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cap_ironman2008-08-22 01:06 pm
smilingskull.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-08-22 01:06 pm
Entry tags:
Fic - Skin-to-Skin (Or, Captain Obvious loves Romeo)
I feel kinda silly posting this much, I promise this is it for a while. What makes it even worse is the fact that this is another long one-shot. (Although much shorter than the last one) This has been sitting on my computer for a month while I edited it and tweaked it and sort of totally rewrote it, and at this point I'm afraid if I edit/tweak it anymore my head might explode. Beta'd by a friend who is LJ-less. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it. :)
Title: Skin-to-Skin (Or, Captain Obvious loves Romeo)
Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Janet van Dyne, Peter Parker, Teddy Altman
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Avengers, post-Extremis (and a tiny bit of movie cannon)
Warnings: Sex, swearing, the usual. Also, brief mentions of Tony's back story are either made up or movie based. Also also, a bit of cheese factor and some minor angst.
Word Count: ~ 7,000
Disclaimer: No own, no profit. 'Tis all good.
“I hate that thing.”
Tony is sitting in the back seat of the car, with his temple pressed against the glass of the window, and glowering up at the Sentry’s watchtower. It’s an eyesore; he’d rip it down if he could.
Well, he supposes he physically could get it taken down. Hell, he could blast the thing to kingdom come with the gauntlets. But that would piss off Bob, and honestly, of all the people to make angry, Bob is the last on the list. Pissing the Sentry off is suicidal in a major way, even more suicidal than flying around in a highly advanced tin can with rockets strapped to the feet.
“I hate to tell you Tony, but Stark Tower didn’t exactly blend into the skyline even before the Watchtower got dumped on top.” Jan replies as the car comes to a stop by the curb, picking up her discarded stilettos from the floor of the car. Happy opens the door and Tony slides out, offering a hand to Jan, who takes it gracefully and steps right onto the cold, hard New York pavement in bare feet and an evening dress. It pools a bit around her ankles, she had it tailored to fit with the shoes. Tony just gives a little shiver. After spending 20-odd years living in California, his blood seems to have thinned some.
“Yeah, I know. But at least it looks like normal, modern architecture. That thing up there-“ he gestures to it with a vague distaste, “- looks like something out of another dimension.” He was going to say ‘looks like a bug’, but in present company, decided against it.
“True.” Jan steadies herself on Tony’s shoulder with one hand as she slips the shoes back on, adds three inches to her height. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, by the way.”
“No problem. It was either that or watch Peter mop the floor with Steve’s ass at Gears of War.” Tony’s eyes sparkle with a grin, and Jan knows that Tony really actually enjoys watching events like that, but in the end, even after all this craziness with the Avengers and everything, he’s still Tony Stark, and still really likes big galas with beautiful women to flirt shamelessly with.
“Hank would have been a total bore. The man wouldn’t know the fashion world if it hit him on the head.” Jan rolls her eyes, loves the man dearly, but sometimes he’s just as dumb as a box of rocks. She and Sue Storm should start a support group: ‘Our Husbands are Huge Geeks’ or something like that.
“He’s married to it, and I know it’s slapped him in the head before.” Tony winks at Jan, offers her an arm and they make the walk to the doors, into the lobby. Inside, the overbearing marble is quiet, the normal sound of shoes clicking and ringing cell phones long gone for the day. Blue, the janitor, waves at them as they pass, returns to his mopping.
The bank of elevators are sleek and industrial, the best money can buy. The first time Jan saw the building, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She has money, sure, quite a bit. But not enough to build a whole office building, to be Tony Stark.
The one on the far right is a private lift, right to the top three floors. The penthouse, the Avenger’s own little private clubhouse. It slides open as they walk up to it, and Jan is reminded again just how weird the Extremis is. It’s new - a few months ago Tony would have stuck a thumb against the little plate by the elevator, and the lock chip in his arm would have fired up it up. But now… it’s eerie.
The elevator is round, something that amuses Jan for no real reason, she enjoys it.
“Tony.” Jan says suddenly, as the elevator starts its assent (it’s fast, it makes your stomach jump, it takes some getting used to) “Who do you take to these things?” She means the parties, the galas, the charity events, the conferences. She’s only been his plus one on a few of those outings.
“Pepper, sometimes.” He replies, not missing a beat, “You, of course. I even convinced Drew to come with me once, that crazy SHIELD Christmas thing.” His grin is a tad bit too animalistic, and Jan’s pretty sure she now knows how the two ended up sleeping together that one time.
“You’re still missing quite a few.” She points out, giving him the cocked head look, complete with raised eyebrows, full of skepticism.
“I go to a lot alone.” He shrugs, not really looking that bothered about it. Jan knows that’s because while he may not attend with someone, he always goes home with someone.
The doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and from somewhere in the penthouse (the living room, in fact) Peter’s voice is heard.
“Chainsaw chainsaw chainsaw! Wow, that looked like it could have really hurt. Right to the chest, man. I totally just sunk your battleship!” and then, after some silence, “Rematch?”
Tony and Jan wind their way into the living room, where Steve and Peter are seated on the couch, in front of the giant plasma on the opposite wall. The Xbox is sitting out on the floor, and there’s a half-empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table (along with a few soft drink cans). Peter looks like a little kid hyped on sugar, sitting cross-legged, and Steve just looks sort of annoyed. Tony guesses he’s probably just humoring Peter at this point, because they’ve been at this for hours. It’s almost one in the morning.
Steve turns around as Peter flicks buttons and sets up a new match, seemingly eager to pound Captain America into the ground for the millionth time tonight. He throws an arm over the back of the couch, about to address Jan and Tony when Teddy comes out of the kitchen, holding a new bowl of popcorn.
“Oh, hey guys.” He says, sort of raising the bowl in greeting, before he moves to set it down next to the old one on the table.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Jan asks incredulously. Teddy opens his mouth to reply, but Peter cuts him off.
“Probably not. Billy’s at his parent’s house for the weekend.” Peter wiggles his eyebrow at Teddy, who just looks rather grimly in Peter’s direction.
“Well, at least I’m not ditching my significant other to play Xbox with Cap.” Teddy crosses his arms, fires back at Peter, who just mumbles something about “MJ being ok with this” before returning to attacking the controller.
“I think everyone’s due in bed.” Tony says rather pointedly, and Steve nods in agreement.
“Good idea. It’s late.” He gets up off the couch and walks to the game consol, poking the power button with his big toe. Jan gives Tony a kiss on the check, thanks him again and wishes everyone a goodnight. Steve shoos Teddy off to bed, and he goes off grumbling, soon followed by Peter. The screen on the TV glows blue, with a little box that says “No Input Detected” at the top right. Tony, in a rare display of actually using power buttons, picks up the remote from the table and turns it off.
“How was tonight?” Steve asks, sitting back down on the couch. Tony ditches his jacket and bowtie on one of the chairs and drops down next to him. As he’s unbuttoning his top two buttons, he really gets a good look at the shirt Steve’s sporting. It’s tight, muscle-y, and, much to Tony’s amusement, V-necked.
“Before I answer that question, I have one for you: what possessed you to buy that shirt?” Tony laughs, leans over and traces the v with one finger. Steve raises an eyebrow at him.
“What’s wrong with it?” Steve asks. He likes this shirt, it’s dark blue with a star on the chest and he feels rather comfortable wearing it because it reflects the uniform. “Jan was with me when I bought it, I trust her fashion advice.”
“Well yeah, I do to.” Tony just shakes his head in amusement. “But seriously, Steve, a v-neck? That’s got to be the – pardon me – gayest thing I have ever seen you wear.”
Steve frowns, crosses his arms, and leans back from Tony. He almost looks like he’s pouting, like he could be pouting, but Tony knows better. Captain America does not pout.
“Well, I like it.” Steve pronounces, and that seems to make everything better. Tony sure doesn’t question it.
“I never said it looked bad.” Tony shrugs a shoulder, gives this little smile that Steve knows extremely well. It’s a very odd cross between enduring and seductive, and Tony is the only person on the planet who can pull it off. Tony’s good at things like that: little things that are all at once very annoying and incredibly hot, or really stupid that turn out to be over-the-top intelligent. He’s a bit of a contradiction: the self-destructive self-made man.
“It’s very you.” Tony points out, tapping his own chest where the star is on Steve’s. He drops his head to one shoulder, offers a hand out to Steve, a peace offering.
“I know.” Steve takes the hand, and before Tony can pull him off the couch, Steve pulls Tony across the leather of the seat cushions, which ends with Tony in Steve’s lap, with a most undignified little noise that Steve knows he’ll have to tease Tony about later – it sounded very much like a squawk. They’re almost nose to nose, except that Tony’s tilted at an odd angle between Steve’s spread legs, so they’re more Tony’s nose to Steve’s chin. There’s an awkward shuffle on Steve’s part for a second, matched by a movement that Tony executes with flawless grace (learned from too much time in bed with leggy models and actresses) and they’re mouth to mouth.
