else, then he’d been wrong. He hesitated for a second before replying, “Tony,” and slapped his hand into Steve’s, giving it a quick shake. Tony’s fingers spasmed in Steve’s grip for no good reason, and Tony jerked back, curling his hand into a fist that he hid beneath the counter. “Welcome to Jackson, Steve!” he said to cover his reaction, which no matter his gift for gab, he wouldn’t have been able to explain for the life of him. “I’m guessing you’ve already seen most of the sights, but in case you haven’t, don’t blink as you’re walking down Main, otherwise you’ll miss all that the town has to offer. There’s a diner about four blocks south of here that I’d personally recommend if you’re in the mood for burnt coffee and excellent chocolate cake. It’s nothing fancy, and do not order the meatloaf under any condition, but you should be safe with just about anything else. It’s the best place to wait while I tow your car in, and I’ll come get you after I’ve taken a look.” “I was actually hoping I could ride out with you—” “No can do, I’m afraid. The passenger-side seat belt isn’t working, and I’m waiting for parts,” he said, not even feeling bad for lying, because the last thing he needed was to sit next to Mr. Cute But Creepy for any length of time. “Oh. Well, could I just wait here then?” “Sorry, company rules, can’t leave customers unattended. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your car. I haven’t damaged a car loading it or unloading since my first week here. Maybe second.” “Really? How long have you been working here?” Steve asked as he passed over his keys, a level of interest in his voice that went beyond curiosity, even factoring Tony’s joke. “Almost two years now,” he said, even though it’d been closer to six months. He pasted on a smile. “But I’ve worked on cars my whole life.” “So you’re not a native to the city?” “No, I have a bit of a wandering streak. What about you, Steve? Where are you headed to?” he asked, holding the keys up, flashing the Hertz logo back at him. “I’m visiting a friend of mine up in Rathburn,” Steve said, mentioning the town two hours north. “A mutual friend of ours died a little over a year ago,” he said, his voice rough, his gaze disturbingly hungry as he stared at Tony, “and Nick’s been after me to stop moping and come by for months now, so I thought I’d finally do it. Look where it got me though.” “Yeah,” Tony said slowly, wondering what the hell was up with the guy. “You gotta make sure you get a car that can handle all these mountains.” He could feel his eye start twitching, and fuck, he hoped one of his headaches wasn’t coming on. “Are you okay?” Steve asked as a sudden flare of pain made Tony wince, his hand going to his temple. Looked like today wasn’t his lucky day after all. “What? Yeah, no, it’s fine. I just . . . migraines,” he said, because that was easier to say than explaining that he got headaches sometimes that came and went for no reason, sometimes weak, sometimes strong enough to knock him out, and they refused to respond to any drug, even the prescription-strength ones Doc had given him. “Migraines? Have you always had those?” Tony’s eyes were closed, but he could hear the change in Steve’s voice, hear the sudden and inexplicable interest. There was something wrong with this guy, and Tony had the strongest urge to get away, to leave as fast as his truck could take him, no matter if it meant abandoning all his things and running off without even saying goodbye to the people who’d taken care of him when he’d stumbled into town, alone and penniless. “For a while now, yeah.” He forced himself to straighten and ignore the pain. “This one’s not that bad though, although it might take me a little longer to get back than I’d initially thought. Two miles east of town? I’ll get the truck,” he said and started figuring out the route he should take in order to get away. ***** Take Another Little Piece of My Heart Now, Baby ***** Chapter Summary “I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch. Chapter Notes For the prompts “marriage proposals” (cap_ironman bingo) and "pretending to be a couple" (avengers_tables). Just another one of those fics that have been sitting around for forever and won't ever be finished. Apparently I have a lot more of these than I thought. Title from the song “Piece of My Heart” sung by Janis Joplin. Word count: 2,669 See the end of the chapter for more notes “I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch. “And why would we do that?” Steve asked, only pausing long enough for the springs to settle before he resumed sketching. “Because we’re madly in love!” Hmm. He tilted his head. Was there something wrong with the hands? The perspective seemed off. “Because we’re in like?” Maybe it was the shadowing. A little too much on top and not enough— “Because I will pay you tons and tons of money?” Steve sighed, lowering his pad. “Tony—” “Come on, Steve, come on,” Tony whined, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and looking up at him pitifully. “Can’t you do this teeny tiny favor for me?” “I’m not marrying you,” he said, ignoring the way his heart twinged in protest, because he’d been half in love with Tony for almost a year now, and he would never have dreamed he’d be saying those words right now. Oh, stop, he thought at it, annoyed and wistful. He’s not serious, and you’re being ridiculous. “Why not?” Tony asked, looking baffled. “Why not?” He lightly smacked Tony on the head with his sketchpad and stood up, taking a few steps before turning around to face him. He normally enjoyed Tony’s lack of respect for personal boundaries—too much sometimes—but at that moment, he needed some distance between them. “There are so many reasons why I won’t marry you, Tony, so many.” “Name one!” “How about we’re not even dating!” “See, there’s a remedy for that! Steve, will you go out on a really long date with me that starts with dinner and ends in front of a judge—” “I can’t believe you,” he said, even though this was Tony, so actually he could. “What is this about, Tony? Really.” Tony’s face scrunched up. “I may have told my parents that I got married,” he mumbled. “What?” “You don’t know my parents, Steve,” Tony said darkly. “It’s always something with them. ‘What do you mean it’s going to take you two years to graduate college and three to get your doctorate? You want to start your own company? Why would you do that when you could take over after your father? You’re only bringing in ten million a year; how do you survive? Do you have to wear sunglasses all the time? You look like a drug dealer.’” He sniffed. “As if I could ever look anything other than amazing. Seriously, it never ends with them. When they started hinting about the marriage thing, I thought—I just wanted to get them off my back, you know?” “But . . . but what does that have to do with me?” he asked plaintively while thinking, Ten million a year? Holy crap. “It has everything to do with you, Steve. Dear Steve. Dear, sweet, helpful Steve.” “No. No, Tony. Why not Pepper? Or Natasha? Wouldn’t it make more sense to ask one of them?” “Oh, I told my parents years ago that I was gay. Had to head them off at the pass about the whole grandkid thing. Stroke of genius if I do say so myself.” He opened his mouth to say something, but . . . he really didn’t know how to respond to that. It made so much Tony-sense that Steve couldn’t even berate him. “I’m not marrying you,” he repeated instead, trying to infuse the words with as much conviction as possible. “That’s okay,” Tony said, still looking hopefully at him. “I don’t think they believed me when I said I eloped and got married by Elvis anyway. What if we just say we’re engaged?” “And I don’t want to lie to your parents!” he said, scandalized, and glared at the way Tony’s lips turned up. “Alright, what about just boyfriends then?” Tony said, giving in so easily that Steve had the irritating certainty that that had been exactly what Tony had been hoping for all along. “That’s not really lying. We’re friends. And we’re boys. Well, men. Manly men even. So manfriends then. Except manfriends sounds a little raunchy, but maybe that’s just me.” He rubbed his face with his free hand. “Are your parents coming to town or something?” “No, it’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. They’re throwing a big party, everyone’s invited, and as the only child, I’m expected to show up. We’d fly out tomorrow, be back the day after that. If you agreed,” he added, and Steve knew, just knew that Tony had already purchased the tickets for the both of them. “Come on, Steve, you’ll love it,” Tony said, the wheedling full force in his voice. “My parents are staying in LA for the winter, and it’s beautiful out there. No black snow on the ground or people resembling the Michelin Man because of all the layers they’re wearing. Just gorgeous beaches and gorgeous people with tons of food and a tub in your bathroom so big, you could swim in it. I’ll even fly you first class. You’ll be in the lap of luxury the whole time.” Rather than admitting the only gorgeous person or view he wanted was the one right in front of him, Steve said, “Tony, you know I don’t care about that sort of thing.” “You’re right, I do know, and seriously, what is wrong with you? How are we even friends?” Steve smiled reluctantly, because Tony always made him smile, even when he was driving him crazy. “Why can’t you ask someone else? Clint, I bet, would love to have an all- expense-paid weekend in—” Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Are you kidding? Me and Clint? Alone? For a whole weekend? We’d kill each other. Besides, my parents would never buy it.” “But they’d believe you and I were together?” he asked. “Well, I don’t know if they’d do that either, but they’d certainly hope,” Tony said, laughing. “Come on, Steve, you’re like a mother’s wet dream, polite, handsome, sincere. Any girl—or guy—would be lucky to take you home to the family.” Steve tried to resist, he did, tried to ignore Tony’s hangdog expression and harden his resolve, but it was pointless. He’d known he was going to go along with whatever Tony wanted as soon as he’d barged into his apartment. “What about Rhodey?” he asked in a last-ditch effort to save his sanity. “They’ve known Rhodey for years. They know he knows better.” “Or, or Bruce? Or Thor—yeah, okay, not Thor.” “C’mon, Steve. When do I ever ask you for anything?” He glared. “You’re right, wrong tactic. Please,” he said, brown eyes large and soulful, and jeez, why couldn’t he say no to him? “It would mean a lot to me.” “This is such a bad idea,” he said, shoulders slumping. “Great!” Tony sprang to his feet. “You won’t regret this, Steve, you’ll see!” “I already regret it,” he muttered. “I’ll text you with the details for tomorrow,” Tony said, already heading for the door. While Steve would’ve liked to think Tony hadn’t heard him, it was more likely that he’d chosen to ignore him since he’d already gotten his way. “Don’t worry about taking anything nice. I’ve got it covered. Thank you, Steve, love, darling, light o’ my life!” “Tony—” “See you tomorrow!” he called, slamming the door behind him and leaving Steve’s apartment that much dimmer in his absence. “I guess I’m going to LA,” Steve said to the empty room after a long moment and went to go pack. ----- Steve was standing outside his door at seven in the morning when Tony—scratch that, when Tony’s driver came by. He said good morning to Happy and peered into the backseat where Tony was sprawled, nursing a huge cup of coffee, sunglasses firmly in place. “Did you sleep at all?” Steve asked, voice heavy with resignation. “Sleep is for wimps,” Tony said, handing Steve a blueberry muffin and a cup of chai tea and simultaneously avoiding the question. “If by wimps you mean normal, sane people, then yes, you’re right.” “Who wants to be normal?” Tony asked, taking a large drink of what Steve knew was not his first coffee of the morning. He shuddered to think how much caffeine was flowing through his bloodstream. “You should take a nap; otherwise you’ll scare your parents when you land. You know how you get when you’re tired.” “Pffft, you think they aren’t used to this by now? Where do you think I got it from in the first place?” “Oh no,” Steve said, dawning horror plain in his voice. “Are there three of you?” Tony started snickering, which wasn’t encouraging at all actually. “Don’t worry, Steve, we’re only going to be there one night. I’ll protect you from those big, scary workaholics. Ooh, speaking of which, you know they’re going to want to grill you.” “Don’t remind me. I don’t know how you convinced me—” “It’s not going to be that bad! I’ll be there, too, and I’ll field all the difficult questions. Just . . . be yourself. It’ll be fine. And, um, don’t flinch or anything when I kiss you. Okay, so that’s it then,” Tony said, leaning forward to put his cup into a holder “Tony,” Steve said, dragging him back by his collar. “What do you mean when you kiss me?” “It’s not a big deal, just a few smooches here and there. You won’t even notice.” “How am I supposed to not notice when you’re kissing me?” he asked, his voice coming out strained even to his own ears, because seriously. Seriously. “Hey! Don’t make it sound like such a hardship! I’ll have you know I’m a very good kisser!” The last thing—the very last thing—Steve needed to think about was Tony and his mouth and how good he was with it. “As a matter of fact, I can tie two cherry stems into knots at the same time, so—” Thankfully, Happy chose that moment to lower the privacy window, because who knew what Steve would’ve said to that. “The pilot just called. They’re expecting an hour’s delay because of the weather. You want me to stop somewhere, or would you prefer to keep going?” “Mmm, let’s just keep going. The chef said he’d make those cream puffs Steve likes so much, so we can munch on those while we’re waiting. And before you ask, Happy, don’t worry, I told him to pack an extra box for you.” “Oooh, cream puffs,” Steve heard as the screen went back up, the car picking up speed. “Wait, pilot? Chef?” “Uh, didn’t I mention?” Tony asked, eyes going all shifty. “We’re taking my personal jet.” “Tony,” Steve groaned. “I told you I’d fly you first class—” “There’s first class, Tony, and then there’s having a whole airplane to ourselves!” Tony folded his arms, his expression indicating Steve was ruining his fun. Not that Steve cared. “I don’t want you spending money on me—” “I’m not spending it on you! I’m spending it on me! You just happen to be coming along for the ride.” “Tony,” he began, rubbing his face. “Look, it’s just a preference thing, alright? I like my own space. I like following my own rules. I’m not the type of person who takes ‘you are now free to move around in the cabin’ and ‘turn off all cellular and portable devices’ well. Do I seem like that type of person? Because if you think I am, we really need to reconsider whether we can pull this off.” “Fine, alright, fine,” Steve sighed. “I get it. I’ll stop complaining.” “Thank you.” Tony drummed his fingers against his knee. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should also probably warn you about the stripper poles. Don’t worry though, I’ve told them no in-flight entertainment is needed today.” “Tony,” he began in an appalled tone of voice. “You don’t have—” “No, no, no, there’s no actual stripping!” Tony said, holding his hands up. “They just dance! I dance, too! We all dance. Together! As a matter of fact, if the mood hits you, I could have them play something especially for you—” “I am not going to dance on the plane!” “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Tony said, adjusting his sunglasses and avoiding Steve’s gaze. He eventually pulled out his phone and started tapping away at it, leaving Steve to entertain himself. Try as he might though, Steve couldn’t stop himself from eventually asking, “Stripper poles? Really?” “Would you believe I was very drunk?” “Sadly, yes.” “Good, let’s go with that then.” ----- Tony did finally end up sleeping when they were an hour into the flight, slumping down in his chair even though he’d told Steve the seats reclined to a completely horizontal position. Steve tried to focus on the book he’d brought, but it wasn’t long before he was turning his seat toward him and watching, taking it all in. There’d always been something about Tony that got to him. The first time they’d met had been at Pepper’s birthday party, Tony stumbling in as most people were getting ready to leave. Steve had thought he’d been drunk from the way he was acting and had pulled him aside, telling him off for being rude and obnoxious on Pepper’s special day. Tony, it had turned out, had been caught up in one of his fits of genius, going without sleep for almost seventy-two hours and not realizing what day it was until the third time JARVIS had reminded him he was late. He’d gotten two tickets for speeding on his way over and almost gotten another one for annoying the second officer so much. He’d also been the one paying for Pepper’s party as one of his many gifts to her. It hadn’t excused him, but it’d been enough to make Steve feel guilty when he found out, and the next time they’d run in to each other, he’d approached Tony to clear the air. One and a half years later, they had the keys to each other’s homes, saw each other two to three times a week, and texted who knew how many times a day. It should’ve been enough for him, having Tony depend on him, getting all those little bits and pieces of Tony that no one else ever got to see. And in many ways it was, because Steve valued their friendship so much, he would never have done anything to jeopardize it. Not even telling the person he was in love with that he had feelings for him. He didn’t know when he’d started wanting Tony. When he thought about it, which he did more frequently than