“Tonight was nice, to answer your question.” Tony breathes, and Steve can feel the heat on his lips, which he licks, Tony smiles. “But it would have been even better if you were there. One day we’re going to get you into a tux, and, even if it takes the whole team to get you out of the building, you’re coming to one of these shenanigans.” Tony’s hands are back to tracing the v-neck of Steve’s shirt, down and up, smooth, in a pattern that makes Steve’s nerves sing and spark under his skin.
“Not happening. At least, not in a tux. I’d wear my dress uniform.” He returns just as softly, takes one of Tony’s hands, stalls it from its mission of tracing the fabric, and lifts it to the narrow space between their faces, brings it to his lips. He kisses the rough, scrapped knuckles, which Tony curls in response, lets out a sharp breath, holds. When Steve uncurls one finger, licks up its length with the tip of his tongue, he feels Tony jerk a breath back in, hears the crack of Tony’s other hand, left, knuckles, as it instinctively flexes, grabbing hold of the neck of Steve’s shirt.
Steve’s never meet anyone who’s got this crazy of a response with their fingers, their hands. He knows it’s because, in the end, Tony places more value on the hands that built his own personal shell, the suit, the armor, than on the equipment below the belt that’s had people moaning in at least 14 different languages over the years. Tony’s good with his hands, uses the same precision during sex that he uses when he’s working, tinkering. It’s weird, because it makes Steve feel like he’s a piece of equipment, a faulty sparkplug, a loose wire, but he always reminds himself that Tony cares about his projects over all else. And maybe he is one of Tony’s projects in a way – all the Avengers have helped, thawed him out and introduced him to a world he knew in a totally different age - but Tony’s always been the closest, the most there and involved. The most willing, passionate.
Which is why they’re now on the couch in the middle of the first floor of the Avenger’s penthouse, with two of Tony’s fingers in Steve’s mouth, and Tony’s totally gone. His breathing is ragged; mouth wide open, eyes shut with long lashes fluttering. Steve can tell he’s about to go nuts, whimpering, trying not to make any noise, because he’s loud as hell and everyone’s asleep.
“We need to move somewhere that’s not in the middle of the living room.” Tony suddenly grinds out, biting his lip, dropping his head and trying out catch his breath as Steve lets the fingers slowly slide out of his mouth, lustfully slow. He looks up at Tony through lidded eyes, wonders when Tony got him to become this sexually deviant (not that he minds at all).
“Not going to last?” Steve asks, tilting his head and looking at Tony for a long moment before drawing him in to kiss him. When it breaks, Tony pulls back and shakes his head.
“Fuck no. I’m going to end up waking everyone up.” Tony leans back on his heels, and Steve surveys just how winkled Tony’s shirt has gotten in the last few minutes. It’s impressive, really.
“You have got to be the loudest person ever. Even when you’re just talking. Plus, you’re not happy with a day until you’ve made something explode – that’s exceptionally loud. And I’ve heard you sing in the shower.” Steve is smiling though all of this, and Tony knows it’s true. He’s got a loud voice. Combine that with sex and… well. There’s a reason his bedroom is soundproof.
“I feel very strongly about blowing things up. Also, I will not make a bad sexual metaphor and/or joke out of that.” Tony replies, and Steve can hear there’s still some breathiness at the edges of Tony’s voice.
“That’s your job, right? To strap rockets onto everything?” Steve smiles, takes Tony’s hands and laces their fingers together. Tony gives a little squeeze as he laughs, pushing their hands closer together.
“Something like that.” Tony muses with amusement coloring his words, and then sits back even further, pulling Steve up into a sitting position from where he’s half lying, half sitting against the arm of the couch. “Now, let’s go find somewhere quiet with incredibly thick walls.”
They end up making out in the private elevator, and Tony looses his shirt as soon as they step off, through the doors. Steve isn’t really sure how the ended up down, not up, but down they are. Under glowing halogen lights that contrast Steve’s cheekbones up to a crazy level, up against a steel table that’s scattered with pliers and wire caps and half of one of the jet boots. Tony shoves them out of the way, there’s a clink and some clattering and clanging as half of it falls to the floor, and lets Steve heft him onto the worktable as Tony works furiously with those fingers at getting Steve’s shirt off over his head. It gets tossed somewhere over Tony’s head, landing who knows where.
When Steve gets his mouth on Tony’s right nipple, he makes a most fantastic sound and Steve is incredibly glad they left the living room, because it’s loud as fuck, and he does not need the whole team awakened to find Captain America and Iron Man having sex on the leather couch. Steve figures this would be sort of like walking in and finding mom and dad having sex –something you knew happened, but never, ever needed to see (or hear) in your life.
Tony’s fingers are nimble, strong, know what they’re doing, grasping at the back of Steve’s head, his hair (which is too short to grab fistfuls of, one thing that Tony wishes he could do), digging into the back of Steve’s neck with a searing strength that didn’t used to be there. Having sex with Tony has gotten more passionate, a bit crazier (by no means a bad kind of crazy), rougher since Tony ended up with the Extremis. He’s stronger and faster, able to match Steve’s power a bit better. He still lacks the sheer mass that Steve has, but Steve isn’t worried about hurting him anymore.
As far as Tony is concerned, it takes way too long to get Steve’s pants off, and then even more time to get his own off. He spent all night surrounded by beautiful people, and he’s been waiting hours for this, and he’s not waiting any longer. When Steve hits a particularly sweet spot over Tony’s sternum (it was the skin around the reactor when it was there, and now the skin over the spot where it was, that really gets Tony going) the only thing that Tony can do is let a long string of “fuckfuckfuckohmygod!” slip out of his mouth – more like burst, because the last couple of words manage to ring off the ceiling. Steve once joked that he needed earplugs to have sex with Tony when he was especially charged up.
And charged up is what Tony is. Steve can swear he can feel his skin humming, heating up under his fingers, and he splays them across Tony’s chest, earning another rather delicious sound. Tony bites his lips together, makes a strangled noise when Steve teases Tony’s briefs off. He bucks his hips, lifts them from the table, and Steve lets them drop, so Tony can kick them off. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Steve’s boxers to follow.
Tony falls back against the table spread eagle, breathing hard and looking so unimaginably hot. Steve sees Tony’s eyes focus on the ceiling above him for two seconds, and half of the lights in the workroom go out, including the one directly over Tony’s head. Steve realizes he must have been staring directly into the harsh glow.
“Better?” Steve asks, and then he’s on the table too, straddling Tony on hands and knees. Thank god these tables were made to take the weight of things like engines and the armor, because between the two of them they are not light, by any means.
“The lights, yes. Other things, no.” As if to demonstrate he grabs Steve’s hips, pulls him down against him and grinds upwards, the friction makes Steve growl, the sound is throaty and layered and when Tony hears it he grins in his crazy, lust-laden way that just gets Steve even hotter than he already is. Between the body heat off his own skin, and the incredible amount of heat Tony’s body is generating, he feels like he’s in a furnace. It’s off the charts hot, and Steve grinds back, and Tony’s yelling again. Something else goes clattering to the floor, and out of the corner of his eye Steve sees it’s a soldering torch. Somewhere, in the part of his brain that’s still capable of normal function, he realizes its probably dangerous to have sex in a lab that’s full of things like blow torches and tech that’s at least ten years ahead of it’s time, but that thought doesn’t last very long before he’s biting, kissing, licking Tony’s neck. He knows he’s leaving marks, but Pepper’s gotten excessively good at applying make-up over the years when Tony needs to be seen in public, but is sporting hickies and rope burns, and all other manner of marks that the board of directors doesn’t need to see. She’s gotten even better now that the wax burns and nail marks have been joined by bruises and cuts from various missions.
Tony, for a guy, is both deceptively flexible and liquid-like in his movements. It’s something that’s always captured Steve’s attention, because Tony moves like that in every day life, not just when he’s writhing under Steve and his hands (and mouth).
“I need- Christ, Steve, I need- oh Jesus H. Fucking Christ in a flaming shit storm, do that again!” Tony’s gasping and grasping and grinding and really, really needs Steve in him right fucking now. But whatever he’s doing right now is also really good.
Steve’s sucking and biting down on Tony’s very exposed hip bone, and from what Steve can make out between all the swearing, it’s pretty fucking awesome in Tony’s eyes. Steve gives a particularly vicious bite and Tony suddenly rocks, arches into Steve, begging and pleading, and every other word out of his mouth is ‘fuck’ or ‘Christ’.
“Please, Steve, I want – I need, please, I need you in me.” Tony’s voice is low and coarse, and when he says that particular combination of words in that particular order, Steve gasps, feels his muscles clench, heat swirl in his body, is amazed at what Tony can do to turn him on by just speaking, just words.