he’d like, he couldn’t pinpoint a time or an occasion that had cemented it for him, hadn’t even realized what was happening until it’d been too late. Maybe if he had, he could’ve guarded against it, spent less time with Tony, protected his heart better, done something to keep it from happening, because in all the time Steve had known Tony and seen him hit on pretty much anything that moved, Tony had never once indicated he thought of Steve as anything other than a friend. Steve had never been the type of guy to give up on something, even when it was a hopeless case. So he took these stolen moments and savored them, even if they resembled something like torture, and he let himself get talked into doing one crazy stunt after another simply because Tony asked him to. Because he always wanted to be the one Tony turned to, be the reason Tony lit up with happiness, and Steve couldn’t even bring himself to care that his heart ached that much more every time it happened. Even a little bit was better than nothing at all. Chapter End Notes That is a horrible place to end it, I know. I'm a terrible person. ETA: This is now a full fic here. ***** A Little Bit of Vanilla ***** Chapter Summary “You are one kinky motherfucker,” Steve hears dimly as he opens his eyes, and he groans, immediately shutting them again. Chapter Notes For the prompts “woke up married” (avengers_tables) and “Kink: Sex involving food” (cap_ironman bingo). Sigh, I never do these prompts the way I’m supposed to. Warnings: Morning after a drunken binge, waking up naked with someone you don’t know, references to getting drunk by imbibing alcohol from an orifice that is not the mouth Word count: 1,268 “You are one kinky motherfucker,” Steve hears dimly as he opens his eyes, and he groans, immediately shutting them again. His whole body aches, muscles throbbing, his throat devastatingly dry and somehow . . . furry . . . or something. He feels horrible. He tries to remember what he’d done yesterday to end up this way, but all he gets are vague flashes of laughing and bright lights and strong arms holding him up, and that’s not helpful at all. Had something happened? A mission gone wrong maybe? Is he dying? He might welcome death right now actually. “Maybe kinky is too mild a word,” says an unbearably cheerful voice, and Steve tilts his head toward the sound, whimpering when that sends fiery lances of pain through his brain. Steve should be extremely concerned that he’s waking up next to a man whose voice he doesn’t recognize. The guy doesn’t sound like he’s harboring any diabolic plans, however, and Steve’s brain is hazily reassuring him he would never have gone to sleep in the company of someone bad, and truthfully, that’s good enough for him right now. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He just wants to smother himself in his pillow and demand sympathy. Possibly a head rub. “Debauched, maybe. Depraved,” the guy says, sounding particularly delighted, impressed even, and wait, what is he saying? “Excuse me?” Steve croaks, because that is not something people generally say to describe him. This time, he manages to pry his eyes open and keep them that way. His first thought is that it is excruciatingly bright and he would give half his yearly salary for a pair of sunglasses. His second thought is “goatee.” His third thought is that there was an incredibly attractive man in bed with him. An incredibly attractive, naked man, the edge of the sheet clinging to his lap in a way that should frankly be illegal. Steve’s fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth thoughts are pretty much variations of the word “naked” over and over again. “When you told me you wanted to get drunk, I didn’t realize how determined you were, but wow. When you go for something, you really go for it, don’t you?” the guy asks, brown eyes crinkling as he smiles, and Steve realizes to his dismay that the reason he’s feeling so poorly is that he’s suffering from the worst hangover he’s ever experienced. Apparently, he had somehow gotten drunk last night. He hadn’t known that was possible. He also hadn’t known that he could develop an erection when he was in this much pain, but the man is very naked and it almost makes up for the fact that Steve had been forced to open his eyes— Wait. If the other guy is naked, and Steve’s in bed with him, does that mean . . . ? Why yes. Yes, it does. Thankfully, he’s lying on his stomach, so at least he doesn’t have to reveal his inappropriate (appropriate?) reaction. Considering the draft he can feel from the air conditioner, however, and especially where he can feel it, it seems that he’s revealing a lot of other things instead. “Who are you?” Steve asks, wriggling around to pull his end of the sheet up, and oh. He is very, very sore in places he hasn’t been this sore in since he lost his virginity. Either they were very vigorous, or his partner is supremely well-endowed. Not that he’s curious, of course. Okay, maybe a little curious. Apparently he easily distracted when he’s hungover. “How quickly they forget!” the guy says, placing the back on his hand on his forehead. “No worries, though. You had enough alcohol to knock out an elephant. Tony Stark at your service, oh-husband-of-mine.” “What?” Steve gasps, twisting on his side and wincing in the process, and Tony starts to laugh. “Just kidding. I turned you down. Twice. Sorry, but I don’t marry drunk people I just met, no matter how hot and kinky they are or how many times I had to defend my virtue from your advances. I know,” Tony says, shrugging, “I obviously have the wrong priorities in life, but what can you do? I was just here to offer advice and moral support and an extra pair of hands.” “What?” Steve says again, and he might actually be more confused now than he’d been a second ago. He proposed? More than once? “I told you that you wanted to get drunk,” Tony says, smiling. “I was just the lucky guy sitting next to you in the bar. You, my friend, can drink tons of alcohol. Seriously, so much alcohol. I was put to shame. And yet you still weren’t getting drunk, which was making you depressed and causing you to drink more, so I jokingly told you about this thing I’d heard that could work. Then you wanted to try it out, though, which, color me surprised, and the rest, as they say, is history.” “What?” Steve says, and oh jeez, he sounds like a broken record. “See, this is where the kinkiness comes in,” Tony says, smiling even wider. “You demanded I take you upstairs and said if I wasn’t going to do it, you’d find someone who would. What could I do? It was my duty as a good citizen to make sure you didn’t go off with some wackjob and get hurt. You had to get undressed in order to accomplish your objective, and I decided to do the same in the spirit of camaraderie and because I like being naked. It’s fun, and I am not ashamed.” Steve can’t help taking a quick peek at Tony’s body since they’re talking about it, and although he can’t see everything, from what he can tell, Tony has nothing to be ashamed about. “Showers were mandatory by the end anyway; we both smelled like a distillery, and I accidentally knocked over a full bottle, so there was alcohol everywhere. And yes, it was together, but that’s just because I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t fall and break your head or something. Although for future reference, you’re all hands when you’re drunk. Not normally attractive in a person, although, you know, you,” he says, gesturing at Steve, “so I’ll forgive you this one time. After that, you serenaded me with music from the forties, ordered two of everything off the dine-in menu, and then eventually passed out on the bed while we were watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island. And voila, it’s a party a second in Las Vegas!” Steve kind of wants to ask if they had sex, but it sounds like they didn’t, and he thinks he might come off more hopeful than he should all things considered, so he refrains. Tony seems interested, though, so maybe later they could . . . although Steve is very sore . . . He shifts slightly, his cock rubbing against the mattress, the ache inside his body going all the way up his spine. Of course, that just might make it better . . . Steve blinks and tries to organize his thoughts. Tony obviously isn’t telling him everything—like why Steve proposed of all things—not that Steve would mind getting to know Tony better—c’mon, Steve, get it together! “Okay, but then how did I get drunk? And why am I so . . . uncomfortable?” Tony grins from ear to ear and tells him. Well. That at least explains why he asked Tony to marry him, Steve thinks, flushing so hotly that his face feels like it’s going to explode. ***** Hold It In ***** Chapter Summary “Too much?” Tony asked solicitously, and Steve shook his head, even though he couldn’t decide if it was the truth or not. Chapter Notes For the "Pregnancy kink" square of my cap_ironman bingo card. WARNING: Enemas Word count: 590 I don't know why writing about enemas was easier for me than writing mpreg, but there you go. “Too much?” Tony asked solicitously, and Steve shook his head, even though he couldn’t decide if it was the truth or not. He felt a little lightheaded and shivery, sweat starting to bead on his skin, and the pressure felt tremendous. The expression on Tony’s face made it all worth it, however, pride and arousal and reverence, and Steve resolved to hold it in as long as possible. “You look amazing like this,” Tony said, his hand caressing over Steve’s enlarged belly, and Steve twitched, sucking in a breath as his muscles tensed involuntarily. He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped as the pressure seemed to increase tenfold. “Fuck,” Tony breathed, swallowing hard. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it harder on you,” he said, and while Steve knew it was true, he noticed how Tony’s eyes were riveted to Steve’s stomach, could see precum welling at the tip of Tony’s cock. “It’s alright,” he said, because it was. He knew how much Tony needed to touch him when they did this, and besides, it helped to feel the warmth of Tony’s hands to keep him grounded. Still, this was the most water they’d ever attempted, and Steve needed a minute to get used to it. Or to get as used to it as he could, all things considered. “Can I have the . . . ?” He trailed off, but Tony understood, wrenching his eyes away. “Of course! I should’ve asked; I just got . . . distracted.” Tony grabbed the retention plug, gaze sweeping over Steve’s profile one last time before he moved behind him. “Okay, I’m taking out the nozzle now,” he warned before putting action to words. Steve closed his eyes, resting his head on his forearm and then trying to keep as still as possible. He gave a sigh of relief as Tony worked the plug into him, grateful for the extra security. Tony helped Steve roll on his left side, his insides churning, little shivers starting to run through his body by the time he was finally situated to Tony’s satisfaction. “Look at you,” Tony said, his hands once again reaching out to Steve’s stomach as if he couldn’t help himself, his touch tender and worshipful. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this, Steve.” Steve shuddered, moaning as one of Tony’s hands started stroking Steve’s cock, the other hand resting gently on his abdomen. It had surprised him how much he enjoyed this the first time they’d done it, the pleasure so intense that it was almost painful, the shame lost in the sensations that Tony elicited from him. Now, though, he looked forward to their sessions as much if not more than Tony, even if a part of him still wished he could give Tony what he really wanted. “Gorgeous,” Tony crooned. “I wish I could keep you like this forever, round and sweet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Steve?” he asked, his hand picking up speed on Steve’s cock, his other hand moving to his nipples, pinching and rolling one and then the other as Steve whimpered. “These would get full and swollen; you’d be so sensitive. I’d take such good care of you, Steve. I swear I would.” “I know,” Steve gasped, his body trembling as it sought some kind of release from the tension ratcheting almost unbearably inside of it. Any kind of release. “I know you would,” he tried to say, but it was lost as he cried out in orgasm, Tony’s hands all that kept him together. ***** C'mon, Baby, Light My Fire ***** Chapter Summary “I’ve heard that getting naked and cuddling in a sleeping bag together is a great way to stay warm.” Chapter Notes For the prompts “Sharing body heat” (cap_ironman bingo) and “huddling for warmth” (avengers_tables). Word count: 518 Title from The Doors' "Light My Fire". “I’ve heard that getting naked and cuddling in a sleeping bag together is a great way to stay warm.” Steve didn’t bother looking up from gathering firewood. It was not, sadly enough, the most outrageous thing Tony had ever said to him. “I’m pretty sure that just lying in your sleeping bag—alone—will keep you warm enough.” “Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t want to do anything that hasn’t been backed up with thorough testing.” He could just feel Tony’s earnest gaze on him. “It’s my life we’re talking about here. I’m rather attached to it.” “It’s my life, too.” “Yes, but I’m prettier than you are,” Tony said, and Steve glanced up in time to see him bat his eyelashes. “It would be a crime against nature if I were to pass away right now. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for allowing such a horrible travesty to occur, now would you, Steve?” “Considering it shouldn’t get much colder than fifty degrees tonight, and you have a sleeping bag that’s rated for below freezing conditions, I don’t think I’m too worried.” “I’m hurt, Steve, truly and deeply hurt that you would entrust my life into the hands of men that we know nothing about.” Tony shook his head sadly. “Just because the tag says it can handle subzero temperatures doesn’t mean the sleeping bag can actually do it, and do we really believe the weatherman? I mean, is meteorology even a science? Maybe we should—” “Tony,” Steve said, just his name, but Tony finally fell silent at the impatience in Steve’s voice, even though Steve hadn’t meant to reveal anything at all. He knew that for Tony, flirting was like breathing, something done unthinkingly but necessary for survival. He’d seen Tony flirt with people he’d just met, people he’d known since childhood, people he didn’t even particularly like. It was just the way Tony was. Steve, on the other hand, was horrible at flirting. He didn’t believe in fake smiles, in acting coy, in being nice to someone with the sole purpose of eventually having sex. He acted interested because he was interested, asked questions because he wanted to know the answers. He didn’t flirt unless he meant it. And even if he did mean it, Steve didn’t flirt with someone who only flirted with him out of habit. No matter how much he wanted to. Or how much it bothered him to see Tony flirt with someone else. It bothered him almost as much as seeing the blank expression on Tony’s face as Tony closed down and knowing he’d been the one to put it there. It was the reason he said, “If it turns out that you’re that cold, maybe we can . . .” He didn't quite know how to finish that sentence, but Tony saw it for the victory it was and smiled widely before finally helping to set up the camp in relative silence—for Tony anyway—willing to be good now that he knew he’d get what he wanted later. If only Steve didn’t want it so much as well. ***** Me for You and You for Me ***** Chapter Summary It wasn’t that Tony was trying to hide the fact that he had somehow developed telepathy overnight. Chapter Notes For the prompts "Telepathy" (avengers_tables) and "New superpowers" (cap_ironman bingo). Word count: 606 See the end of the chapter for more notes It wasn’t that Tony was trying to hide the fact that he had somehow developed telepathy overnight. It was just that until he could figure out what the hell was going on, it seemed important to keep the information on more of the need- to-know basis. It wasn’t his fault that no one currently needed to know. Tony was handling it just fine after all. He wasn’t suffering: no headaches, no barrages of painful and disorienting thoughts. It was just like any other day. Except that when he was within two feet of someone, he could hear everything he or she was thinking. Same old, same old, really. He’d promised himself that if it didn’t go away or if he couldn’t figure anything out within a week, he’d tell Fury. But that still gave him four more days. “Tony—” “A little busy right now, Steve,” Tony said as he walked briskly past the counter where Steve was sitting, eating lunch. He was careful to steer a wide berth around Steve’s seat so there was no danger of hearing anything he didn’t want to hear, although he did catch a glimpse of Steve’s half-eaten sandwich, making Tony’s stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, let alone lunch. Or dinner from yesterday, come to think of it. Or lunch from yesterday for that matter. No wonder he was starving. “If you have a second, I was—” “No can do right now. Big project, deadline, clock’s ticking and all that. Just going to grab something and head back to my lab.” “Oh. Sure,” Steve said, and Tony glanced over at the odd tone in his voice, but Steve wasn’t looking at him, was staring down at his plate. He always has an excuse. I should stop asking. It’s obvious he’s not interested. What? He looked back from the contents of the refrigerator, and yup, Steve was sitting about three yards away, completely out of Tony’ range. There was no way he could’ve heard him. And yet . . . I wish he would just give me a chance. Tony blinked. A chance to do what? It was true that Steve had been making various offers to do something together in recent weeks, but he’d been doing that with all the Avengers. While Tony appreciated Steve’s need to establish ties between their members in order to form a more cohesive unit, blah, blah, blah, Tony wasn’t much for group retreats and singing “Kumbaya” around the campfire, and he didn’t know why his refusals would make Steve sound so resigned. I wish . . . Their eyes met for just a second before Steve looked down and didn’t look up again. Tony could’ve entered the Guinness Book of World Records under the Longest Amount of Time Taken to Make a Sandwich if that had been an entry as he waited for Steve to think something else at him. But there was nothing. Steve hadn’t meant anything. Had he? Because it had sounded like . . . Tony had a hard time believing that Steve had been carrying around some secret torch for him, no matter how wistful his thoughts had been. Nevertheless, for some reason he couldn’t put it entirely out of his mind. “My afternoon is free tomorrow, if you don’t mind waiting,” Tony said right before he walked out the kitchen door, his plate held high and close to his chest. Steve’s head snapped around to look at him. “That’d be great,” Steve said smiling, surprised and hopeful, and Tony didn’t need his newfound telepathy to tell how happy Steve was at that moment. Chapter End Notes Sorry for the spammage, guys. Just try to get all these prompts finished. Just 7 more to go. *dies* ***** We Will Not Falter ***** Chapter Summary Steve could swear that he heard Tony’s voice, but that made no sense. Tony hadn’t been in the ice with him; he hadn’t even known Tony existed then. He’d been alone, forgotten and unnecessary. Chapter Notes For the prompts “Alien invasion” (cap_ironman bingo) and “phobias” (avengers_tables). Title from Muse's "Uprising." Word count: 566 Steve! Steve! C’mon, snap out of it! Steve could swear that he heard Tony’s voice, but that made no sense. Tony hadn’t been in the ice with him, hadn’t even known Tony existed then. He’d been alone, forgotten and unnecessary. Steve, fuck! You’re shivering, and your lips are taking on this blue-ish tinge that clashes with your costume. If I’ve taught you nothing else, it should be how to color-coordinate by now. Wake UP! Steve clung to the voice as much as he could, knowing that it’d just be a matter of time before it disappeared. He’d do anything—give anything—to be able to keep at least that with him in the darkness and the cold. Not again. Please, not again. Anything but this. But even as he prayed the words, he could the voice—Tony’s voice; he couldn’t let himself forget—starting to fade, drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat, the steady, rhythmic, hated proof that he was alive and would continue to be until they found him again. Assuming anyone ever did. Steve! Fuck! What did those bastards do to you? Steve! How many years would’ve passed by then? How many graves would he have to visit? How many lives would he have missed out on? Okay, you are seriously freaking me out here. If you don’t open your eyes in the next ten seconds, I’m performing CPR; see if I don’t! Would Tony still be around? He moaned, unable to contain the pain at the thought that Tony would be gone by the time Steve was dragged out of the ice again. Was that a—? Did you just make a sound, big guy? Shit, if I’d known threatening to kiss you would get a reaction, I’d have done it a lot sooner. Do it again! C’mon, Steve, work with me here! He’d never told Tony how he felt about him. And now it was too late. No, no, no, no! Don’t go back to the silent and comatose act! I really will kiss you! Hell, I’ll even cop a feel or two if you’re not careful! Tony. He felt the softest of pressure against his lips, and then he was gasping, desperate for air, Tony’s face hovering inches above his. “Steve!” “Tony?” he coughed, shaking and unable to stop. He couldn’t get control of his limbs, couldn’t get them to move or turn, but Tony was holding him, holding him and not letting go. “It’s okay; you’re okay,” Tony said, bringing Steve’s face to the shelter of his chest. “You were—but it’s okay now. I’ve got you, I’ve—” Steve could barely feel anything, but he could feel the way Tony’s fingers dug into his skin, painful and reassuring. “You’re going to be just fine,” Tony whispered, rocking him. “What happened?” Steve asked at last when the tremors had quieted and he couldn’t justify allowing himself to take comfort in Tony’s embrace any longer. “We were under attack,” Tony said, no longer rocking him but still not drawing away. “Loki and a new damn army. They managed to capture the two of us and took you away. When you came back, you were—” This time it was Steve pulling Tony closer. “We’ll find a way out of here,” he promised. “Yeah, I know we will,” Tony said, although neither of them moved for a long time. ***** Wait for Me ***** Chapter Summary It was a dark and stormy night. Chapter Notes For the prompts "It was a dark and stormy night..." (avengers_tables) and "Writing format: docments" (cap_ironman bingo). I actually wasn't quite certain what the prompt Writing Format: Documents meant, so I just winged it. Hope this counts. >_> Warnings: Supernatural-ish AU Word count: 1,073 It was a dark and stormy night. Or at least it would be, once the storm arrived. Steve had already gathered candles and a flashlight in preparation for any potential power outages. He loved thunderstorms, had ever since he was a kid, and he’d exchange a few hours without power to be able to enjoy a thunderstorm each and every time. He sat outside on the balcony in order to be as close to the storm as possible without actually being in it. It was mostly covered, and as long as he kept his chair angled close the wall, he shouldn’t get wet. He brought along a copy of Moby Dick that he’d purchased from a used book store earlier that week to keep him company. He’d always meant to read the classic, but for whatever reason, never had, and when he’d seen the battered copy on the shelf for fifty cents, he’d picked it up without hesitation. Steve was so caught up in the story that when the first crack of thunder sounded, he startled, almost losing his place. Seconds later, the lights went out, and he huffed, putting his book down carefully on the patio table and standing up in order to get his flashlight. It ‘d be a waste of batteries, but it wasn’t like thunderstorms came through every day. He spent a few minutes reveling in the storm when he came back out, so it took him a while to realize the wind had blown his book to the ground. “Oh crap,” he said, reaching down to pick it up, hoping it hadn’t fallen into a wet patch. It hadn’t, but apparently the fall had knocked one of the pages loose so that it poked up above the rest. He opened the book, wondering if he could tape it back in, and it was only then that he noticed that it wasn’t actually a page at all, the paper folded into fourths. It looked like someone had wedged it into the crease and then forgotten about it. Feeling oddly nervous, Steve unfolded the paper. My dearest friend, It saddens me greatly to think of our last meeting where I conducted myself so inexcusably. After months at sea with only my memories to try and alleviate the pain your absence causes me, I at last cry surrender. It was wrong of me to put my father’s wishes before our hopes and plans. Can you find it within your heart to forgive me? I explained myself poorly the night I left your home with such abruptness. Looking back, I can only recall failure after failure on my part in my attempt to make you understand my thoughts. It was not shame concerning our friendship that drove me to undertake this latest venture. I will always consider the greatest achievement of my ne’er-do-well existence to be having earned your affection. It was that I hoped to gain a measure of independence from my family so you would never again be exposed to their disdain. I know they have remarked on your lack of station, as if the worth of a man can only be valued in his family name and fortune! You bear with their sly comments with a strength and grace of spirit that I could never hope to copy, but I cannot bear their cruel attitude towards you. If was because of this that I agreed to oversee my father’s cargo, so that I could have the money to at last be independent of them. Or so I thought at the time. Now I see I was taking the coward’s way out, avoiding making a stand for what I believed in for fear of the potential consequences. My father will always find a reason to keep me shackled to his side if I were to allow it. I beg your forgiveness for not having the fortitude to do what was right. Please believe that I will not abuse the trust you have placed in me and make the same mistake again. By the time you receive this letter, my friend, I should be only a day or two behind. I have decided to entrust my father’s goods to another and to return forthwith. I hope you will allow me to call on you when I arrive and not simply slam the door in my face as I deserve. Your humble servant, Anthony Stark Steve felt as if he was coming out of a daze as he finished the letter. He had the oddest sense of familiarity, as if he’d read these words before, time and time again. It made no sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling, nor the creeping certainty that Anthony Stark had never made it back home, his ship lost at sea while his lover waited for him. Lightning cracked the sky, and Steve blinked several times in order to clear his vision, imagining for a second that he could see a face filled with regret in the fading lines of light. Someone knocked on his front door, and he shook his head to clear the image, banishing his odd thoughts. “Hey, sorry about this, but I’m in the process of moving across the hall, and I have no idea where they packed my flashlight,” the guy said as soon as Steve opened the door. “Do you mind if I borrow a candle or something?” Steve stared at a face that he shouldn’t have recognized. “Or not,” his neighbor said, raising an eyebrow at Steve’s continued silence. “I’m sorry,” Steve apologized, his hand gripping his doorknob tightly. “I was just . . .” He trailed off, having no idea how to finish that sentence. “But yes, you can borrow a flashlight and some candles if you’d like. Or, or you could even just stay over here until the power kicks back on. I don’t mind,” Steve said, not wanting him to go. “I even have some left-over pizza if you’d like.” “Oh. Well yeah. You sure you don’t mind?” the guy said, smiling. He was strikingly handsome. “Not at all,” Steve said, stepping back to give him room to enter. “My name’s Steve Rogers by the way.” “Tony Stark, at your service. Nice to meet you, Steve.” “You, too, Tony,” Steve whispered, his throat dry. “You, too.” ***** The Enemy of My Enemy ***** Chapter Summary “It’s just my luck that I get handcuffed to the epitome of male perfection, and I am too drugged to do anything about it.” Chapter Notes For the prompts "Near-death confessions" (cap_ironman bingo) and "relying on the enemy" (avengers_tables). Warnings: AU where Steve and Tony are on different sides Word count: 740 See the end of the chapter for more notes “It’s just my luck that I get handcuffed to the epitome of male perfection, and I am too drugged to do anything about it,” Tony said, with only the faintest trace of slurring. If Steve hadn’t seen their captors inject something into Tony’s arm, Steve wouldn’t have noticed even that. “Thank you,” Steve said, knowing better than to hold Tony’s words against him. Not-drugged Tony didn’t think he was attractive. Not-drugged Tony didn’t like him at all as a matter of fact. Not-drugged Tony had nearly killed him once or twice. Of course, he hadn’t known that fact until Tony had been unmasked right in front of him. Prior to discovering Tony was Iron Man, Steve had always had a bit of a crush on the other man and had made up ridiculous excuses in order to stop and chat with Tony whenever he came to SHIELD headquarters. Steve had hoped that Tony’s increasingly frequent visits meant that Tony had begun to feel the same way about him, but apparently, Tony’d had a much darker motive that had nothing to do with Steve. Bucky was right. He had horrible taste in men. Tony at least had looked just as surprised when they’d unmasked Steve, an expression of what Steve would’ve labeled panic passing over his face if it’d been anyone else. He wondered if he should take any comfort in knowing Tony hadn’t meant to kill Steve but a faceless Captain America. Not really, he decided. He couldn’t worry about that right now, however. He had to get them out of wherever it was they were. And then turn Tony in. “Wait, wait,” Tony said, stumbling and nearly taking the both of them down. “This way.” “How do you know?” he asked, eyeing the tunnel that looked exactly like the one they were currently traveling down. “I downloaded the building’s plans while they were still trying to figure out how to get suit off and memorized them.” “The drugs—” “The drugs make it hard to focus, but even at my worst, I can memorize a few floor plans. I know the way out.” The trust me was implied, but it wasn’t as if Steve had much choice. He followed Tony’s—no, Stark’s—directions. He had to remember that Tony didn’t really exist, that it’d been a cover to hide Stark infiltrating SHIELD. No wonder Iron Man had been able to get around new SHIELD technology so quickly, had always been able to escape even when they’d had more men on the ground. Stark had created most of that technology for them after all. Although why none of their other enemies hadn’t been able to— Actually, it made total sense. If all of Stark’s weapons and computer security had been easily circumnavigated, SHIELD wouldn’t have continued to hire him. Steve kept waiting for the alarm to sound, but apparently, neither they nor the guards they’d taken down had been missed yet. Stark was able to keep them away from the main tunnels, and Steve took care of the few guards they did encounter, allowing him to arm himself in the process. Stark was in no condition to handle a weapon, the drugs making him sweat and babble, and Steve had to support him with one arm as Stark’s coordination deteriorated. He continued to tell Steve where to go, however, and Steve kept following his directions, putting his faith in Stark to get them out as quickly as possible. “Steve,” Stark wheezed, and Steve glanced down. He looked horrible, pale and drawn, his skin clammy. It was obvious that he needed immediate medical attention, but there was nothing Steve could do. “Left at the fork. Two rights. Access code is 598320.” “Why are you—?” “Key’s in my pocket,” Stark gasped, knees crumbling until the only thing keeping him upright was Steve’s desperate hold. “Pickpocketed the guard. Didn’t want you to leave me behind,” he explained weakly, as if Steve would’ve abandoned him even if they hadn’t been handcuffed together. Although maybe he would have. Tony had nearly killed him after all. Twice. It was a different story now though. “I won’t,” Steve promised, clutching Tony a little closer. “I’ve got you, Tony. We’ll get out of here together.” “You always were my favorite,” Tony gasped, his lips twitching into a small smile as he reached up and touched Steve’s face. Then Tony’s eyes closed, his hand falling away. “Tony? Tony?” Chapter End Notes Before anyone yells at me, Tony doesn't actually die. ***** Marking His Territory ***** Chapter Summary “Oh, Steve,” Tony said, smiling as he slid two fingers into him effortlessly. “You can take whatever I can dish out and more.” Chapter Notes For the prompts "coitus interruptus" (avengers_tables) and "kink: frottage" (cap_ironman bingo). I went with the literal definitions of coitus interruptus and frottage, which are “sexual intercourse in which the penis is withdrawn before ejaculation” and “…in which sexual arousal or orgasm is achieved by actual or fantasized rubbing up against another person” respectively. I seriously don’t know why I picked the Cliché table. I should’ve picked the Kink one instead. *headdesk* Warnings: Bondage; some come play, I guess; begging; IDK, my usual porn stuff Word count: 567 See the end of the chapter for more notes “Please, Tony, please,” Steve gasped, arching into Tony’s thrusts as best as he could with his wrists anchored to his ankles as they were. He should’ve known better than to agree with anything Tony requested when he had that glint in his eyes. “Please what?” Tony panted, his hands tightening on Steve’s hips for a second right before he pulled out. They both groaned, although Steve couldn’t help but notice how more desperate he sounded in comparison. But then, that was exactly how he felt, aching and empty and needing to be filled, like he couldn’t get enough of Tony’s cock, no matter how many times he had it in him. It didn’t help that Tony kept withdrawing just when orgasm seemed within reach, pleasure turning into frustration and edging into pain as each touch promised fulfillment—and then left him hanging on the precipice over and over again. “Please,” Steve said, his voice coming out broken. He didn’t know how long they’d been having sex, but it felt like hours, like days had passed since Tony had closed the restraints. “I can’t take anymore. Please. Now.” He allowed his drawn-up knees to fall further apart, willing to offer every part of himself up to whatever Tony wanted to do to him if only it would involve release. “Oh, Steve,” Tony said, smiling as he slid two fingers into him effortlessly. “You can take whatever I can dish out and more.” Steve cried out, trying to thrust down onto Tony’s fingers, but Tony refused to give him even that much relief, pulling them away and then rolling Steve’s knees up until they pressed against his shoulders. “Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” Tony breathed, bowing his head