Which is how they end up with feet back on the floor, Tony bent over the table screaming at the top of his lungs, Steve leaning over his back and murmuring little things in Tony’s ear that make him groan and moan and buck. Steve digs his fingers into Tony’s hips, and each and every time their hips meet, Tony whimpers, yells, gasps and wants more. He’s got his hands balled into fists, has nothing to cling to because he’s on a cold, smooth tabletop and not in a bed surrounded by an ocean of soft sheets. But really, in the end, Tony would rather have sex in the workroom than in his own bedroom any day of the week. He’s also extremely glad he had the foresight to bolt these damn tables to the floor.
Steve’s powerful, and Tony’s feeling it all, and wants more, needs more. He lets his head rest against the table, forehead to cool steel, and his yells and moans echo off the metal as he pushes his body back to meet Steve’s. Skin to skin, it’s a connection; it’s a current jumping between two energy sources, powerful and slick. Every drive, a jump of electricity, a jump, thrust. Steve can hear Tony’s voice cracking, strangled, almost there. Tony’s always gotten off easier than he has, way more of a glutton when it comes to sex than Steve has always been.
“Please, please, fuckfuck, more, God - Steve, fuckfuckfuck!” Tony’s choking out words, can feel every last little bit of energy in his body driving, driving, thrusting, thrusting. He needs this like other people need air. Steve bends as far over Tony’s back as he can, pressing kisses to Tony’s spine, and sneaks a hand from Tony’s hip up, over and down to Tony’s chest. He knuckles against the bone there, fingers pressed against Tony’s sternum, and that’s all it takes.
Tony comes yelling Steve’s name, bucking back into him, against the table, back. Steve sees Tony’s fingers flex subconsciously, is dimly aware the lights flicker for a second and the computer on the desk next to them powers up, comes to life, with the unmistakable iMac chime. Steve’s not far behind him, Tony saying Steve’s name like that, screaming, always gets him, sends him over the edge.
Both of them are still for a moment before Tony moves forward, away from Steve, flips over, lays on the table and wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, pulling him back against the table. Steve, totally unprepared for the movement (and amazed at fast Tony can go from 0-60) stumbles forward, against Tony. He plants a hand on either side of Tony’s head to keep from falling against him.
Tony looks exactly like one would expect him to look – totally fucked out. His hair is an absolute mess, he’s got angry red marks blossoming on his neck and collarbone, finger prints over his breastbone and hips. His eyes are glazed over and dancing with the heat emanating between them, hands lazily folded behind his head, between him and the table. He looks, in all, rather smug.
Steve just sighs, gives him an adoring little grin and bends down. Tony meets him halfway, suddenly up on his elbows (Steve will never understand how he moves so fast) and their lips meet. The kiss is long, deep, the inside of Tony’s mouth is deliriously, deliciously hot, it’s like liquid heat. Steve licks along Tony’s bottom lip before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and leaning back. Tony lets his head thump against the table, and takes a second to glare at the computer that had started up earlier. It powers down without so much as a beep. He turns back to Steve, the fucked-out/smug expression back, but infused with something that’s passionate and loving.
“Hey Steve.” He says, refolds his arms behind his head, squeezes Steve’s waist with his legs, body-to-body, source-to-source.
“Yeah?” Steve responds, leaning down on his elbows so their faces are close. Steve can see the remnants of a nasty gash that Tony had gotten on his chin yesterday. He tails a finger over the almost-healed wound with a sort of subconscious wanting.
“You’re awesome.” Tony answers, closes his eyes, hums in contentment. Steve just has to laugh a bit, because Tony’s so cavalier about these things, says ‘you’re awesome’ in place of ‘I love you’.
“Thanks.” Steve says back, traces a lazy circle where the arc reactor was, once upon a time, leans on one elbow. “You’re awesome too.”
Tony opens his eyes, and gives Steve a real, genuine, sincere smile that makes Steve’s heart melt a little bit, because those kinds of smiles are rare from Tony. Tony picks himself up again, kisses Steve quickly and softly before pushing them back all the way up, Tony sitting, Steve standing, Tony’s legs still around Steve’s waist.
For the second time that night, Steve takes Tony’s hands, presses palms against palms. Tony’s the one to intertwine their fingers this time.
“There’s a quote to go with this, you know.” Steve says, is reminded of too much Shakespeare in school.
“Oh really?” Tony looks skeptical, but stilly ridiculously happy. Of the two, Tony’s the mathematical and scientific knowledge, and Steve’s the literary knowledge. For someone so smart, Steve has always been slightly horrified at how many things Tony (claims) he hasn’t read.
“’And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss’.” Steve shrugs, “It’s from-“
“Romeo and Juliet, I know that one.” Tony laughs, shakes his head in amusement. “Really? That’s so incredibly cliché. Besides, I can’t really see you as Juliet.” He quirks his head to one side, squints a bit, but still grinning like an idiot, as if trying to find something in Captain America that’s somehow a metaphor for Juliet Capulet.
“I know it’s cliché,” Steve snorts, the moment totally lost, “and who says you get to be Romeo?”
“I’ve been called Romeo many times in my life.” Tony raises his eyebrows, grins in a manner that makes it obvious that he’s trying to be dashing.
“Tony, I hate to disappoint you, but don’t wait up for me to start calling you Romeo.” Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead reaches up and flicks a lock of hair off of Tony’s forehead.
“That’s fine” Tony really doesn’t look broken up at all about this. “Let’s be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern instead, weren’t they questionably gay anyway?”
“Neither of us is gay.” Steve points out. “And not only were they from Hamlet, not Romeo and Juliet, but they were both killed.”
“Everyone ends up dead in tragedies.” Tony snorts. “And the ‘not gay’ is rather ironic, considering we’re currently naked together discussing Shakespeare.” Tony somehow manages to grind his hips from side to side against Steve’s hips suggestively, even though he’s sitting on a table. Steve has no idea how he manages to do things that should be physically impossible and end up turning him on so very incredibly much.
“That’s why they’re called tragedies.” Steve pokes a finger into Tony’s chest, emphasizing his point, trying to ignore his groin long enough to win this argument – whatever it’s about at this point (He’s not 100% sure).
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Tony retaliates, grinning.
“America.” It’s an automatic correction, and it takes Tony a second, but suddenly he’s laughing like crazy, and Steve’s blushing.
“You’re so ‘Captain Obvious’ from now on.” Tony manages to get out between gasps of laughter. He slams back against the table, laughing hard, and Steve winces at the noise, although it doesn’t seem to hurt Tony one bit.
“Tell you what. You can call me Captain Obvious if you want a shield to the head.” Steve offers this up like a deal, palms up and out. Tony takes a few seconds to cough out a few last laughs before he uses his legs to push Steve a bit back from the table, sliding down so he’s between the table and Steve.
“Nah, I’m good without brain damage.” Tony raises his hands, trails them, fingertips, down Steve’s bare chest, stopping to rest at Steve’s waist. He looks up, meets Steve’s eyes. There’s something there, something Steve can’t identify, but it’s smoldering, and Tony’s suddenly serious. “I really wish I could have had you with me tonight. Every time I go to one of these things, I feel like a dick for not automatically asking you to come with me, but going to Pepper or Jan or Jessica first. Hell, I’ve even brought Natasha to stuff before, and she’s a basket of trouble and then some. I’m sorry.”
The sudden shift of topic and tone catches Steve, he watches Tony the whole time, eyes-to-eyes. Tony’s sparkling blue is troubled, a storm at sea. Even though this isn’t the time, Steve is amazed at how gorgeous Tony is, especially when he’s serious, working, has a purpose. He commands an amazing amount of power with his voice.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, don’t be sorry. You know I wouldn’t go, this team attracts so much controversy as it, the last thing you need is someone discovering about us-“ Steve stops when Tony holds up a hand, eyes glued to Steve’s, the intensity in his gaze is slightly troublesome.
“’What will love not discover?’” Steve is momentarily speechless for two completely different reasons. One is that Tony must have been playing dumb earlier, because he had just quoted Ovid, which is mostly certainly up there on the literary know-how scale. The second is that Tony had just put love in a sentence that was completely serious and not about the armor, Popular Science or Jarvis.
“I thought you didn’t know about literature.” Steve really can’t think of anything intelligent to say.
“I don’t, exactly. Just stuff from the Library at the mansion that I would read as a kid. And I took a few Classics classes in college. They’re technically gen-ed.” Tony shrugs, leans back against the table and crosses his arms.
“MIT teaches Classics?” Steve and intelligent responses are not getting along at the moment. His brain is still trying to process Tony and what he meant by the quote. Tony and Ovid, now there was a maddeningly strange combination.
“They even have a whole theatre program.” Tony says this in a way that makes Steve think that Tony possibly took a drama class or two- especially if he had bothered with taking Classics.
“You learn something new every day.” Steve is silent for a second, Tony doesn’t say anything to fill the gap. “What did you mean by that quote?”
“I was just thinking about Romeo and Juliet, and you saying ‘discover’ triggered it. In the grand scheme of quotes, it’s profound but totally Roman in the sheer sentimentality and vagueness. Plus, that story is not one with a happy ending.”