so he could watch as he slid his cock against Steve’s exposed hole, over and over, but never entering. “I could come just from—” “No!” Steve said, trying to close his legs, almost panicked at the thought that Tony would leave him like this, wracked with desire and unable to do anything about it. “I won’t, though; shh, I won’t,” Tony promised, leaning forward so they could kiss, grinding down with his hips so their cocks rubbed against each other, making Steve gasp and shudder. “Tony,” he begged, because no matter how good it felt, he needed more. He would’ve thought that any touch would be enough to push him over, but after having been denied for so long, it was like his body was afraid the opportunity would be stolen away from him once again and refused to let go. “Shh,” Tony said again, pressing one last sweet kiss to Steve’s lips before he shifted back up. Steve shouted when Tony shoved into him, back bowing off the bed as Tony started a fast rhythm of deep, powerful thrusts. He was going to be so sore later, could already feel the ache growing and growing, but it didn’t matter when compared to the pleasure that tore through him, to the feeling of Tony taking what he wanted and giving Steve everything he needed in the process. His orgasm was so intense that he couldn’t stop shivering afterwards, hands limp at his sides and knees splayed. He watched with dazed eyes as Tony pulled out, stroking himself to completion and coming all over Steve’s already messy stomach, Tony’s hand reaching out to tenderly rub the come into his skin. Chapter End Notes This was written so fast. I apologize for the bad porn. ***** If You Change Your Mind ***** Chapter Summary “Don’t even think about it, Stark.” Chapter Notes For the “Body swapping” square of my cap_ironman bingo card. Word count: 653 “Don’t even think about it, Stark.” Tony raised his hands, making sure Natasha saw that they were completely out of range of the fabulous breasts he was currently sporting. “You realize that you’ve taken away the one good thing that has come from this whole body-swapping fiasco, right?” “Tony,” Thor—no, Steve—said in a disapproving tone of voice. Well, one of two good things, but Steve had nixed the first one in the bud already. Thor had even said it’d be okay, because who was he to keep shield mates apart, but noooooo. Steve was too concerned with things like decorum and respecting other people’s property—or bodies in this case—to engage in a little nookie while they were waiting to see if their situation was reversible. Seriously, it was amazing that the two of them had ever gotten together. “What? I was just curious. It’s not like I was going to take Natasha’s body for a spin around the block or anything. I mean, if we’re pointing fingers here, she’s not exactly one to talk what with going to the bathroom and everything! And don’t tell me there wasn’t any inappropriate touching or looking,” he said, eyeing her, “because no one will believe you.” She—well, Clint—shrugged. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before,” she said, making Thor (Steve) blush and Steve (Clint) grin in a way that just looked weird on Steve’s face. “Ha! Bruce owes me five bucks!” Tony said triumphantly. Unfortunately, Bruce was in his lab, working with a team of SHIELD scientists to see how to fix them, but Tony would collect later. Bruce had been out of town, so he was the only one of them that hadn’t woken up in the wrong body that morning. SHIELD had subsequently flown him back in, but considering he’d spent years learning how to keep the Hulk under some semblance of control—knowledge that anyone suddenly dropping into his body would lack—Tony couldn’t be sorry about the time wasted in-transit. Steve glared at him, but it just didn’t have the same effect on him when it was coming from Thor’s face. That probably wouldn’t last if Steve spent much more time in Thor’s body, but now that Tony knew Steve couldn’t guilt him into acting better with just a look, he planned to take advantage of it for as long as he could. “We’ve figured out a cure!” Bruce said, rushing into the room. “Damn it,” Tony sighed. “Foiled again.” ----- “I’m me again!” Tony said, checking to make sure all his parts were in place. Being a woman had been disorienting to say the least, what with the different center of gravity, the change in height and voice, and the lack of dick. “Hallelujah!” Steve rolled his eyes, but what did he know? He’d gone from being a tall, gorgeous, extremely fit man with short blond hair to a tall, gorgeous, extremely fit man with long blond hair. He couldn’t understand Tony’s pain. “I think we should check to make sure all the plumbing’s still working,” Tony said after he’d dragged Steve back to his room. He waggled his eyebrows just to make sure Steve understood what he meant. “I’m sure it’s fine,” Steve said flatly, and oh jeez, he was still annoyed with Tony trying to touch Natasha’s breasts. And possibly propositioning Thor’s body. Whatever, special circumstances! It wasn’t like this kind of stuff happened to them every day. “You know, the only person I want is you,” Tony said, wanting to cringe at the sappiness and the utter truth behind the words. “The packaging aside, it was still you and me on the inside, and that was what mattered.” Steve looked into his eyes for a long time before sighing. “What am I going to do with you, Tony?” “I’ve got a couple of ideas,” Tony said and pulled him into his arms. ***** First Impressions ***** Chapter Summary "You know," Tony said, staring at the handcuffs that tied them together, "you had me at hello, so this was really unnecessary." Chapter Notes For the prompts “Handcuffed together” (cap_ironman bingo) and “you had me at hello” (avengers_tables). Warnings: AU, first time Tony and Steve meet Word count: 635 "You know," Tony said, staring at the handcuffs that tied them together, "you had me at hello, so this was really unnecessary. Not that I’m complaining. Who doesn’t like a little bondage in the bedroom? Normally, however—" “Mr. Stark, I’ve been ordered by Director Fury to bring you in for a meeting,” the guy said, calm and apparently unflappable. He obviously didn’t know Tony that well. “The restraints are to ensure your cooperation and will be taken off when we reach Director Fury’s office.” Wow. Okay, sure, Tony had been avoiding Fury for the past month, but he hadn’t known that was going to result in getting carted off to SHIELD headquarters in chains like some kind of prisoner. Of course, if he’d known who his detaining officer was going to be, he might have done it sooner. Tall, blond and gorgeous could rock a pair of fitted pants like no one’s business. “Oh really? What if I don’t want to go?” he asked out of curiosity, although he had no intention of really resisting. He’d only gotten to see it for a few seconds when he walked into the room, but man, he would follow that ass anywhere. “Are you planning to carry me out here?” “While I would hope to avoid that eventuality, I am prepared to carry out my orders using whatever means necessary.” “Promises, promises,” Tony said, smiling, just to get a frown directed back at him. At this point in a conversation, Tony typically liked to sit down and leer happily at a person. The handcuff made sure he wasn’t going anywhere unless Mr. Serious and Studly went with him, however, and Tony was getting the impression that the guy wasn’t in the mood to sit down and chat, so it looked like standing would have to do. “What’s your name, soldier? I’m sure my assistant already told me, but I have a tendency to not pay attention whenever he talks if I can avoid it. Man, I miss Pepper.” “Captain Steve Rogers,” he replied, all rigid lines and judgmental looks, and Tony was going to have so much fun with him. He felt almost giddy in anticipation. “Well, Steve—I can call you Steve, right?” “I would prefer—” “Well, Steve, there’s a reason I’m avoiding ole Nick, and no matter how much I enjoy these,” he said, shaking his hand so the chain connecting them jingled, “and let me tell you that I’m enjoying them a lot—I don’t plan on changing my mind about talking to him. So where does that leave us exactly?” Tony watched with interest as Steve hesitated. The thing about locking the two of them together was that it required some cooperation on Tony’s part unless Steve was planning to get rough, something Tony was betting he wasn’t willing to do. At least, not with someone who wasn’t posting a threat of any kind. Those muscles couldn’t all be for show after all. “Director Fury simply wants to speak to you for a moment. If you would be so kind as to—” “Nope.” “You’re leaving me no choice but to—” “Knock your socks off, but just be warned that I won’t go without a fight.” “I don’t want to hurt you—” “Trust me, I don’t want to be hurt either,” Tony said cheerfully. Steve narrowed his eyes, and Tony grinned wider. A second later he was grunting as Steve bent down quickly and slung him over his shoulder. A second after that, he was grunting even louder as Steve dropped him onto the ground. So worth it, though, Tony thought, his hand still tingling from where he’d gotten a good handful of Steve’s ass. Damn. Seriously. Damn. “Mr. Stark—” “I did warn you,” Tony said and smiled angelically. ***** Chapter 19 ***** Chapter Summary Anyone who was anyone knew about Captain America. Chapter Notes For the prompts “sex pollen” (cap_ironman bingo) and “mistaken identity” (avengers_tables). Warnings: See prompts, AU Word count: 1,744 See the end of the chapter for more notes Anyone who was anyone (or at the very least was a person who could hack into SHIELD’s servers through a backdoor he’d created the last time he’d been in headquarters, but whatever) knew about Captain America. How he’d been discovered in the arctic and revived, how SHIELD had been keeping him hidden from the world while he got acclimated to the future, how they’d been sending him out on simple solo missions to see how he’d do. And Tony was all for getting him up to speed, making him feel comfortable, all that crap really, but he didn’t understand why that meant he couldn't see him. It was Captain America, for fuck’s sake. He’d been waiting to meet Captain America his whole fucking life. Not that Fury seemed to care about that, oh no. Tony Stark was a loose cannon. Tony Stark couldn’t keep a secret (like the plans for Iron Man for example). Tony Stark had impulse problems, which okay, yeah, but this was different! Captain fucking America was two elevators, seven hallways, and fifteen doors away from him, and if he had to wait one more day, just one more, he’d go batshit insane, would pull a Bruce Banner on them, would—would—he didn’t know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty. So it was for SHIELD’s sake that he was standing outside one Steve Roger’s door. Because Tony didn’t want to be the cause of so much destruction. He was doing them a favor really. The whole thing had actually been a lot easier than he’d expected. Agents were scurrying around like their tails were on fire, so something big had to be going on. Lucky for him. Still. He glanced at his watch, estimating he had anywhere between twenty to thirty minutes before a very not-happy Fury himself came to kick him out. Tony would have to do something big to make amends in order to keep from being tasered and left in a puddle of drool on the sidewalk outside. He’d have to beef up SHIELD's firewalls for them, reveal how exactly he’d rigged all the cameras, maybe throw in a couple of million dollars’ worth of tech, who knew what, but it’d be so worth it. He knocked and had to control his squeak of excitement when the door opened and Captain America—Captain America—peered down at him. “Hi!” he said, oozing innocence like a kid with sticky fingers in a candy store. “Oh no,” Captain America groaned, and Tony didn’t think he’d ever get tired of saying his name in his head. Captain America. Captain America. Captain AMERICA. “I told him not to do it.” “Do what?” he asked, looking his fill, because hello, the pictures hadn't done him justice. Tall, with muscles that begged for Tony’s tongue to lick across them, hair just right for pulling, thighs like tree trunks, and—holy shit,someone was happy to see him. “You. This,” Captain America said, waving his hand between them. Which made both of them look down. Which made Captain America realize what they were both looking down at. Which made him blush and move his crotch behind the door. Which made Tony want to cry a little. “I told him I was okay. I could—I can take care of it. Myself.” “Well, it definitely looks like you need help taking care of something, soldier, and I am more than happy to volunteer my services,” he said, pushing into the room, because it looked like Captain America was trying to hide a missile in his shorts and not doing a very good of it at that. “I don’t need any help,” Captain America protested, but he shuddered when Tony’s hand touched his chest, and when Tony closed the door, he didn’t seem to notice, staring at him with eyes that were glazing over. “Right,” Tony said, licking his lips and watching Captain America follow the drag of his tongue, sweat beading on his forehead. “I totally believe you.” Captain America blinked, giving himself a little shake. “You need to get out of here,” he said, turning around, and Tony gave a silent whistle, the back view was almost as good as the front. “I don’t know what Nick told you, but I’m not—I’m not safe right now.” “No? And why would that be?” he asked, pulling his tie free in a hum of silk and admiring the way Captain America’s back tensed at the sound. It was obvious that he didn’t know who the hell Tony was, which was vaguely insulting, but nothing he couldn’t forgive considering the guy had been frozen for the past seventy years. Although he’d been awake for months, and one would think he’d know Tony’s face by now, what with all the magazine covers and news shows he’d been on recently, but whatever. It was equally obvious that Captain America was having some sort of problem in his pants, and Fury had wanted to send someone to relieve the issue, but Cap was against the idea for some reason. And upon reflection, it was also obvious that that meant Captain America thought he was either a SHIELD agent really dedicated to his job, or someone who was willing to lend a hand as it were, which, wow, did that mean Captain America thought Tony was a high-class hooker? Because if so, Tony was deeply offended. Like there was any way in hell SHIELD could’ve had enough money to afford him. Had the guy even looked at his suit? Captain America glanced at him over his shoulder. “I can’t talk about—are you—do you work for SHIELD?” he asked nervously. “I’m a . . . consultant,” Tony said blandly, just to fuck with him at that point. “Oh,” he said, blushing furiously. “Of course.” “But I have extremely high clearance,” Tony said, letting his jacket fall to the ground to join the tie. “How else could I have gotten to your room?” There was still a hint of skepticism on Captain America’s face, so Tony wasn’t surprised by his vague answer of, “There was an . . . accident. I’m having a . . . bad reaction to it.” “I don’t know that I’d call it a bad thing myself,” Tony said, undoing a couple of buttons of his shirt but keeping the arc reactor hidden. He walked forward the few steps separating them, pleased when Captain America turned towards him. Tony kept his eyes on him as he reached out, slowly enough so that his intentions were clear. He could see Captain America’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, but he didn’t try to stop him as Tony rested his hand lightly on his cock. “Not bad at all. What’s your name, soldier?” he asked even though he already knew it. Still, while he wouldn’t mind saying “Captain America” in the middle of sex, maybe for their first time—first of many if he had anything to say about it—they should stick with the tried and true. “Steve,” he gasped, his hands fisting at his sides, already teetering on the fine edge of control from something as simple as the warmth of Tony’s hand through his shorts, and damn, he might have to give Fury even more tech to balance things out, because Tony would totally have paid money to do this. “I’m Tony, Steve,” he said, grinding the heel of his hand against Steve’s cock. Steve moaned, flinching back and grabbing Tony’s wrist, but rather than stopping him, he pressed Tony’s hand even harder against him, whimpering in the process. “You alright there?” Tony asked, his voice breathy, because even though he’d been half hard since seeing him in the doorway, Steve’s reaction had catapulted him to completely erect and desperate to get naked in the span of about zero point seven seconds. “I . . .” Steve let out an embarrassed huff, a shiver running all over him. He rested his head on Tony’s shoulder as he said, “I might have made myself sore from-from—” He took a deep breath. “From masturbating so much.” “Don’t say things like that,” Tony groaned, gripping Steve’s cock tightly just to hear him hiss, his fingers tightening around Tony’s wrist almost painfully. “Are you trying to make me to come before I get to see you naked?” “Not my fault,” Steve protested, the words slurring together as he starting rocking into Tony’s fist, his breath hot and damp against Tony’s neck. “Harder, Tony?” he panted, making it a question. “Can you do it harder?” “I can do it however you want me to, Steve,” he said, putting words to action and squeezing hard enough that Steve’s knees buckled, his fingers pressing bruises into Tony’s skin. “Is this too much for you?” But Steve didn’t answer, not vocally anyway, although the shudder than ran through his body and the seeping dampness under Tony’s fingers was probably answer enough. “Did that help at all?” he asked somewhat breathlessly, reminding himself that humping Captain America’s leg wasn’t the best way to make a good impression. Granted, that was under normal circumstances and didn’t necessarily qualify in a situation like theirs— “No,” Steve groaned, hips spasming, thrusting into Tony’s grip, and Tony swallowed heavily, thinking about the wet drag of fabric against Steve’s cock, thinking about how much that kind of friction had to hurt but still feel so, so good. “Do you want my mouth?” Tony asked, his voice gone low and gravelly, and he wanted Steve to say yes, could almost taste him on his tongue already. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Steve’s cock, eliciting another of those gorgeous sounds from Steve, and said, “I could lick all the come away and then take you into my throat, let you fuck my—” “Tony, Tony,” Steve gasped, but then he was the one falling to his knees, reaching for Tony’s belt, fingers almost useless in his desperation. Tony had to undo them for him, hands steadier, although it was all relative really, and then Steve was shoving Tony’s boxers down. The sound he made when he got Tony’s cock into his mouth was filled with such utter satisfaction that Tony looked down and wondered if he’d come again, and fuck, if that wasn’t one of the hottest things ever: Captain America gagging for Tony’s cock, coming from just the feel of it in his mouth. Chapter End Notes I was actually planning to write more of this, but I ran out of time. I still might though. We'll see. ETA: This is now a full fic here. ***** Loved I Not Honor More ***** Chapter Notes For the prompts “Writing format: documents” (cap_ironman bingo – last one didn’t count) and “in the future” (avengers_kink). Just one more prompt to go. Wow. Warnings: Zombie apocalypse, story is written through letters, unbeta'd Title from the poem "To Lucasta, Going to the Wars" by Richard Lovelace. Word count: 837 I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more. -- Richard Lovelace   Dear Tony, I am sitting here, writing this letter to you by candlelight, one small candle shared by the three of us in the tent with the light barely enough to see by, and it makes me think how annoying something like this must be for you. There are so many things we’ve lost since the First, but the lack of reliable electricity probably bothers you the most. Are you still mad at me? I can’t believe I just wrote that, but since crossing it out will make the words even more obvious and since I don’t have an eraser of any kind, I guess I’ll leave it there. It’s been three weeks, and I miss you more and more every day. Yours, Steve ----- Dear Tony, Since I haven’t heard from you yet, I’m going to assume you are still angry. I didn’t want to leave. I don’t know if you believe me, but it wasn’t because I wanted to go. But what else could I do Tony? They need me out here. Life is different in the Compound. Do you remember the days right after the First? People running, screaming; people dying. I am trying to keep Them back, trying to keep you and everyone else in the Compound as safe as I can. Yes, it’s dangerous. We’ve lost a lot of good people here. But knowing that you’re back there, you and Bruce and everyone else who’s looking for a cure, it keeps me going. It gives me the strength to keep fighting so that we can have a better world and maybe get back to the way things were before. One day. I wasn’t necessary at the Compound, Tony. There was nothing I could do except guard duty, and considering the outposts keep Them back, it just meant standing around, doing nothing. That’s not the type of person I am. I can’t stand back and let other people get hurt for me. Please understand. I won’t apologize for volunteering, but I am sorry that I left you. Love, Steve ----- Dear Tony, We were attacked by a huge number of Them today. I wasn’t hurt. No scratches or bites. Yes, I’m sure. We look each other over pretty carefully after every fight, with the same level of meticulous care you used on me countless times before we reached the Compound if without the wandering hands. I can’t tell you how much I miss your wandering hands. I don’t know if you’ve written. We haven’t gotten any supplies from the Compound in over a week because of the rains. Have you guys figured out why changes in the weather affect Them so much? I’ve never seen them be so crazy before, or so mindless. I killed a few that had settled down to eat. They didn’t look up, even when I cut them down. I miss you, Tony. I miss you so much. Steve ----- They finally told us today. I swear I didn’t know before, Tony, I swear. I don’t know why I’m even writing this letter since I know it won’t reach you until I put it in your hands myself, but it helps to talk to you like this since I can’t do it any other way. I have to believe that you and Bruce escaped. Even assuming you weren’t able to reach the suit, there’s no way Bruce would’ve been taken down by Them, and there’s even less chance that he’d leave without you. I have to believe this, because the alternative is unthinkable. I can’t picture a world without you in it. But I can’t stop thinking about all the reasons why you didn’t come here when the Compound fell. Are the two of you lost? Bruce is able to travel so far when he becomes the Hulk, and I remember him saying he almost never knows where he is when he wakes up. Is that the reason? Is one of you hurt? Not contaminated, not that, but injured maybe? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Are you being hunted? There’s a huge part of me that wants to—needs to—go back to the Compound and look for you. I find myself looking to the south throughout the day, searching the skies for red and gold. The number of times I’ve considered abandoning the others . . . But they need me here, Tony, and no matter how much I want to find you, Their numbers keep growing and growing. I can’t leave the others to this gruesome fight alone. I have so many things I need to apologize for, Tony: my anger and frustration, my stubbornness, my pride. For not being there when you needed me most. For not going to find you in order to bring you back to me. I hope that when we finally see each other again that you can somehow manage to forgive me. If not, I understand. I doubt that I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. Yours, always and forever, Steve ***** Chapter 21 ***** Chapter Summary “Say what?” Tony asked, sure that he hadn’t just heard what he thought he’d just heard. Chapter Notes For the “Time travel” prompt of avengers_tables. Warnings: Time travel, sketchy science, kidfic Word count: 729 See the end of the chapter for more notes “Say what?” Tony asked, sure that he hadn’t just heard what he thought he’d just heard. “I’m your son,” the kid in the weird futuristic armor who had suddenly appeared in his lab in a burst of blue light said again, and oh shit, Tony would recognize that expression that managed to convey annoyance, hurt and disdain anywhere. “Steve!” he yelled, because Steve was a nice guy, right? He liked kids and puppies and was liked in return. He’d know what to do. “Steve!” The kid rolled his eyes. “Do you always have to call dad in for the lecture, Pops?” “What?” Tony said, loud enough to make the kid wince, and fuck, he had to sit down. ----- “What do you mean he’s biologically ours?” Tony demanded, wanting to reach out and shake Fury, although he wasn’t actually stupid enough to try. “That’s impossible. What kind of quack geneticists does SHIELD employ—?” “We have some of the top geneticists in the country, and they’ve run the tests over and over again. Unless either one of you have a twin that you aren’t telling us about, he’s your and Rogers’ son.” “Impossible,” he said again but found himself looking into the observation room where Steve and Joe (“My father’s name was Joseph,” Steve had said as he’d stared down at the kid. “Yeah, I know,” Joe had said, rolling his eyes. “Jeez, Dad.”) were talking. He'd been sitting in there with them until Fury had called him out. Tony honestly didn’t know what to think. Him, with a teenaged son? By Steve of all people? He and Steve weren’t even dating. He and Steve were just barely talking civilly to each other. How the hell did the two of them have a kid together? Unless someone had stolen their DNA and combined it in a lab with the intention of creating an evil super villain with Tony’s brains and Steve’s physique; now that he could see. Although it didn’t explain why the kid referred to him as “Pops” and Steve as “Dad.” Holy fuck, what was his life? “Obviously not that impossible considering we have walking, talking proof to the contrary.” Tony glared at Fury. “I have seven doctorates to my name, but if I had the time right now, I would get another one in Genetics just to—” “Tony?” Steve knocked on the one-way window. “Joe’s asking for you.” ----- “My time’s running out, Pops,” Joe said, standing in front of them and fidgeting with what looked to be a glorified watch on his wrist. It wasn’t. Or at least, that wasn’t all it could do. Tony—or at least, future Tony—had apparently made it for him, which yeah, Tony made all the best stuff. Apparently being the son of a multi-billionaire/superhero and another superhero was dangerous business, and future Tony had created a portable shield for him—an incredibly strong, invisible, portable shield that was able to keep him safe from ninety-nine percent of hand-held weapons and emitted a strong electrical shock to anyone that tried to touch him when it was activated. Joe was so used to everyone knowing about it that he hadn’t mentioned it until it was too late, but whatever, the SHIELD agent was going to be fine. “The time machine is set for two hours, and it’s going to take me back whether I’m ready or not.” Joe smiled, but there was something fragile about it. “I just wanted a chance to see you before . . .” “Before what, Joe?” Steve asked when it became clear Joe wasn’t going to say anything else. “Nothing.” Joe took a deep breath. “I’m glad this worked.” “Wait,” Tony said, “do you mean you didn’t know it was going to—” Joe waved his hand dismissively. “I was pretty sure. Our projects always turn out, Pops, but I had to finish it by myself since—” He shrugged, looking away. “Joe . . .” “It’s okay, Dad,” Joe said, looking like he was going to reach out and touch Steve. “Now that I know the time machine works, you can go back and save Pops—” “What?” Steve asked, glancing at Tony with such an expression of shock and worry that Tony didn’t know what to think. When had he become important enough to Steve to deserve that look? “Something happens to Tony?” There was no reply, just another flash of blue, and then nothing. Chapter End Notes This is the last one, guys. Thank you so much for reading. It's been a blast. ***** Scars of Your Love ***** Chapter Summary "Love leaves marks on all of us." Chapter Notes Since I'm taking an indefinite break from writing Stony, have some fic I never finished. I've got like 2 or 3 more of these I'll post. ETA: This is now a complete story. You can read it here. The first time Steve fell in love it was with Heather Michaels who lived down the street. He took her to see Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves but barely paid attention to the movie, wondering what she’d do if he put his arm around her shoulders and jumping every time his fingers got tangled with hers in the popcorn. On their third date, she gave him his first kiss, and he didn’t think life could get any better. When her dad accepted a new job and she moved two months after they started dating, he was quiet for weeks and a long, red scar appeared down his side. It hurt a lot at first, pulsing red and angry, but eventually, it only bothered him when he touched it, memories of her smile and the way her lips had felt pressed against his flaring for brief seconds before fading away. “Love leaves marks on all of us,” his mom said and explained how every time people’s hearts were broken, scars would form on their bodies. The more scars, the more you loved them. They’d gradually get smaller until they were only thin, white lines, and falling in love again would help speed the healing process along, but they’d never disappear completely. That was how he realized how he felt about Lisa, when Heather’s scar became so tiny, it was almost invisible. Lisa had the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. With her, he learned just how soft a woman’s body could be, and they stayed together until freshman year of college when distance finally tore them apart and left three vicious scars on his torso. He always knew his relationship with Bucky was going to be temporary. Bucky was a year older and had already accepted a job in Spain with the company he’d interned with over the summer. He had dark brown eyes and tried to teach Steve Spanish when they weren’t studying or messing around. Even with the end in sight, Steve didn’t freak out when Lisa’s scars got smaller overnight it seemed. He wasn’t looking forward to the damage Bucky would leave when they broke up, but he wasn’t going to waste the time either, not when Bucky was right there, and Steve could see Bucky’s scars fading, too. On the day Peggy moved out, Steve stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at all the ragged lines running over his chest, arms and legs. He felt like someone had taken a knife to him, slicing every inch of him open, and he didn’t understand how there wasn’t any blood. He traced one particularly thick scar that ran over his chest, gritting his teeth against the pain, and remembered the first time he’d brought Peggy over to meet his family and all the teasing that had accompanied it. He couldn’t imagine her scars ever disappearing, and in that moment, he didn’t want them to, didn’t want to ever expose himself to that much hurt again. Once in a lifetime was enough. ----- When Tony invited all of them to his mansion for a party next to the pool and asked him if he swam, he rubbed his hand over his upper arm, feeling the changes in texture under his shirt, and gave him some weak excuse before walking away. He’d used to enjoy swimming before his body came to resemble a battlefield, but he was doing everyone a favor by keeping his clothes on. Enough time had passed that the scars weren’t so vivid anymore, but they still ached, sometimes more than others, and he hated the shocked sounds he heard whenever he got naked in front of others. It made people uncomfortable to see the evidence of so much pain, and he couldn’t blame them. He didn’t like looking at it either. He envied Tony his lack of self-consciousness, his unblemished skin that suggested he’d never given his heart away and had it trampled on. It was the main reason he started sleeping with him. Tony knew how to protect his heart. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall in love with Steve, and Steve, well, he’d already learned his lesson. He liked Tony though. Liked his biting humor, his confidence, the way he smiled and moved. Liked him maybe a little bit too much to be honest, but definitely not enough to get him in trouble. He checked. Every morning he’d wake up and force himself to stare in the mirror, would eye Peggy’s scars and made sure they were just as dark and long as they’d been the day before. Tony had caught him at it one time when he’d come over and woken Steve up with a blow job. Steve had never let him spend the night or been willing to stay at his place, and Tony had been putting up a fight. He didn’t know if the blow job had been an apology for the argument the night before or if it’d been a sneaky way of trying to further his case, but Tony had seen him at the mirror afterwards, touching his scars as he got ready for the day, and Tony had never brought up the subject again, something that Steve could only be grateful for. The thing was that Tony was crazy and fun and threw himself into life like every day was a gift, and Steve needed that. He needed someone to take his mind off of how far he’d let himself fall, and Tony needed a keeper, so it all worked out in the end. And it didn’t hurt that the sex was good. Frequent orgasms went a long way in improving his overall disposition and in giving him the patience to put up with Tony’s brand of superhero-ing. They helped each other along, and even if it wasn’t perfect, well, nothing ever was, but it was safe, and that was more important anyway. So of course that meant it all got messed up. ----- “You want to what?” Steve rubbed his jaw, looking away from Tony. He didn’t have much experience at being the breakup-er versus the breakup-ee, had a tendency to hold on to people long after he should’ve let them go, and the blank expression on Tony’s face wasn’t helping. Like he didn’t know Tony’s tells by that point. Like he couldn’t figure out he was hurting him. But Steve was doing him a favor, was doing the both of them one. Their . . . whatever it was they wanted to call it . . . wasn’t so far along that cutting things off would wreck the team. Yes, it’d be awkward for a while, but it was salvageable, and it wasn’t like Tony would have a hard time finding someone to take his place. He swallowed, pushing that thought away forcibly. It was fine. He was fine, and the sooner they got this over with, the better. ***** Not the One for Me ***** Chapter Summary Tony tended to avoid Omegas when he could. Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes Tony tended to avoid Omegas when he could. He didn’t have anything against them exactly—except for the four, no, five, that had managed to sneak into a public restroom, garage, Starbucks, hotel room and restaurant just before they were about to go into heat in the hopes of trapping him into a Bond—but he hated the assumption that just because he was an Alpha, that meant that he needed kids and a loving Omega to go home to. Like the best thing for him was to find his “better half.” Uh huh. As if that were even possible. Still, if he’d had a nickel for every time he’d heard someone say that an Omega would help him “settle down,” he’d have . . . Who the hell knew? He already had a fucking ton of money—earned by himself and for himself—and it’d be like throwing a cup of water into the ocean really. Whatever, that wasn’t important anyway. What was important was that he was a man, a thinking, rational, reasoning man, and he had no desire to be controlled by biology, to lose any and all coherent thought and be a slave to unpredictable heats where the most—the only—thing that mattered was getting his knot jammed as far up someone as possible. Not that the idea didn’t have its appeal. Like any red-blooded Alpha, he’d thought about what it’d be like to be tied to someone, to have him or her squirming on his knot while they both came over and over again, reeking of sex and pheromones and each other’s scent. But while he had no problem indulging in most of his fantasies, he drew the line at knotting. He had a mind, thank you very much, a very good mind as a matter of fact, and he had better things to do than put it on hibernation mode for nearly a week at a time. (That was what alcohol was for, and then at least, he got to pick and choose when he binged.) Never mind that the fucking itself normally only lasted three to four days. Everyone knew that Alphas regressed to Neanderthal levels right before and after their Omega went into heat, grunting and pounding their chests and ready to attack anyone that came close to their chosen mate during a fertile period. Fucking useless. Life would be so much easier if he were a Beta. Betas slipped under the radar without all the annoying preconceptions of what they were or what they were capable of. People left Betas the fuck alone without all the "it's your dutyto reproduce," or "shareholders don't like to see Alphas unmarried—too potentially volatile for the company," or blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Damn, he was getting a headache just thinking about it. And while he knew that intellectually, it wasn't their fault—except for those five, of course, and they were lucky he’d just had them sent to the Heat Tank versus jail—Omegas were just bad news. Okay, okay, fine, not all Omegas were bad news. Happy was an Omega, after all, and Tony considered him family. But then, Happy was Bonded, which meant that like the vast majority of Bonded couples who were deliriously happy in a kind of creepy, plastic Barbie-and-Ken type of way and who always smiled at each other and looked blissfully content, he’d likely stay that way. Less than 1% of Bonded couples wanted a Breaking—each and every case highly publicized in the news, because something like that just wasn’t supposed to happen—and even with the endless specialists and hospital stays and various drug cocktails, some Bonds couldn’t be broken no matter how hard both parties tried. Thus, Bonded Omegas were safe, because even Tony wasn’t vain enough to think a person would try to get out of a Bond just to be with him. Now, they might fantasize about him in order to add some excitement into their hum-drum love lives, but well, who could blame them? Unbonded Omegas, on the other hand, were a different matter. He definitely didn’t want to be the focus of any of their fantasies, not when Omegas could go into heat at the drop of a hat. It was like puberty where a stray breeze could cause a boner, but one hundred times worse. Oh, alright, maybe not that bad, but stress could trigger a heat; too many Alpha pheromones could trigger a heat; not enoughAlpha pheromones could trigger a heat (and he totally didn't understand the evolutionary cause of that unless they were hoping suddenly going into heat would make an Alpha appear or something, but whatever, not his gig); too many Omegas in close quarters with each other could trigger a heat; the list went on and on. Omegas were dangerous; they were ticking hormonal time bombs, and Tony didn’t want to be anywhere in the detonation radius. Pepper kept telling him that one day when he was least expecting it, he’d turn around and wham! There’d be the Omega for him. And when they got married, she’d laugh and laugh and laugh. Such a good friend, that one. Until that fateful, fateful day, however, Tony was going to stick with what worked and just avoid the motherfuckers for as long as he could. Chapter End Notes The fandom needs more Omega!Steve is all I'm saying. ***** Chapter 24 ***** Chapter Summary “Please, Steve?” he asks, and he’s not above busting out the puppy dog eyes, which he reserves for just these kinds of special occasions. Chapter Notes At last! The move is done! I've been without internet for like a week now--the HORROR--and to celebrate being connected again, here, have some unfinished fic. :) “Please, Steve?” he asks, and he’s not above busting out the puppy dog eyes, which he reserves for just these kinds of special occasions. Steve says he looks ridiculous, but it’s not like Tony hasn’t noticed the correlation between him employing the eyes of doom and Steve giving in to whatever he wants. “No, Tony.” Except, apparently not this time. “But why not?” And he’s not whining. Yet. He's still got a few tricks up his sleeve before he has to resort to the whining. "It's . . . it's indecent, Tony," Steve says, and his face is so red that part of Tony worries he's going to give himself a headache. The larger part, however, is thinking, oh, how cute, because Steve’s been dating Tony of all people for a few months now, and he’s still hung up on things like propriety and shame. “It’s only indecent if someone else sees it,” he tries to explain, but that just sets Steve off on a new tangent. "And that’s another thing! I've heard about these,” he says darkly, because for all that he’s a living legend, Steve gets weirdly fascinated by celebrities and can spend hours on IMDb. “How couples decide to make a—a sex tape, and then suddenly everyone in the world has seen them naked!" “Well,” he begins in a completely rational way, “a lot of them get paid to take their clothes off—” “But I don’t! And neither do you!” “Um, actually,” he says, because there’d been that one time, but it’d been for charity so he hadn’t actually gotten paid. And he hadn’t been completely naked either. He’d been wearing a strategically placed Swedish model, which he’d rather enjoyed. “Neither do you,” Steve repeats, glaring, and Tony puts up his hands, backing down. “Look, Steve—” “I don’t understand why you would even want—” "You're going to be gone for two months! Two months,” he says, getting angry all over again just thinking about it. Steve had told him the news one hour ago. And he was leaving tomorrow. “You've already said that we won't be able to talk much, maybe not at all! I just want something to be able to look at in the middle of the night when I’m alone." He clasps Steve's hand, and he knows he's already won when Steve doesn't stop him. "And before you say anything, yes, I have pictures and other videos of you, but it’s not the same, not even close. I realize that this is a purely selfish thing that I’m asking, but I don't care. Do you know how much I’m going to miss you? So much, Steve,” he says, his grip tightening, and Steve holds his hand back just as firmly. “I understand why you have to go, why it has to be you and not someone else, and I won’t argue with you about it—or Fury, come on, don’t look at me like that! But I want . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I'm the only person who'll ever see it, who'll ever even know about it besides you. I won’t ever mention it to anyone else, and it won’t ever, ever, get out to the public, I promise. I've kept the secrets to the Iron Man technology, haven't I? Please, Steve? Let me.” There’s a long enough pause that Tony starts to wonder if he’d been wrong, if Steve really is going to deny him. If so, he decides, he’s never going to try the whole honesty as a means of persuasion thing again. But then Steve sighs and says, “Alright, Tony. But just this once. And I don’t want you to mention it to me either,” he says wryly, the faintest hint of a blush rising back to his cheeks. “After today, I’m going to pretend it never happened.” “Cross my heart,” he says and pulls Steve in for a quick kiss and hug. ----- It’s not even thirty minutes later that he’s dragging Steve into the bedroom. No time like the present after all, especially since Steve’s leaving in about eighteen hours. And besides, the lighting’s good right now. He’s got a little handheld camcorder, nothing fancy, although the image quality is the best money can buy. He could’ve gone more high-tech, gotten lights and cameras set up as well as sound equipment and all that and still had time to spare, but for this . . . for this, he likes the idea of having the camcorder in his hand, being able to direct it to wherever he wants and focus on each part of Steve as he touches him. He likes that it won’t be perfectly polished (although technically he supposes they’ve done several rehearsals by now so that part of it should be five stars), that there’ll be moments when they’ll laugh and maybe he’ll accidentally record a few seconds of the sheets or something because Steve has always had the power to distract him. Call him a romantic, but he wants more than just the sex. But he’s looking forward to the sex portion of it; he’s not going to lie. “Smile, Steve,” he says pointing the camcorder at him as he walks out of the bathroom, still wet from a shower because he’d decided to sneak some twenty- five mile run or something awful like that while Tony’d been busy. And there are many things that Tony likes about Steve, how passionate he is about everything, his sincerity, his body—definitely his body—but one of the things he likes the most is his smile, honest and open, and the way it causes his heart to clench and makes him want to smile back. He’s going to miss this. But that’s for later. He refuses to get all maudlin before Steve has even left. “Okay, now turn,” he orders, twirling his finger. “Nice,” he says, cheering up slightly since nearly-naked Steve always has that effect on him. “Now drop the towel. And add a little flourish. You don’t want me to get bored after the tenth viewing after all.” Like there’s any chance of that. As a matter of fact, he makes a mental note to backup the video and then backup the backup. Ad infinitum. There’s a slight pause, like Steve’s debating with himself whether or not to actually do this, but then his shoulders loosen, and Tony captures the “whatever, fuck it” moment as Steve whips his towel off, bridging the distance between them with intent. It’s obvious that he’s resolutely ignoring the camcorder, and Tony’s totally fine with that, prefers it in fact, because he doesn’t really want Steve to act any differently, doesn’t want to have to cajole and seduce a hesitant and blushing Steve every step of the way like he’s a virgin or something. Although. Yeah. There are . . . that’s kind of tempting actually. But that’s not what today is for. Today is for making enough memories to tide him over for two months, so he sticks his arm out and points the camcorder in the direction of their faces, and he lets Steve kiss exactly him like he wants to, Steve’s hands cradling his head, his mouth pressing against his hard enough to hurt. It’s easy to get lost in the kiss, in Steve’s strong hands and firm body, and he digs the fingers of his free hand into the damp skin of Steve’s hip, pulling him closer, as close as he could get. It’s too easy really, and he has to jerk his arm back up when he realizes it’s starting to dip. They fall onto the bed, and Tony has to bat Steve’s hands away when he reaches for his clothes. Being naked would be fun and all, but he’s busy, has things to do, Steve’s naked body to video, and it’s all about the priorities really. “Tony,” Steve says, a hint of admonishment in his voice and the lightest of blushes tinting his cheeks. But he lies there, hands fidgeting as Tony watches him through the screen, and Tony feels such a rush of fondness for him that his chest aches. He wonders sometimes what it is about Steve that attracts him so much. He’s not exactly Tony’s usual type after all. He’s a good man, but Tony’s met a lot—well, he’s met good men before. He’s handsome, but Tony’s slept with models and movie stars, and they’ve never moved him the way Steve does. Steve is—he’s in a class of his own, and Tony can’t even explain why, just knows it’s true. ***** Chapter 25 ***** Chapter Summary "You're used to following orders, right?" Tony asks. Chapter Notes Welp, I was recently plagiarized. (Many, many thanks to Ella for bringing it to my attention) Same words except different fandom and different pairing. It's the second time that it's happened to me, and I still really don't know how to feel about it. I mean, it's kind of back-handed compliment, right? Although it's very annoying too. And I feel defensive about the fact that it didn't do as well in that other fandom--even though obviously the characterizations are different so it really shouldn't do as well--but still. I am very conflicted. So here, have the beginning of some Steve/Tony bdsm fic. :) "You're used to following orders, right?" Tony asks, tongue peeking out between his lips to catch a stray drop of water, and that isn't distracting at all. "Sometimes," he says cautiously, because he's not sure where Tony's going with this, and he's learned by now not to blindly agree to anything Tony proposes. The one time with the watermelons and the golf clubs had been enough, thanks. Tony's eyes gleam for a moment like he knows exactly what Steve's thinking, but then he's back to business. "Just sometimes, huh? Didn't the army teach you to be a good little soldier?" "Well, there are occasions when you have to think outside the box," Steve begins, but Tony's already waving his hand. "Sure, sure, I'm all for adjusting plans on the fly, but on a daily basis, routine things. A higher ranking officer says 'jump,' and you say 'how high,' right?" "I . . . suppose," and yeah, that look on Tony's face can't mean anything good. But all Tony says is, "Interesting," and he hums a little as he takes his drink and walks out the room. ----- Steve keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, because you don't have a conversation like that with Tony Stark and then think everything's going to be alright. And sure enough, Tony starts making demands, ordering Steve around and watching expectantly, like he really thinks Steve's going to go along with it. "Go try these on," Tony says imperiously, dropping four garment bags next to Steve on the couch, and Steve doesn't need to see Natasha's eyebrows to go up like that when he unzips one of them to realize that the suit inside is worth a lot of money. Like, a lot of money. "I can't, Tony. This is too much." "Fiddlesticks, it's nothing." Which it very well might be as far as Tony's concerned, but that doesn't change Steve's mind. "No." "Yes." "No." "But—" "No." Or a week later: "Make me some coffee, Steve." He rolls his eyes. It's not that Tony was ever particularly effusive with "please" and "thank you" before, but they seem to have completely disappeared from his vocabulary recently. "Ask nicely, and I will." Tony lifts his head off the counter and looks at him with betrayed eyes. "You're going to begrudge a man who's gone without sleep for over forty hours one measly cup of coffee?" "If that man asks in an impolite manner, then yes." "You suck," Tony says, and he's definitely pouting. "Please, and thank you." "Tony—" "Fine, fine, will you please make me a cup of coffee, oh, wonderful and noble Steve, Captain of America and of my pants?" Steve rolls his eyes, but he lets that second part go, because Tony always has to get the last word in, and besides, he'd be quite happy to be captain of Tony's pants if he'd let him. Actually, he has no idea what "captain of my pants" means now that he thinks about it, but he knows what he wants it to mean, and really, that's all that matters. Or three days after that: "Get in that helicopter, Rogers!" And Steve sighs, lowering the foot that had been raised to climb the ladder up to the helicopter. It's not like Tony telling him to do it should change anything; they'd just finished foiling the enemy, everyone else is already seated, and he'd been all set to go aboard, but now that Tony's making an issue of it, Steve can't let it go. He frowns at Tony, but the suit's faceplate is down, so who knows if it has any effect on him? On second thought, this is Tony. Of course frowning has no effect on him. "Must you?" "Must I what?" Tony asks, and even in the suit, Tony can't pull off the air of injured innocence. "I was willing to put up with it at home, but we're still technically in the field, Tony, and that's really not appropriate behavior—" "So what you're telling me is that you don't mind the commands, but that there's a time and a place for it? And it's not when we're doing battle. I see." "That's not what I said—" "What's that?" Tony interrupts, putting a hand to where his ear would be if he weren't in full armor. "There's a bat on my head?” “What?” Steve asked, taken aback. “That can't be right! Sorry, there seems to be some kind of interference with my audio. Must've been that last pass when I got knocked into the wall. I couldn't make out what you said, over." "Tony—" "There's a pony? Where? We should call Animal Control. Wait, they might try to take the Hulk, never mind, bad idea. Over," Tony says, and Steve already knows he's not going to win this, doesn’t seem to win any of these bouts with Tony, but it never stops him from trying. “Can you be serious—” “I’m not delirious. It’s an audio glitch, I told you! You know what, I’m just going to fly to the mansion ahead of you guys and work on the problem. Catch you later,” Tony