“I know.” Steve says, totally unimpressed with Tony’s answer. “I’ve never heard you say something about love so seriously.”
Tony is quiet, taps his hands against the table that he’s leaning against. The fact that both of them are stark naked discussing MIT and Ovid in his workshop at two in the morning is not lost on him, and he just shakes his head with a small smile. His brain goes silent for a second, and the Extremis rushes in. News, reports, sports, entertainment, the SHIELD channel, radio chatter, a police scanner. Lewis Hamilton is winning the Monaco Grand Prix, in the rain, and there’s an armed robbery at a drug store on 56th. Two squad cars are en route.
“It’s not usually something I take seriously.” Tony brushes this off like he’s talking about baseball or doing the dishes. Steve takes the necessary step so he’s flush against Tony’s body, planting a hand on either side of Tony’s hips on the table. This somehow ends up in an impromptu staring contest.
“I do.” Steve doesn’t break the eye contact, watches Tony for signs of any emotion. However, he’s ever the good businessman, suddenly shut down, calm, stoic and collected. Not even anything stirs in his eyes.
“I know.” Tony answers after a long moment and leans forward, so that he and Steve are forehead-to-forehead. Tony closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “In my last year at MIT I meet this freshman, she was a year older than me and totally gorgeous. Anna. Redhead, always been my weakness. I was so stupid, I guess she was too. She was a biology major, which I instantly didn’t like, because I’ve always kinda hated biology. We got in this really huge discussion about if Bio could beat MechE, or the other way around. And at the end of this, she got me with the lamest pick-up line ever. Seriously, I have never heard worse in my life.”
Steve sees Tony smile, deep in thought, remembering, he can tell that when Tony speaks next he’s quoting the girl.
“’Well Mr. Engineer, why don’t you be the phasor to my electron so we can get to an excited state?’ I think it worked because she just threw phasor in there to appeal to my engineering-trumps-biology side.”
Steve has no idea what to make of that. Mostly because he’s got no idea what the heck a phasor is. It sounds like a weapon from Star Wars.
“Anyway,” Tony continues, still in story mode, “I fell for her extremely hard. We’re talking college love here. She was wicked smart, not like me, but still incredibly gifted. She probably could have skipped a grade or two, and knew just what to say, and just what to do, and I thought I loved her. That whole year, we were crazy about each other. We thrived on competition, who could get their work done faster, that kind of stuff. I called cheating because seniors got more work than freshman, but that never stopped us. I spent a lot of time in the labs, doing research assistant work, but every spare moment I had I was with her. We loved each other.”
Steve appears to be having a lot of speechless moments. It takes him quite a few moments before he can say anything. It’s rare to hear a story from Tony that’s totally true, and not full of embellishments.
“What happened to her? Well, to you and her?” Steve asks finally, unsure of weather or not this is going to trigger an extremely bad memory for Tony.
“I graduated. Obi and Dad came and basically said that I had a week or two to get my ass out to California, they’d just started up that regional location of SI, and that I was basically being drafted into the company with my newfound MIT knowledge, too bad if I wanted otherwise.” Tony stops for a second, rubs at his temples.
“So I spent the two weeks with her, and we realized that this was never going to work. I wasn’t about to piss off my family and get disowned over a girl, as much as I cared about her, and she wasn’t going to drop college just for a boy, as much as she cared about me. So we decided to part ways, promised to write all the time, call each other, screw long distance bills, that whole shebang. And we did, for a while. But it fizzed out. And when I saw her again for the first time in a year, we’d both changed. I spent my time at MIT being a kid, but spending a year in a business when you’re the son of the CEO will somber you up pretty quickly, and she was… colder. More interested in evolution and DNA than she was with me. And I guess I cared a little bit too much about stocks and crankshafts by that time, too. We ended up falling in love with our chosen fields over each other. Distance kills things. So does science. Engineering doesn’t get into bed with biology and expect to end up married.” Tony finishes with his arms crossed, his head leaning back in the empty air and his eyes closed.
“They did end up married. Biomedical Engineering. I’d say even you can attest to the helpfulness of that.” Steve holds up his thumb, presses it to the phantom reactor. Tony looks down at Steve’s thumb. He smiles sadly.
“Yeah, I guess I can. Extremis is Biomedical too.” Tony pushes his bottom lip out, blows a rather unruly bit of his hair out of his face. He could use a haircut. “We’re still naked.”
“I noticed.” Steve replies, wraps his arms around Tony. “So you think that love always ends up fading?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m better with numbers and metal than with people.” Tony tries to turn this into a joke, it doesn’t really work. He frowns, because it just comes out sounding way too true.
“You are.” Steve doesn’t even try to deny it. Tony’s achieved the ultimate: self-powered combat armor capable of flight, bulletproof, twenty years ahead of its time. But he’s never gotten further than one-night stands with supermodels and abusive relationships with psycho Russian spies. Except for maybe whatever they’ve have going on here for quite a while.
They stand there for quite a while, Steve with his arms wrapped around Tony, who’s nestled against him. Tony’s got his head on Steve’s shoulder, tucked into the crook of his neck.
“But you have this.” Steve pulls Tony a bit away from his body so that he can look at him. Tony’s still stoic, but slightly despondent too. Tony taps bare feet against the floor, makes little slapping noises against the cool concrete. Besides the tapping and gentle hum of various tech and machinery, it’s quiet.
“I do have you.” Tony finally says, rephrases a bit. He allows a bit of a smile. “I do have you.”
“I love you.” Steve says, levels his eyes with Tony’s. Tony takes a deep breath in, lets his eyes shut slowly. He lets the breath out gradually, puts his hands on Steve’s arms, and opens one eye, a grin blossoms on his face.
“I love you too.” It’s said softly, and Steve’s now gotten two real live, genuine Tony grins tonight, and that statement. Something he was fairly sure he would go forever without hearing. Tony’s said it lots of times, in different ways, but never straight out, simple, I love you. It makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat to actually hear it.
They end up on the couch in the lab (which Tony had to clear of sheet metal before they could sit down) wrapped together in a tangle of limbs, under a very plaid blanket that smells like Tony and exhaust fumes and steel.
“I’ll let you call me Captain Obvious if I can call you Ovid.” Steve murmurs into Tony’s hair. Tony just groans.
“I’m never going to live that quote down, am I? And try again, I’m no Ovid. I can’t write poetry for shit.” Tony’s voice is muffled against the cool skin of Steve’s shoulder. His goatee tickles.
Steve thinks for a few seconds.
“I’m retracting a statement I made earlier. You can call me Captain Obvious if I can call you Romeo.” This one just earns a laugh out of Tony. “As long as you don’t die at the end of the story.”
“I will try not to die.” Tony says rather solemnly, although he’s grinning.
“Sounds good,” Steve replies, “Romeo.”
“For sure, Captain Obvious.”
Captain Obvious and Romeo fall asleep like that, arms slung around bodies and knees knocking in a bunch of legs, all cocooned up in the blanket.
A few notes:
- Steve’s shirt does actually exist, although it’s a girl’s shirt. I just took some creative license with it and made it fit Steve. (http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp;jsessionid=A43A969D661203C9C89FE4EEC42F829A.app12-node4?itemdescription=true&itemCount=10&id=14767818&parentid=W_APP_TEES_GRAPHIC&sortProperties=+product.marketingPriority,-product.startDate&navCount=49&navAction=poppushpush&color=41)
- “I feel very strongly about blowing things up.” And “That’s [our] job, to strap rockets onto everything.” (Changed a bit so it would fit with the dialogue) are from Mythbusters, which, in my head, just has to be one of Tony’s favorite shows.
- The Ovid quote that Tony says is from ‘Pyramus and Thisbe’, which is considered to be one of the biggest influences on ‘Romeo and Juliet’. (The whole ‘girl appears dead, isn’t really, boy kills himself, girl wakes up at opportune moment to make very depressing speech full of hope and love, kills herself to be with boy’ thing is from there.)
- The janitor’s name (Blue) is a joke from the TV show House. I couldn’t tell you what episode exactly, but it’s from a bit of dialogue between House and Wilson:
(the two are breaking into a storage room)
Wilson: How’d you get keys?
House: Blue the janitor.
W: What?!
H: That’s his name. Blue.
W: It’s Lou!
H: … Owe him an apology.
Also, some silly art. :)
I honestly don't have a story behind this one, although there's something at the back of my head that suggests the shirts may have been gifts from Clint and Peter.
Title: Skin-to-Skin (Or, Captain Obvious loves Romeo)
Pairings/Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Janet van Dyne, Peter Parker, Teddy Altman
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Avengers, post-Extremis (and a tiny bit of movie cannon)
Warnings: Sex, swearing, the usual. Also, brief mentions of Tony's back story are either made up or movie based. Also also, a bit of cheese factor and some minor angst.
Word Count: ~ 7,000
Disclaimer: No own, no profit. 'Tis all good.
“I hate that thing.”
Tony is sitting in the back seat of the car, with his temple pressed against the glass of the window, and glowering up at the Sentry’s watchtower. It’s an eyesore; he’d rip it down if he could.
Well, he supposes he physically could get it taken down. Hell, he could blast the thing to kingdom come with the gauntlets. But that would piss off Bob, and honestly, of all the people to make angry, Bob is the last on the list. Pissing the Sentry off is suicidal in a major way, even more suicidal than flying around in a highly advanced tin can with rockets strapped to the feet.
“I hate to tell you Tony, but Stark Tower didn’t exactly blend into the skyline even before the Watchtower got dumped on top.” Jan replies as the car comes to a stop by the curb, picking up her discarded stilettos from the floor of the car. Happy opens the door and Tony slides out, offering a hand to Jan, who takes it gracefully and steps right onto the cold, hard New York pavement in bare feet and an evening dress. It pools a bit around her ankles, she had it tailored to fit with the shoes. Tony just gives a little shiver. After spending 20-odd years living in California, his blood seems to have thinned some.
“Yeah, I know. But at least it looks like normal, modern architecture. That thing up there-“ he gestures to it with a vague distaste, “- looks like something out of another dimension.” He was going to say ‘looks like a bug’, but in present company, decided against it.
“True.” Jan steadies herself on Tony’s shoulder with one hand as she slips the shoes back on, adds three inches to her height. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, by the way.”
“No problem. It was either that or watch Peter mop the floor with Steve’s ass at Gears of War.” Tony’s eyes sparkle with a grin, and Jan knows that Tony really actually enjoys watching events like that, but in the end, even after all this craziness with the Avengers and everything, he’s still Tony Stark, and still really likes big galas with beautiful women to flirt shamelessly with.
“Hank would have been a total bore. The man wouldn’t know the fashion world if it hit him on the head.” Jan rolls her eyes, loves the man dearly, but sometimes he’s just as dumb as a box of rocks. She and Sue Storm should start a support group: ‘Our Husbands are Huge Geeks’ or something like that.
“He’s married to it, and I know it’s slapped him in the head before.” Tony winks at Jan, offers her an arm and they make the walk to the doors, into the lobby. Inside, the overbearing marble is quiet, the normal sound of shoes clicking and ringing cell phones long gone for the day. Blue, the janitor, waves at them as they pass, returns to his mopping.
The bank of elevators are sleek and industrial, the best money can buy. The first time Jan saw the building, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She has money, sure, quite a bit. But not enough to build a whole office building, to be Tony Stark.
The one on the far right is a private lift, right to the top three floors. The penthouse, the Avenger’s own little private clubhouse. It slides open as they walk up to it, and Jan is reminded again just how weird the Extremis is. It’s new - a few months ago Tony would have stuck a thumb against the little plate by the elevator, and the lock chip in his arm would have fired up it up. But now… it’s eerie.
The elevator is round, something that amuses Jan for no real reason, she enjoys it.
“Tony.” Jan says suddenly, as the elevator starts its assent (it’s fast, it makes your stomach jump, it takes some getting used to) “Who do you take to these things?” She means the parties, the galas, the charity events, the conferences. She’s only been his plus one on a few of those outings.
“Pepper, sometimes.” He replies, not missing a beat, “You, of course. I even convinced Drew to come with me once, that crazy SHIELD Christmas thing.” His grin is a tad bit too animalistic, and Jan’s pretty sure she now knows how the two ended up sleeping together that one time.
“You’re still missing quite a few.” She points out, giving him the cocked head look, complete with raised eyebrows, full of skepticism.
“I go to a lot alone.” He shrugs, not really looking that bothered about it. Jan knows that’s because while he may not attend with someone, he always goes home with someone.
The doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and from somewhere in the penthouse (the living room, in fact) Peter’s voice is heard.
“Chainsaw chainsaw chainsaw! Wow, that looked like it could have really hurt. Right to the chest, man. I totally just sunk your battleship!” and then, after some silence, “Rematch?”
Tony and Jan wind their way into the living room, where Steve and Peter are seated on the couch, in front of the giant plasma on the opposite wall. The Xbox is sitting out on the floor, and there’s a half-empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table (along with a few soft drink cans). Peter looks like a little kid hyped on sugar, sitting cross-legged, and Steve just looks sort of annoyed. Tony guesses he’s probably just humoring Peter at this point, because they’ve been at this for hours. It’s almost one in the morning.
Steve turns around as Peter flicks buttons and sets up a new match, seemingly eager to pound Captain America into the ground for the millionth time tonight. He throws an arm over the back of the couch, about to address Jan and Tony when Teddy comes out of the kitchen, holding a new bowl of popcorn.
“Oh, hey guys.” He says, sort of raising the bowl in greeting, before he moves to set it down next to the old one on the table.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Jan asks incredulously. Teddy opens his mouth to reply, but Peter cuts him off.
“Probably not. Billy’s at his parent’s house for the weekend.” Peter wiggles his eyebrow at Teddy, who just looks rather grimly in Peter’s direction.
“Well, at least I’m not ditching my significant other to play Xbox with Cap.” Teddy crosses his arms, fires back at Peter, who just mumbles something about “MJ being ok with this” before returning to attacking the controller.
“I think everyone’s due in bed.” Tony says rather pointedly, and Steve nods in agreement.
“Good idea. It’s late.” He gets up off the couch and walks to the game consol, poking the power button with his big toe. Jan gives Tony a kiss on the check, thanks him again and wishes everyone a goodnight. Steve shoos Teddy off to bed, and he goes off grumbling, soon followed by Peter. The screen on the TV glows blue, with a little box that says “No Input Detected” at the top right. Tony, in a rare display of actually using power buttons, picks up the remote from the table and turns it off.
“How was tonight?” Steve asks, sitting back down on the couch. Tony ditches his jacket and bowtie on one of the chairs and drops down next to him. As he’s unbuttoning his top two buttons, he really gets a good look at the shirt Steve’s sporting. It’s tight, muscle-y, and, much to Tony’s amusement, V-necked.
“Before I answer that question, I have one for you: what possessed you to buy that shirt?” Tony laughs, leans over and traces the v with one finger. Steve raises an eyebrow at him.
“What’s wrong with it?” Steve asks. He likes this shirt, it’s dark blue with a star on the chest and he feels rather comfortable wearing it because it reflects the uniform. “Jan was with me when I bought it, I trust her fashion advice.”
“Well yeah, I do to.” Tony just shakes his head in amusement. “But seriously, Steve, a v-neck? That’s got to be the – pardon me – gayest thing I have ever seen you wear.”
Steve frowns, crosses his arms, and leans back from Tony. He almost looks like he’s pouting, like he could be pouting, but Tony knows better. Captain America does not pout.
“Well, I like it.” Steve pronounces, and that seems to make everything better. Tony sure doesn’t question it.
“I never said it looked bad.” Tony shrugs a shoulder, gives this little smile that Steve knows extremely well. It’s a very odd cross between enduring and seductive, and Tony is the only person on the planet who can pull it off. Tony’s good at things like that: little things that are all at once very annoying and incredibly hot, or really stupid that turn out to be over-the-top intelligent. He’s a bit of a contradiction: the self-destructive self-made man.
“It’s very you.” Tony points out, tapping his own chest where the star is on Steve’s. He drops his head to one shoulder, offers a hand out to Steve, a peace offering.
“I know.” Steve takes the hand, and before Tony can pull him off the couch, Steve pulls Tony across the leather of the seat cushions, which ends with Tony in Steve’s lap, with a most undignified little noise that Steve knows he’ll have to tease Tony about later – it sounded very much like a squawk. They’re almost nose to nose, except that Tony’s tilted at an odd angle between Steve’s spread legs, so they’re more Tony’s nose to Steve’s chin. There’s an awkward shuffle on Steve’s part for a second, matched by a movement that Tony executes with flawless grace (learned from too much time in bed with leggy models and actresses) and they’re mouth to mouth.
“Tonight was nice, to answer your question.” Tony breathes, and Steve can feel the heat on his lips, which he licks, Tony smiles. “But it would have been even better if you were there. One day we’re going to get you into a tux, and, even if it takes the whole team to get you out of the building, you’re coming to one of these shenanigans.” Tony’s hands are back to tracing the v-neck of Steve’s shirt, down and up, smooth, in a pattern that makes Steve’s nerves sing and spark under his skin.
“Not happening. At least, not in a tux. I’d wear my dress uniform.” He returns just as softly, takes one of Tony’s hands, stalls it from its mission of tracing the fabric, and lifts it to the narrow space between their faces, brings it to his lips. He kisses the rough, scrapped knuckles, which Tony curls in response, lets out a sharp breath, holds. When Steve uncurls one finger, licks up its length with the tip of his tongue, he feels Tony jerk a breath back in, hears the crack of Tony’s other hand, left, knuckles, as it instinctively flexes, grabbing hold of the neck of Steve’s shirt.