says, and he takes off, leaving Steve standing by himself, wondering how it’d all gone so wrong. ----- He means to talk to Tony about it, he really does, but Tony is very good at not being where you think he’s going to be, so there’s never a chance to sit down with him one-on-one. And after two weeks go by without any more orders, he starts to optimistically think that Tony’s given up on the idea. Yeah. He thinks he really should’ve known better, too. “Good morning,” he says as he walks into the kitchen. Bruce waves at him groggily, and Clint grunts from the table where he’s working on the crossword puzzle. Tony doesn’t answer at all, but he’s huddled over something on the counter, working on who knows what, so Steve’s not surprised. He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs, grabbing another carton, too, in case he can get Tony to eat some as well. Sometimes, if he sneaks food in front of Tony, he’ll just start eating without paying attention until it’s too late. “Hand me that wrench next to the stove, will you?” Tony asks distractedly, and Steve frowns, because what’s a wrench doing next to the stove anyway, but he grabs it, holding it out to Tony without even thinking about it. “Thank you, Steve,” Tony says, and he doesn’t look up, but Steve can see the smile from where he’s standing, and oh no. ----- It’s the tone of voice, Steve decides later after he’s gotten Tony his tablet from his bedroom for the third time that day. It’s so mild and reasonable, he doesn’t know why it sounds so reasonable, but it does, and there’s no expectation of questioning or defiance, just simple obedience, and that’s what he does, he obeys, not even thinking about it until he’s in the middle of doing whatever it is Tony wants him to do. It’s like some horrible superpower really, and Steve should probably mind more than he does, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He likes being useful, and well, Tony puts him to use. It’s comforting almost. He’s never been the type of person to have people waiting on him, but there are people and machines to take care of the house, the lawn, the cars, and he likes being able to do something for Tony considering everything Tony does for the team. Besides, unlike the majority of the rest of the world, Tony doesn’t want anything from Captain America, he wants stuff from Steve, and it’s a distinction that he appreciates. ***** Chapter 26 ***** Chapter Notes Oh look, I found another one! And from last year at exactly around this time. Might as well slap it up here... “You want me to do what?” Steve asked faintly, eyeing the . . . thing on the bed. “C’mon, Steve, it’ll be fun!” Tony said, putting himself in Steve’s line of sight, as if not seeing it meant Steve didn’t know it was there. “Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!” “What?” “Right, wrong holiday. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! With rum,” Tony added as an afterthought, wrapping his hand around Steve’s neck, his thumb caressing his jaw. “Look, we’re under the mistletoe.” “Tony,” Steve said, shaking his head slightly, although not enough to dislodge Tony. “You covered the entire ceiling in mistletoe. We’re always standing under the mistletoe.” “That’s because I am a genius,” Tony said and tugged Steve down for a quick kiss. “Now about my Christmas present . . .” “I got you a present,” Steve protested. “And I love it,” Tony said, the soft look on his face convincing Steve that he was being truthful. Tony was a hard man to shop for, and Steve had finally given up trying to buy something one of the world’s wealthiest men didn’t already have. Instead, he’d painted a picture of the team laughing together based off a photograph Pepper had taken during last year’s Christmas party. It’d been right before the two of them had started seeing each other, and Tony and Steve had been standing side by side, the expressions on their faces revealing a lot more than either of them had realized at the time. “This is actually more of a Christmas present to myself. You just happen to be the messenger. The deliveryman. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to wear those cute shorts those guys always have on—” “Tony—” “Steve,” Tony said, smiling and looking unbearably fond, and Steve knew he was going to give in. Of course, he’d known that as soon as Tony had said he had a small favor he wanted to ask Steve. “You don’t have to. You can say no, now or later. Yes, I made it with you in mind—” “I don’t know if that worries me more or less,” Steve muttered. “Oh, definitely more. I mean, less,” Tony said quickly. “So much less. Obviously. Live a little, Steve! You’ll like it; I promise. I can guarantee that I’ll like it. Besides, it’s Christmas!” “Yes, but you’re just using Christmas as an excuse.” “True. But that doesn’t change the date, or the fact that it’s the season for giving, or that I’ve been a very nice boy this year. Or a naughty one, depending on which you like better,” Tony said, leering cheerfully. “I don’t think naughty boys get presents,” Steve said, wondering how his life had come to the point that he sounded like a character out of one of those porn movies Tony liked so much. “Like I said, I’ve been very, very nice. Please, Steve,” Tony said, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “For me.” Which was how Steve found himself sitting naked against the headboard, Tony’s invention in his hand, almost hidden under a pillow, with Tony sitting in a chair at the end of the bed. At least Tony had dimmed the lights, Steve thought. Of course, that was when Tony said, “Spread your legs a little wider for me, Steve,” and all hope that this wouldn’t be half as embarrassing as he thought it was going to be flew right out the—thankfully closed—window. He did it though, took a deep breath and then settled a little lower onto the bed, let his legs fall further open so there weren’t even shadows to offer a sliver of modesty. He heard Tony’s sharp inhale, watched as Tony went completely still, and the knowledge that Tony was as affected as he was helped ease some of the nervousness inside of him. And Steve was affected, much more than he would’ve thought possible considering the idea of doing this for Tony hadn’t aroused him. The reality, however, was a little different. Tony had barely touched him as he’d helped take off his clothes, but Steve’s cock was already hard against his stomach, and his heart was pounding like it was trying to escape the confines of his chest. If this was how he felt before they even got started, how was he going to feel by the time he’d gotten Tony’s invention inside of him? “Start with your fingers,” Tony said, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, hiding the lower part of his face behind his clasped hands. ***** Chapter 27 ***** The first thing Tony smells when he walks into the door is the heavy, almost- sour smell of an omega in heat. Oh fuck, he thinks, because there are only two omegas on the team, and Clint went out on assignment three days ago. That means that Steve is in heat. Steve. Is in heat. He whimpers a little bit. He lifts his shirt and covers his face, breathing through his mouth shallowly, but it really doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all actually, and he imagines that he can almost taste it on his tongue, Steve’s scent, his desire. “JARVIS,” he grits out, and wow, he is so hard right now. “Do not, do not, no matter what I say, or what threat I make, or how many things I break, let me into Steve’s room until three days from now. Acknowledge.” “Yes, Sir. I will not allow you to enter Captain Rogers’ room for 72 hours.” “Thank you,” he says sincerely, and relaxes just a little, because it’s out of his hands now. He can’t get to Steve, can’t ruin their friendship by letting his knot take over his brain and make a pass where it’s not wanted. He’s safe. So it shouldn’t hurt to stand outside Steve’s door and just . . . smell him a little bit. Just. Just smell him. It’s not like he’s going to get the chance to do it again. Steve hasn’t been been awake for even a full year yet, and Tony knows it’s just a matter of time before he finds someone, someone kind and funny and gorgeous with a knot big enough to make Steve— Woah, woah, Tony thinks and he doesn’t actually remember walking over to the hallway, but here he is. He tries to take a calming breath, but the scent is more concentrated now, and oh fuck, Steve smells really good. Like, really, really good. Mouth-wateringly good. Tony has to swallow, the saliva pooling in his mouth. Okay. So getting closer to Steve was obviously a mistake. A stupid mistake. An incredibly stupid, terrible mistake. What he needs to do right now is turn around, march right into the elevator, and then lock himself in his lab until this thing is over. He inhales deeply, and fuck. It should be against the Geneva Convention to be this hard, it hurts so much. Who’s he kidding? His lab? He needs to get out of the building. He needs to get out of the city. Maybe the state. And he will. Oh shit, he will, he swears. In a second. One more second. He yelps when Steve’s door starts to open—shit, shit, what the ever-loving hell—and does the only thing he can think of, charging forward. “JARVIS! I’m trying to get in!” he yells, just in case JARVIS somehow misses it, and the door slams shut. The life of a superhero is never easy, and Tony has learned to be prepared, but right then and there, he decides that one of the smartest things he’s ever done has been to reinforce the doors and mechanize the hinges. “Tony?” “What are you—?” thinking, he wants to ask, but it’s not actually ludicrous that Steve would want to leave his room. The whole house reeks of the potential for sex, but Tony had eaten breakfast here this morning, so Steve can’t be too far along. “Why would you—?” open your door, is the next question, but on second thought, it makes him sound a little crazy, and obviously that’s not such a huge issue right now considering he just dived at Steve’s door while yelling at JARVIS, but there’s no reason to give him even more fodder. He finally just settles on, “How are you doing?” in his blandest voice possible, going for nonchalant and succeeding if he does say so himself. “I’m not . . . not doing so well. I think I have a fever. I was going to get some aspirin just now, but then you came. What are you doing? Is something wrong with the door?” “There is definitely something wrong with something,” Tony hedges, and is it possible that Steve doesn’t know he’s in heat? He’s in his twenties. He has to have gone through one by now. Right? Right? ***** Tumblr prompt: florist!Steve ***** Chapter Notes Shirokou on tumblr asked for: Good Morning! *wave* Um, if you’re looking for a prompt, maybe Steve/Tony with Steve as a florist. Tony goes to pick up a “Get Well” bouquet for Pepper or Rhodey, and he keeps going back for more flowers since Steve is cute. I totally...forgot about the "Get Well" portion of this, so... What can you do. Tony knows fuck-all about flowers. He could point out a rose reliably--he’s given enough of them to his dates--but that’s about it. It wouldn’t normally be a problem since Pepper long ago hired a florist exclusively for Tony who provides tasteful date bouquets, birthday bouquets, get-well-soon bouquets, and of course, the ever popular, we’re-very-sorry-about-him-there’s-nothing-we-can do bouquets, but unfortunately, that’s not an option right now. He’s five minutes out from picking up the lovely Gabriella, and he may have accidentally just crushed her flowers. “Damn it.” That’s the last time he tries to fiddle with machinery while he’s driving. He means it this time. JARVIS directs him to the nearest florist, and luckily, it’s next to a restaurant with an actual parking lot. Convenient, and besides, he’s only going to be a couple of minutes; no one’s going to notice. He ignores the the flowers already on display and heads inside, and what. What. The company florist does not look anything like this. “Hi, can I help you?” tall, blond, and handsome asks, and what are with those ridiculous arm muscles? Florists aren’t supposed to have biceps like that. Or thighs like that. Or a shoulder to waist ratio like that either. Tony would liken him to a piece of art, but while some of the Greek classics came close, he’s really never seen the guy’s body proportions except in porn, so. “I need twenty-four of your best roses, if you please,” and if his smile is a little more flirtatious than charming, well, who could blame him. “Sure,” he says, and as he gets closer, Tony makes out the “Steve” on the nametag. “This way.” Just as he’d thought, Tony’s outside with his flowers a scant few minutes later. Gabriella’s waiting after all, and he would hate to disappoint. Still, he makes a note of Red, White, and Blue Flowers in his phone. He might just be in this neck of the woods and need to drop in again sometime. ***** Tumblr prompt: 1939 Bucky and Steve hug ***** Chapter Notes theactualcluegirl on tumblr asked for: Winter Soldier glomps tiny Steve in 1939. I've never written Bucky before, and I didn't know what to do with this prompt, so this is what happened. idk One second he was sparring with Natasha, and the next, he was standing in the middle of an alley. Bucky whipped around, not giving himself the time to wonder, because hesitation meant death, and he was sure he was going to see Hydra agents surrounding him-- but all he saw was the tail end of a cat, turning onto the sidewalk. What in the hell? he thought, staring after it. Which was when he noticed the people walking past the alley, the cars driving by-- What in the hell? ----- It wasn’t hard to find a newspaper in the trash and find out the date. August 16, 1939. He’d been a kid back in 1939, a snot-nosed punk who thought the world owed him something, and he was going to go out and get it. He hadn’t even known all the shit he didn’t know and hadn’t had a single clue about what was in store for him, him orSteve-- Fuck, Steve. It probably would’ve made a lot more sense to try to find Howard Stark since he was some kind of genius and might be able to figure out what the hell was going on, but Bucky didn’t know how he’d gotten there in the first place, and he sure as hell didn’t know Stark, although if he was anything like his son, then maybe that was a good thing, and the only thing that really mattered at that moment was finding Steve. It was short work getting a shirt to cover his arm. The tank top he was wearing made the metal stand out like a sore thumb, but luckily, people were still hanging their clothes out to dry, so he snagged one as he went over the rooftops. He wasn’t used to traveling the city from that vantage point, but eventually, he started seeing familiar territory, and once he knew where he was, it didn’t take long to reach Steve’s building. Late afternoon, that meant Steve was still at work, painstakingly illustrating someone else’s words and hoping they’d give him a chance to do his own work. That’d all change, of course, once the war started and the draft, and then the only thing in Steve’s mind would be doing his part, doing something, because he’d never been the type of guy to sit back and watch. Still wasn’t. Almost three hours went by before he could see Steve’s distinct frame coming down the road, and he swung down from his hiding spot and made his way to intercept Steve at his door, hiding in the shadows until Steve was only a few feet away. “Buck?” Steve asked, faltering, and Bucky wondered what he saw when Steve looked at him, if everything was written on his face, all the years and all the things he’d done, if he looked anything like the Bucky Steve had known in 1939. “Bucky?” Steve said, his voice softer this time, and he took a step closer. “Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice stupidly hoarse, even though he was fine, because going back over seventy years into the past wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him. It didn’t even come close. He didn’t mean to hug Steve then, had meant to keep a little distance so Steve wouldn’t notice the arm right away, but he found himself doing it anyway, wrapped himself around Steve and held on tight, and he didn’t know why this felt like coming home when nothing before this had, but it did. “Hey, Buck,” Steve said and didn’t ask any questions, just held him back. ***** Tumblr prompt: Steve on his knees ***** Chapter Notes post-and-out on tumblr asked for: Steve on his knees saying “thank you” I don't know that I did any of these prompts justice, but at least I wrote something... Tony likes to put Steve on his knees, not as a voluntary act--although, of course, that’s always pretty too--but an involuntary one. “Put your hands behind your back,” he says, and Steve obeys easily, just like he always does. There’s no question about who would win in a contest of strength, and while Tony could--and will--probably put something together that can keep Steve right where he wants him, there’s nothing but Steve’s desire to please keeping him where he is right now. Steve’s control is a lovely thing to behold, but it’s even lovelier when it lays in tatters at Tony’s feet. So Tony takes his time, using his hands, his mouth, a few toys that he knows Steve particularly likes. He’s in no hurry, and it’s not like he’s not enjoying himself in the meantime. He gets a fierce sense of satisfaction when Steve’s legs start to tremble, but there’s still a long way to go. Steve can take so much. Tony runs his hands down the sides of Steve’s legs when the muscles start jumping, over and over again, presses his tongue even deeper into Steve to stifle the urge to smile. Steve lets out a sob when his left knee buckles, and he has to lurch forward to catch himself. The vibrator slips out, it’s buzzing getting louder as a result, but the sound doesn’t cover Steve’s