Steve’s never meet anyone who’s got this crazy of a response with their fingers, their hands. He knows it’s because, in the end, Tony places more value on the hands that built his own personal shell, the suit, the armor, than on the equipment below the belt that’s had people moaning in at least 14 different languages over the years. Tony’s good with his hands, uses the same precision during sex that he uses when he’s working, tinkering. It’s weird, because it makes Steve feel like he’s a piece of equipment, a faulty sparkplug, a loose wire, but he always reminds himself that Tony cares about his projects over all else. And maybe he is one of Tony’s projects in a way – all the Avengers have helped, thawed him out and introduced him to a world he knew in a totally different age - but Tony’s always been the closest, the most there and involved. The most willing, passionate.
Which is why they’re now on the couch in the middle of the first floor of the Avenger’s penthouse, with two of Tony’s fingers in Steve’s mouth, and Tony’s totally gone. His breathing is ragged; mouth wide open, eyes shut with long lashes fluttering. Steve can tell he’s about to go nuts, whimpering, trying not to make any noise, because he’s loud as hell and everyone’s asleep.
“We need to move somewhere that’s not in the middle of the living room.” Tony suddenly grinds out, biting his lip, dropping his head and trying out catch his breath as Steve lets the fingers slowly slide out of his mouth, lustfully slow. He looks up at Tony through lidded eyes, wonders when Tony got him to become this sexually deviant (not that he minds at all).
“Not going to last?” Steve asks, tilting his head and looking at Tony for a long moment before drawing him in to kiss him. When it breaks, Tony pulls back and shakes his head.
“Fuck no. I’m going to end up waking everyone up.” Tony leans back on his heels, and Steve surveys just how winkled Tony’s shirt has gotten in the last few minutes. It’s impressive, really.
“You have got to be the loudest person ever. Even when you’re just talking. Plus, you’re not happy with a day until you’ve made something explode – that’s exceptionally loud. And I’ve heard you sing in the shower.” Steve is smiling though all of this, and Tony knows it’s true. He’s got a loud voice. Combine that with sex and… well. There’s a reason his bedroom is soundproof.
“I feel very strongly about blowing things up. Also, I will not make a bad sexual metaphor and/or joke out of that.” Tony replies, and Steve can hear there’s still some breathiness at the edges of Tony’s voice.
“That’s your job, right? To strap rockets onto everything?” Steve smiles, takes Tony’s hands and laces their fingers together. Tony gives a little squeeze as he laughs, pushing their hands closer together.
“Something like that.” Tony muses with amusement coloring his words, and then sits back even further, pulling Steve up into a sitting position from where he’s half lying, half sitting against the arm of the couch. “Now, let’s go find somewhere quiet with incredibly thick walls.”
They end up making out in the private elevator, and Tony looses his shirt as soon as they step off, through the doors. Steve isn’t really sure how the ended up down, not up, but down they are. Under glowing halogen lights that contrast Steve’s cheekbones up to a crazy level, up against a steel table that’s scattered with pliers and wire caps and half of one of the jet boots. Tony shoves them out of the way, there’s a clink and some clattering and clanging as half of it falls to the floor, and lets Steve heft him onto the worktable as Tony works furiously with those fingers at getting Steve’s shirt off over his head. It gets tossed somewhere over Tony’s head, landing who knows where.
When Steve gets his mouth on Tony’s right nipple, he makes a most fantastic sound and Steve is incredibly glad they left the living room, because it’s loud as fuck, and he does not need the whole team awakened to find Captain America and Iron Man having sex on the leather couch. Steve figures this would be sort of like walking in and finding mom and dad having sex –something you knew happened, but never, ever needed to see (or hear) in your life.
Tony’s fingers are nimble, strong, know what they’re doing, grasping at the back of Steve’s head, his hair (which is too short to grab fistfuls of, one thing that Tony wishes he could do), digging into the back of Steve’s neck with a searing strength that didn’t used to be there. Having sex with Tony has gotten more passionate, a bit crazier (by no means a bad kind of crazy), rougher since Tony ended up with the Extremis. He’s stronger and faster, able to match Steve’s power a bit better. He still lacks the sheer mass that Steve has, but Steve isn’t worried about hurting him anymore.
As far as Tony is concerned, it takes way too long to get Steve’s pants off, and then even more time to get his own off. He spent all night surrounded by beautiful people, and he’s been waiting hours for this, and he’s not waiting any longer. When Steve hits a particularly sweet spot over Tony’s sternum (it was the skin around the reactor when it was there, and now the skin over the spot where it was, that really gets Tony going) the only thing that Tony can do is let a long string of “fuckfuckfuckohmygod!” slip out of his mouth – more like burst, because the last couple of words manage to ring off the ceiling. Steve once joked that he needed earplugs to have sex with Tony when he was especially charged up.
And charged up is what Tony is. Steve can swear he can feel his skin humming, heating up under his fingers, and he splays them across Tony’s chest, earning another rather delicious sound. Tony bites his lips together, makes a strangled noise when Steve teases Tony’s briefs off. He bucks his hips, lifts them from the table, and Steve lets them drop, so Tony can kick them off. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Steve’s boxers to follow.
Tony falls back against the table spread eagle, breathing hard and looking so unimaginably hot. Steve sees Tony’s eyes focus on the ceiling above him for two seconds, and half of the lights in the workroom go out, including the one directly over Tony’s head. Steve realizes he must have been staring directly into the harsh glow.
“Better?” Steve asks, and then he’s on the table too, straddling Tony on hands and knees. Thank god these tables were made to take the weight of things like engines and the armor, because between the two of them they are not light, by any means.
“The lights, yes. Other things, no.” As if to demonstrate he grabs Steve’s hips, pulls him down against him and grinds upwards, the friction makes Steve growl, the sound is throaty and layered and when Tony hears it he grins in his crazy, lust-laden way that just gets Steve even hotter than he already is. Between the body heat off his own skin, and the incredible amount of heat Tony’s body is generating, he feels like he’s in a furnace. It’s off the charts hot, and Steve grinds back, and Tony’s yelling again. Something else goes clattering to the floor, and out of the corner of his eye Steve sees it’s a soldering torch. Somewhere, in the part of his brain that’s still capable of normal function, he realizes its probably dangerous to have sex in a lab that’s full of things like blow torches and tech that’s at least ten years ahead of it’s time, but that thought doesn’t last very long before he’s biting, kissing, licking Tony’s neck. He knows he’s leaving marks, but Pepper’s gotten excessively good at applying make-up over the years when Tony needs to be seen in public, but is sporting hickies and rope burns, and all other manner of marks that the board of directors doesn’t need to see. She’s gotten even better now that the wax burns and nail marks have been joined by bruises and cuts from various missions.
Tony, for a guy, is both deceptively flexible and liquid-like in his movements. It’s something that’s always captured Steve’s attention, because Tony moves like that in every day life, not just when he’s writhing under Steve and his hands (and mouth).
“I need- Christ, Steve, I need- oh Jesus H. Fucking Christ in a flaming shit storm, do that again!” Tony’s gasping and grasping and grinding and really, really needs Steve in him right fucking now. But whatever he’s doing right now is also really good.
Steve’s sucking and biting down on Tony’s very exposed hip bone, and from what Steve can make out between all the swearing, it’s pretty fucking awesome in Tony’s eyes. Steve gives a particularly vicious bite and Tony suddenly rocks, arches into Steve, begging and pleading, and every other word out of his mouth is ‘fuck’ or ‘Christ’.
“Please, Steve, I want – I need, please, I need you in me.” Tony’s voice is low and coarse, and when he says that particular combination of words in that particular order, Steve gasps, feels his muscles clench, heat swirl in his body, is amazed at what Tony can do to turn him on by just speaking, just words.
Which is how they end up with feet back on the floor, Tony bent over the table screaming at the top of his lungs, Steve leaning over his back and murmuring little things in Tony’s ear that make him groan and moan and buck. Steve digs his fingers into Tony’s hips, and each and every time their hips meet, Tony whimpers, yells, gasps and wants more. He’s got his hands balled into fists, has nothing to cling to because he’s on a cold, smooth tabletop and not in a bed surrounded by an ocean of soft sheets. But really, in the end, Tony would rather have sex in the workroom than in his own bedroom any day of the week. He’s also extremely glad he had the foresight to bolt these damn tables to the floor.
Steve’s powerful, and Tony’s feeling it all, and wants more, needs more. He lets his head rest against the table, forehead to cool steel, and his yells and moans echo off the metal as he pushes his body back to meet Steve’s. Skin to skin, it’s a connection; it’s a current jumping between two energy sources, powerful and slick. Every drive, a jump of electricity, a jump, thrust. Steve can hear Tony’s voice cracking, strangled, almost there. Tony’s always gotten off easier than he has, way more of a glutton when it comes to sex than Steve has always been.
“Please, please, fuckfuck, more, God - Steve, fuckfuckfuck!” Tony’s choking out words, can feel every last little bit of energy in his body driving, driving, thrusting, thrusting. He needs this like other people need air. Steve bends as far over Tony’s back as he can, pressing kisses to Tony’s spine, and sneaks a hand from Tony’s hip up, over and down to Tony’s chest. He knuckles against the bone there, fingers pressed against Tony’s sternum, and that’s all it takes.
Tony comes yelling Steve’s name, bucking back into him, against the table, back. Steve sees Tony’s fingers flex subconsciously, is dimly aware the lights flicker for a second and the computer on the desk next to them powers up, comes to life, with the unmistakable iMac chime. Steve’s not far behind him, Tony saying Steve’s name like that, screaming, always gets him, sends him over the edge.
Both of them are still for a moment before Tony moves forward, away from Steve, flips over, lays on the table and wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, pulling him back against the table. Steve, totally unprepared for the movement (and amazed at fast Tony can go from 0-60) stumbles forward, against Tony. He plants a hand on either side of Tony’s head to keep from falling against him.
Tony looks exactly like one would expect him to look – totally fucked out. His hair is an absolute mess, he’s got angry red marks blossoming on his neck and collarbone, finger prints over his breastbone and hips. His eyes are glazed over and dancing with the heat emanating between them, hands lazily folded behind his head, between him and the table. He looks, in all, rather smug.
Steve just sighs, gives him an adoring little grin and bends down. Tony meets him halfway, suddenly up on his elbows (Steve will never understand how he moves so fast) and their lips meet. The kiss is long, deep, the inside of Tony’s mouth is deliriously, deliciously hot, it’s like liquid heat. Steve licks along Tony’s bottom lip before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and leaning back. Tony lets his head thump against the table, and takes a second to glare at the computer that had started up earlier. It powers down without so much as a beep. He turns back to Steve, the fucked-out/smug expression back, but infused with something that’s passionate and loving.
“Hey Steve.” He says, refolds his arms behind his head, squeezes Steve’s waist with his legs, body-to-body, source-to-source.
“Yeah?” Steve responds, leaning down on his elbows so their faces are close. Steve can see the remnants of a nasty gash that Tony had gotten on his chin yesterday. He tails a finger over the almost-healed wound with a sort of subconscious wanting.
“You’re awesome.” Tony answers, closes his eyes, hums in contentment. Steve just has to laugh a bit, because Tony’s so cavalier about these things, says ‘you’re awesome’ in place of ‘I love you’.
“Thanks.” Steve says back, traces a lazy circle where the arc reactor was, once upon a time, leans on one elbow. “You’re awesome too.”
Tony opens his eyes, and gives Steve a real, genuine, sincere smile that makes Steve’s heart melt a little bit, because those kinds of smiles are rare from Tony. Tony picks himself up again, kisses Steve quickly and softly before pushing them back all the way up, Tony sitting, Steve standing, Tony’s legs still around Steve’s waist.
For the second time that night, Steve takes Tony’s hands, presses palms against palms. Tony’s the one to intertwine their fingers this time.
“There’s a quote to go with this, you know.” Steve says, is reminded of too much Shakespeare in school.
“Oh really?” Tony looks skeptical, but stilly ridiculously happy. Of the two, Tony’s the mathematical and scientific knowledge, and Steve’s the literary knowledge. For someone so smart, Steve has always been slightly horrified at how many things Tony (claims) he hasn’t read.
“’And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss’.” Steve shrugs, “It’s from-“
“Romeo and Juliet, I know that one.” Tony laughs, shakes his head in amusement. “Really? That’s so incredibly cliché. Besides, I can’t really see you as Juliet.” He quirks his head to one side, squints a bit, but still grinning like an idiot, as if trying to find something in Captain America that’s somehow a metaphor for Juliet Capulet.
“I know it’s cliché,” Steve snorts, the moment totally lost, “and who says you get to be Romeo?”
“I’ve been called Romeo many times in my life.” Tony raises his eyebrows, grins in a manner that makes it obvious that he’s trying to be dashing.
“Tony, I hate to disappoint you, but don’t wait up for me to start calling you Romeo.” Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead reaches up and flicks a lock of hair off of Tony’s forehead.
“That’s fine” Tony really doesn’t look broken up at all about this. “Let’s be Rosencrantz and Guildenstern instead, weren’t they questionably gay anyway?”
“Neither of us is gay.” Steve points out. “And not only were they from Hamlet, not Romeo and Juliet, but they were both killed.”
“Everyone ends up dead in tragedies.” Tony snorts. “And the ‘not gay’ is rather ironic, considering we’re currently naked together discussing Shakespeare.” Tony somehow manages to grind his hips from side to side against Steve’s hips suggestively, even though he’s sitting on a table. Steve has no idea how he manages to do things that should be physically impossible and end up turning him on so very incredibly much.
“That’s why they’re called tragedies.” Steve pokes a finger into Tony’s chest, emphasizing his point, trying to ignore his groin long enough to win this argument – whatever it’s about at this point (He’s not 100% sure).
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Tony retaliates, grinning.
“America.” It’s an automatic correction, and it takes Tony a second, but suddenly he’s laughing like crazy, and Steve’s blushing.
“You’re so ‘Captain Obvious’ from now on.” Tony manages to get out between gasps of laughter. He slams back against the table, laughing hard, and Steve winces at the noise, although it doesn’t seem to hurt Tony one bit.
“Tell you what. You can call me Captain Obvious if you want a shield to the head.” Steve offers this up like a deal, palms up and out. Tony takes a few seconds to cough out a few last laughs before he uses his legs to push Steve a bit back from the table, sliding down so he’s between the table and Steve.
“Nah, I’m good without brain damage.” Tony raises his hands, trails them, fingertips, down Steve’s bare chest, stopping to rest at Steve’s waist. He looks up, meets Steve’s eyes. There’s something there, something Steve can’t identify, but it’s smoldering, and Tony’s suddenly serious. “I really wish I could have had you with me tonight. Every time I go to one of these things, I feel like a dick for not automatically asking you to come with me, but going to Pepper or Jan or Jessica first. Hell, I’ve even brought Natasha to stuff before, and she’s a basket of trouble and then some. I’m sorry.”
The sudden shift of topic and tone catches Steve, he watches Tony the whole time, eyes-to-eyes. Tony’s sparkling blue is troubled, a storm at sea. Even though this isn’t the time, Steve is amazed at how gorgeous Tony is, especially when he’s serious, working, has a purpose. He commands an amazing amount of power with his voice.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, don’t be sorry. You know I wouldn’t go, this team attracts so much controversy as it, the last thing you need is someone discovering about us-“ Steve stops when Tony holds up a hand, eyes glued to Steve’s, the intensity in his gaze is slightly troublesome.
“’What will love not discover?’” Steve is momentarily speechless for two completely different reasons. One is that Tony must have been playing dumb earlier, because he had just quoted Ovid, which is mostly certainly up there on the literary know-how scale. The second is that Tony had just put love in a sentence that was completely serious and not about the armor, Popular Science or Jarvis.
“I thought you didn’t know about literature.” Steve really can’t think of anything intelligent to say.
“I don’t, exactly. Just stuff from the Library at the mansion that I would read as a kid. And I took a few Classics classes in college. They’re technically gen-ed.” Tony shrugs, leans back against the table and crosses his arms.
“MIT teaches Classics?” Steve and intelligent responses are not getting along at the moment. His brain is still trying to process Tony and what he meant by the quote. Tony and Ovid, now there was a maddeningly strange combination.
“They even have a whole theatre program.” Tony says this in a way that makes Steve think that Tony possibly took a drama class or two- especially if he had bothered with taking Classics.
“You learn something new every day.” Steve is silent for a second, Tony doesn’t say anything to fill the gap. “What did you mean by that quote?”
“I was just thinking about Romeo and Juliet, and you saying ‘discover’ triggered it. In the grand scheme of quotes, it’s profound but totally Roman in the sheer sentimentality and vagueness. Plus, that story is not one with a happy ending.”
“I know.” Steve says, totally unimpressed with Tony’s answer. “I’ve never heard you say something about love so seriously.”
Tony is quiet, taps his hands against the table that he’s leaning against. The fact that both of them are stark naked discussing MIT and Ovid in his workshop at two in the morning is not lost on him, and he just shakes his head with a small smile. His brain goes silent for a second, and the Extremis rushes in. News, reports, sports, entertainment, the SHIELD channel, radio chatter, a police scanner. Lewis Hamilton is winning the Monaco Grand Prix, in the rain, and there’s an armed robbery at a drug store on 56th. Two squad cars are en route.
“It’s not usually something I take seriously.” Tony brushes this off like he’s talking about baseball or doing the dishes. Steve takes the necessary step so he’s flush against Tony’s body, planting a hand on either side of Tony’s hips on the table. This somehow ends up in an impromptu staring contest.
“I do.” Steve doesn’t break the eye contact, watches Tony for signs of any emotion. However, he’s ever the good businessman, suddenly shut down, calm, stoic and collected. Not even anything stirs in his eyes.