breathless, “I’m sorry,” and Tony shushes him, tells him there’s nothing to be sorry for. Steve’s legs are outright shaking when Tony adds the second slim vibrator, and yeah, it won’t be long now. He makes sure he’s standing in front of Steve when Steve’s legs finally give out, is there to catch him and lower him gently to the floor, all the while telling him how gorgeous he is and how proud Tony is of him. Being on his knees is only slightly better for Steve, and he sways into Tony, his thighs shuddering as they try to hold his weight. Tony’s tempted to take it even further, but this is enough for now, he thinks. Maybe next time he’ll take Steve all the way down. He turns both vibrators up to full speed and barely gets his hand on Steve’s cock before Steve’s coming, his voice all but broken. Tony has to brace himself so that Steve doesn’t knock them to the ground as all his weight comes to rest on Tony, but he doesn’t mind. “Thank you,” Steve whispers into his shoulder a minute or so later, and Tony’s not sure for what. For the experience maybe, or for the incredible orgasm, or for just keeping him from falling, who knows, but it’s nice to hear nonetheless, and Tony presses a kiss to head in reply. ***** Tumblr prompt: massage ***** Chapter Notes Anonymous asked for: Steve/Tony, massage ;) This is my brain. “Ow. Fuck. Ow!” Tony said as the most excruciating pain he’d ever experienced before in his life shot down his back. He swore he could hear Steve roll his eyes. “If you’d just relax--” “The whole point of a massage is to relax, Steve, not to be pummeled or, or bruised, or whatever it is you’re doing,” Tony said, rolling onto his side out of self-preservation. When Steve had offered to give him a massage, he’d been delighted and had already made plans on how things would segue into sexy times. That was before he’d come to understand that to Steve, “massage” actually meant “maim.” He glared at Steve and pointed his finger threateningly at him when Steve tried to get closer. “I’m sorry, I was trying to be gentle--” “Try harder next time,” Tony told him, but then he sighed at the crestfallen expression on Steve’s face. “Fine. Let me show you how it’s done.” They switched places on the bed. He was kind of tempted to go a little kamikaze on Steve in retaliation--the worst pain of his life, really--but he controlled himself and started by rubbing Steve’s shoulders. “See?” Tony said, using moderate pressure. “Doesn’t that feel good?” “Um, do you mind doing it a little harder?” “Sure, like this?” Tony said, adding more pressure. “A little bit more?” “This?” “Maybe a little bit…?” “Like this?” Tony said, kind of annoyed, and put all his strength into it. He honestly didn’t know who was more startled by the moan Steve made then, although from the expression on Steve’s face, it might have been Steve. “Yeah,” Steve said after a short pause, his whole face flushed. “Like that.” Ten minutes later, Tony was dying. It was worse than working out, than sparring with Steve without the suit, then going ten rounds against a zillion Doom Bots. The harder he massaged Steve, the more Steve liked it, the kinky bastard, and Tony was exhausted. I might never use these hands again, he thought mournfully, staring at his poor abused fingers. “Okay,” he said, using the back of his hand to slap Steve’s ass and wincing at the resulting throb in his fingers. “See? That’s how it’s done.” “Thank you,” Steve said, rolling onto his back, and hellooooo. Steve had reallyenjoyed his massage apparently. Later, as Tony rested on his back while Steve rode him for all he was worth, he decided giving Steve a massage wasn’t so bad after all. ***** Tony and Steve playing Destiny ***** Chapter Summary Steve and Tony like to play Destiny (the video game). Destiny 1, not 2, because I don't like 2 half as much as I liked 1. Chapter Notes I wrote this...a year ago? two years ago? idk...on tumblr, and I haven't finished it, soooo it gets sent here. >_> It’s just a game. Steve knows there’s nothing really special about it except maybe slightly better graphics than the current standard. It’s just one first- person shooter out of hundreds, but he’s addicted. He hasn’t gone so far as to set his alarm early in order to get some time in before work–not yet anyway–but he thinks about it during random moments in the day, and he always races home and wolfs down dinner in order to get on as soon as possible. There really isn’t anything special about it. What there is, however, is Tony. Steve starts smiling as soon as he sees IronMan’s already on. A second later, he’s joining Tony’s fireteam without even checking to see where he is and setting up a party chat. “What’s up?” he says, casual as anything, as if his heart rate hasn’t picked up at the anticipation of talking to Tony. “Well, aren’t you on early tonight,” Tony says, and Steve swears he can hear the smile in his voice–finds himself grinning back reflexively and ducking his head as if Tony could actually see him. He’s such a moron. But he can’t help it. Tony gets to him. “Yeah, I finished a project faster than expected,” he says and doesn’t tell him it’s because he’s been working through lunch for the last week. There’s nothing wrong with being productive after all. “Nice,” Tony says as Steve gets out of orbit and realizes Tony must be doing patrols. They’re both too high-level for it to be exciting, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t really care what they do as long as they’re doing it together. He follows Tony around the different maps as they chat and wait for the rest of their normal group to get on. Wednesdays are for raiding, and everyone should be on by 11pm his time. He and Bucky are the only ones on the east coast, which means they have to stay up the longest, but they typically get through the whole thing in under an hour, so it’s not a problem. When he’d first started raiding, he’d spend 3-4 hours trying to finish and still not succeed, but now they have it down to an art. “So any exciting plans for the weekend?” Steve asks as they start up a round of 6v6 PVP. “I’m heading towards B,” he says, bypassing A completely. They need to keep control of two zones to win, and it’s easier to get a fresh zone than capture a taken one. “Right behind you,” Tony says, and they make their way over. “I’d hardly call it exciting, but I’ve got a dinner to go to on Friday night. Boring small-talk, mediocre food, not enough alcohol, yeah, I’m not really looking forward to it. Nice shot.” “Thanks,” Steve says, and he’s not actively trying to show off or anything, but he’d had the headshot, so he’d taken it. “So why go?” “Pepper’s making me. I have ‘responsibilities’ apparently,” Tony says, and Steve can hear the air quotes. “Well, look on the bright side. At least it’s free mediocre food,” Steve says and wonders at the snort Tony lets out. “There is that, I suppose. Shit, incoming on the right. Four of them.” “I see them.” They spend the next several seconds fighting for their lives, and there’s just one guy left with less than half health when Tony says, “It means I probably won’t be on Saturday morning either, just so you know.” “What? Why not?” Steve asks, jumping over a rock in order to finish the guy before his health regenerates. Saturday mornings are for Trials. Tony laughs. “Because of my date Friday night.” Because of his– Oh. “What the hell?” Tony yelps as Steve dies. He’d been sniping the zone, so by the time he gets to Steve’s ghost, the other player is gone, and Tony can’t even avenge him. “Controller,” Steve mutters, and it’s not exactly a lie, even though he knows Tony’s assuming he’s having issues with his PlayStation controller, and not that the person doing the actual controlling is the one with the problems. Tony has a date. Of course he has a date! Steve berates himself as he respawns. He has absolutely no clue what Tony looks like–although he thinks about it a lot, when he remembers something funny Tony had said earlier that day, when he’s alone and lonely–but Tony’s sly and charming and hilarious, and even if he’s not that attractive (although a person doesn’t have to be movie-star gorgeous to be attractive, Steve knows, and what does beauty matter anyway in comparison to what’s inside?), he’s still bound to have people who want to be with him. Like me, Steve thinks and watches his character die on screen again for the third time without killing anyone. His K/D ratio is going all to hell. “Have you found your other controller, Steve?” Tony asks, and he’s valiantly been trying to pick up Steve’s slack, but the game has respawned Steve in two different places, and Steve keeps dying before Tony can get there. “Yeah, give me a sec,” he says and takes his microphone out. Get it together, Rogers, he thinks and gives himself a shake. So what if Tony has a date? Tony’s probably had tons of dates while they’ve known each other and just hasn’t told Steve about them. It doesn’t change anything. It’s not like they’re ever going to meet up or anything. Tony lives in California after all. If anything, the thought makes him feel worse, and he’s being ridiculous, he knows he is, but– But. “Okay, I’m back,” he says after he’s plugged his microphone in again, and he focuses on killing everyone in sight. “Wow,” Tony says afterward. Even with spacing out, Steve’s at the top of the scoreboard. By a lot. “Stored up a lot of aggression, didn’t you?” “I can’t help it if you’re not very good,” Steve says, teasing as always, but his heart’s not in it. He’s spared from Tony’s response by the arrival of Bucky to the party chat. “What’s up, losers?” They don’t talk about Tony’s date for the rest of the night, but Steve never stops thinking about it. ----- Y dont u just tell hm? Steve stares down at his phone. Bucky tends to be a lot more blunt than he is, which is saying something, but even he has to realize the absurdity of what he just suggested. That’ll go over well. Hi, Tony. I know we only know each other through Destiny and have only been talking for a few months, but I really like you. How would you feel about starting a long-distance relationship with me, sight unseen? So snd hm a pic. Hell totally wnt 2 jump on tht Steve rolls his eyes. But there’s a part of him that’s grateful for the comment. He wasn’t the best-looking kid growing up, and while he eventually filled out, it’s nice to have some reassurance that Tony would find him appealing. You say that, but you don’t even know if Tony’s into men. It’s one of those questions that Steve has been dying to ask, but there’s no way to politely bring it into the conversation. Nice shader; oh, by the way, are you attracted to men? Yeah, not so much. Pls. He flrts wth u all th tim He does not. Does he? Steve’s in the middle of composing a reply when Bucky writes, Dont b a pussy He erases what he’d been planning to say for, It’s not that easy. Its not tht hrd either. Not yet n e way Steve rolls his eyes. I don’t even know what he looks like. Mayb not but hed have 2 b prtty horrendus 4 it 2 bthr u. Y dont u just google hm I can’t do that. Besides how creepy that’d be, I don’t even know his last name, Steve writes triumphantly. U know hs 1st name he livs in Malibu has a frnd named Pepper–how mny ppl hav frnds named Pepper–nd he wrks wth computers. Wht mor do u ned I’m not going to stalk him! Ill do it. Don’t you dare, Steve writes, unable not to, even knowing it’ll just egg Bucky on. There’s no response. Bucky. Still nothing. Bucky had to be purposefully not answering just to make him nervous. Right? BUCKY. Shit. He wouldn’t. He really, really would. This is an invasion of privacy!Steve writes, his thumbs flying over his keyboard. If Tony wanted us to know who he is, he’d would’ve told us! It was too little information. Surely it wouldn’t bring up any results. If anything, Bucky would get a handful of cooking recipes by a chef named Tony. There was no way it’d work. Except Bucky was really good with Google… James Buchanan Barnes, what would your mother say????Steve writes in a last ditch effort to get Bucky to stop. Rlax I ws just messng wth u A wave of relief rushes over Steve, so big that his limbs actually feel a little rubbery in the aftermath. Followed by a teeny, tiny prick of disappointment. Which makes no sense since he really didn’t want to find out anything about Tony because of Bucky’s crazy cyberstalking. And yet. He shoves everything out of his mind and focuses on work like he’s supposed to. Tony is … he’s just out of Steve’s reach, and that’s all there is to it. The sooner he gets that through his head, the better. Of course, it’s really hard to follow through with his resolve to get over it when Bucky texts him a little over an hour later. Tony’s bi. Ur welcome What? What? Steve may or may not make some kind of noise, because everyone in the meeting he’s in turns to look at him. “Sorry,” he coughs and waits until everyone gets back down to business before peaking at his phone once again. The message hasn’t changed. He has absolutely no idea what this means. Besides the obvious. Did Bucky go through with the cyberstalking after all? Or is he just making this up in order to give Steve a kick in the ass? He wants to know. He’s dying to know, but this isn’t the kind of conversation he can have over text–especially if he wants to keep his job–and this meeting is supposed to run for another forty minutes at least. He’s never wanted to be a smoker before, but he’s starting to regret his life decisions. It’s a long, torturous hour and twelve minutes before the meeting wraps up, and it’s all he can do not to bolt for the door, but he walks calmly back to his cubicle and puts his stuff down before heading downstairs and through the back door towards the parking lot. He may be walking a little faster by the time he reaches his car, but it’s barely noticeable. The first call goes straight to voicemail, and no. That’s just Bucky being a shit. Steve calls again, and sure enough, Bucky picks up. “What’s up, Steve?” “What did you do?” “Moi? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Bucky…” he says warningly, but Bucky’s never been the type to take warnings well, and Steve knows it. “How do you know Tony’s bi?” “Oh, is that what we’re talking about?” Bucky asks, and Steve can hear the damn smirk in his voice. “I wasn’t sure you were interested since you never responded to my text.” “You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Steve says exasperatedly, and Bucky laughs and laughs. “Steve, just because you refuse to download the messaging app doesn’t mean the rest of the world is stuck in the forties.” It’s an old argument. What’s the point in downloading the app when Steve is just as fast writing out the texts on his tv? It’s always just some combination of his class, light level, and willingness to join a group, and he rarely even does that much anymore since he’s got his friends. Why does he need to download the app for that? He has no idea what that has to do with anything, though, unless– “Tell me you didn’t message Tony and ask him if he’s bi. Tell me.” “I didn’t message Tony and ask him if he was bi,” Bucky parrots back, and Steve doesn’t believe him for a minute. “No, really, I didn’t,” Bucky says, and the amusement is practically oozing from his voice. “I’ll text you our conversation.” I hear ur ditchng us 4 sum wrk prty Fr night. Frkng lame Pepper is scary. I do what she says. Whipped Yes and proud of it. U 2 arent even datng Not anymore, no. U usd 2 go out with Pepper? Does she kno ur spreadng lies n slander? No, shh, don’t tell her. I alwys thought u likd cock. My bad It’s all Steve can do not to cover his face. He just, he feels like he should be apologizing for Bucky, but it’s way too late for that. Oh yeah? Yeah. Ive uslly got excelnt gaydar LOL, well, you’re right. I’m bi. There’s one last text from Bucky that just reads, Tada! and then that’s it. There are so many things that Steve could say, too many really, and that’s his only excuse for ignoring Bucky’s machinations and the obvious white elephant in the room and saying weakly, “You have horrible gaydar.” Like he’s tried to set Steve up with straight men and been totally oblivious when gay guys hit on him levels of horrible. “Yeah, but Tony doesn’t know that,” which is a fair point and so not relevant to anything he should be discussing. “Okay, but this doesn’t change anything,” Steve says, and it’s the last attempt of a drowning man to swim in shark-infested waters. “It changes everything.” “Okay, so it changes some things, but it still doesn’t change the fact that we’ve never seen each other, we live at opposite ends of the country, and our only interaction has revolved around a video game.” Bucky sighs, long and drawn-out, and nothing Steve’s said hasn’t been true, so he doesn’t know what’s he done to deserve it. “Look, Steve, I’ve got to go. You do what you want, but don’t come crying to me when Tony invites you to his wedding and you have to stand in the back of the reception hall and think, if only I’d manned up and asked him out when I had the chance, then I could be the prettiest princess right now.” “What?” “Download the fucking app, okay? Text him about something that doesn’t specifically have to do with Destiny. Grow some balls, fucking hell.” Bucky mutters the last part before raising his voice to say, “and then handle his balls, although don’t tell me about any of it. I haven’t seen you this into someone in a long time, and you haven’t even met the guy. Think how good it could be if you were actually in the same room or something.” Steve doesn’t mean to, but he does think about it, and it makes his heart start beating faster at the very possibility. “Okay, late now. Catch you later.” “Yeah, thanks, Buck,” he says, distracted, and he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. End Notes Come talk to me on tumblr. 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