“I know.” Tony answers after a long moment and leans forward, so that he and Steve are forehead-to-forehead. Tony closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “In my last year at MIT I meet this freshman, she was a year older than me and totally gorgeous. Anna. Redhead, always been my weakness. I was so stupid, I guess she was too. She was a biology major, which I instantly didn’t like, because I’ve always kinda hated biology. We got in this really huge discussion about if Bio could beat MechE, or the other way around. And at the end of this, she got me with the lamest pick-up line ever. Seriously, I have never heard worse in my life.”
Steve sees Tony smile, deep in thought, remembering, he can tell that when Tony speaks next he’s quoting the girl.
“’Well Mr. Engineer, why don’t you be the phasor to my electron so we can get to an excited state?’ I think it worked because she just threw phasor in there to appeal to my engineering-trumps-biology side.”
Steve has no idea what to make of that. Mostly because he’s got no idea what the heck a phasor is. It sounds like a weapon from Star Wars.
“Anyway,” Tony continues, still in story mode, “I fell for her extremely hard. We’re talking college love here. She was wicked smart, not like me, but still incredibly gifted. She probably could have skipped a grade or two, and knew just what to say, and just what to do, and I thought I loved her. That whole year, we were crazy about each other. We thrived on competition, who could get their work done faster, that kind of stuff. I called cheating because seniors got more work than freshman, but that never stopped us. I spent a lot of time in the labs, doing research assistant work, but every spare moment I had I was with her. We loved each other.”
Steve appears to be having a lot of speechless moments. It takes him quite a few moments before he can say anything. It’s rare to hear a story from Tony that’s totally true, and not full of embellishments.
“What happened to her? Well, to you and her?” Steve asks finally, unsure of weather or not this is going to trigger an extremely bad memory for Tony.
“I graduated. Obi and Dad came and basically said that I had a week or two to get my ass out to California, they’d just started up that regional location of SI, and that I was basically being drafted into the company with my newfound MIT knowledge, too bad if I wanted otherwise.” Tony stops for a second, rubs at his temples.
“So I spent the two weeks with her, and we realized that this was never going to work. I wasn’t about to piss off my family and get disowned over a girl, as much as I cared about her, and she wasn’t going to drop college just for a boy, as much as she cared about me. So we decided to part ways, promised to write all the time, call each other, screw long distance bills, that whole shebang. And we did, for a while. But it fizzed out. And when I saw her again for the first time in a year, we’d both changed. I spent my time at MIT being a kid, but spending a year in a business when you’re the son of the CEO will somber you up pretty quickly, and she was… colder. More interested in evolution and DNA than she was with me. And I guess I cared a little bit too much about stocks and crankshafts by that time, too. We ended up falling in love with our chosen fields over each other. Distance kills things. So does science. Engineering doesn’t get into bed with biology and expect to end up married.” Tony finishes with his arms crossed, his head leaning back in the empty air and his eyes closed.
“They did end up married. Biomedical Engineering. I’d say even you can attest to the helpfulness of that.” Steve holds up his thumb, presses it to the phantom reactor. Tony looks down at Steve’s thumb. He smiles sadly.
“Yeah, I guess I can. Extremis is Biomedical too.” Tony pushes his bottom lip out, blows a rather unruly bit of his hair out of his face. He could use a haircut. “We’re still naked.”
“I noticed.” Steve replies, wraps his arms around Tony. “So you think that love always ends up fading?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m better with numbers and metal than with people.” Tony tries to turn this into a joke, it doesn’t really work. He frowns, because it just comes out sounding way too true.
“You are.” Steve doesn’t even try to deny it. Tony’s achieved the ultimate: self-powered combat armor capable of flight, bulletproof, twenty years ahead of its time. But he’s never gotten further than one-night stands with supermodels and abusive relationships with psycho Russian spies. Except for maybe whatever they’ve have going on here for quite a while.
They stand there for quite a while, Steve with his arms wrapped around Tony, who’s nestled against him. Tony’s got his head on Steve’s shoulder, tucked into the crook of his neck.
“But you have this.” Steve pulls Tony a bit away from his body so that he can look at him. Tony’s still stoic, but slightly despondent too. Tony taps bare feet against the floor, makes little slapping noises against the cool concrete. Besides the tapping and gentle hum of various tech and machinery, it’s quiet.
“I do have you.” Tony finally says, rephrases a bit. He allows a bit of a smile. “I do have you.”
“I love you.” Steve says, levels his eyes with Tony’s. Tony takes a deep breath in, lets his eyes shut slowly. He lets the breath out gradually, puts his hands on Steve’s arms, and opens one eye, a grin blossoms on his face.
“I love you too.” It’s said softly, and Steve’s now gotten two real live, genuine Tony grins tonight, and that statement. Something he was fairly sure he would go forever without hearing. Tony’s said it lots of times, in different ways, but never straight out, simple, I love you. It makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat to actually hear it.
They end up on the couch in the lab (which Tony had to clear of sheet metal before they could sit down) wrapped together in a tangle of limbs, under a very plaid blanket that smells like Tony and exhaust fumes and steel.
“I’ll let you call me Captain Obvious if I can call you Ovid.” Steve murmurs into Tony’s hair. Tony just groans.
“I’m never going to live that quote down, am I? And try again, I’m no Ovid. I can’t write poetry for shit.” Tony’s voice is muffled against the cool skin of Steve’s shoulder. His goatee tickles.
Steve thinks for a few seconds.
“I’m retracting a statement I made earlier. You can call me Captain Obvious if I can call you Romeo.” This one just earns a laugh out of Tony. “As long as you don’t die at the end of the story.”
“I will try not to die.” Tony says rather solemnly, although he’s grinning.
“Sounds good,” Steve replies, “Romeo.”
“For sure, Captain Obvious.”
Captain Obvious and Romeo fall asleep like that, arms slung around bodies and knees knocking in a bunch of legs, all cocooned up in the blanket.
A few notes:
- Steve’s shirt does actually exist, although it’s a girl’s shirt. I just took some creative license with it and made it fit Steve. (http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp;jsessionid=A43A969D661203C9C89FE4EEC42F829A.app12-node4?itemdescription=true&itemCount=10&id=14767818&parentid=W_APP_TEES_GRAPHIC&sortProperties=+product.marketingPriority,-product.startDate&navCount=49&navAction=poppushpush&color=41)
- “I feel very strongly about blowing things up.” And “That’s [our] job, to strap rockets onto everything.” (Changed a bit so it would fit with the dialogue) are from Mythbusters, which, in my head, just has to be one of Tony’s favorite shows.
- The Ovid quote that Tony says is from ‘Pyramus and Thisbe’, which is considered to be one of the biggest influences on ‘Romeo and Juliet’. (The whole ‘girl appears dead, isn’t really, boy kills himself, girl wakes up at opportune moment to make very depressing speech full of hope and love, kills herself to be with boy’ thing is from there.)
- The janitor’s name (Blue) is a joke from the TV show House. I couldn’t tell you what episode exactly, but it’s from a bit of dialogue between House and Wilson:
(the two are breaking into a storage room)
Wilson: How’d you get keys?
House: Blue the janitor.
W: What?!
H: That’s his name. Blue.
W: It’s Lou!
H: … Owe him an apology.
Also, some silly art. :)
I honestly don't have a story behind this one, although there's something at the back of my head that suggests the shirts may have been gifts from Clint and Peter.
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I´m going to comment on the art first, since I stare at it all the time...
I love Steve´s shirt^^
Like in "Property of" from
“I feel very strongly about blowing things up
^_______^
Tony likes to make things go boom^^
It sounds like a weapon from Star Wars.
Star Trek, Steve^^
dimly aware the lights flicker for a second and the computer on the desk next to them powers up
Extremis sure makes funny things^^
Tony and exhaust fumes and steel
And? Tony probably only smells of these*ggg*
amazing fic^^
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and LOLOL at the picture at the end, they both look so confused xD
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Also, the image with the t-shirts is awesome. Definitely gifts from Clint and Peter. :-D
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Hehe, bet the guys actually love the T-shirts, whatever the expressions show ;-)
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That was so sweet. Aww Tony.
Is it wrong that I now totally want to see a Iron Man/Mythbusters crossover? *g*
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I love all of the physical/background details in this -- the Sentry's watchtower looking like a bug, the "no input" message on the tv sceen, Tony clearing half-assembled jet boots of his work table (which is strong enough to hold up both Steve and Tony because it's built to handle engine blocks)and sheet metal off his couch, the plaid blanket from the first issue of the Extremis arc... it all feels very real and I can see it all erfectly in my head.
Also, as an ex-English major, I feel that there can never be too much referencing of Shakespeare.
in the end, Tony places more value on the hands that built his own personal shell, the suit, the armor, than on the equipment below the belt that’s had people moaning in at least 14 different languages over the years. Tony’s good with his hands, uses the same precision during sex that he uses when he’s working, tinkering. It’s weird, because it makes Steve feel like he’s a piece of equipment, a faulty sparkplug, a loose wire, but he always reminds himself that Tony cares about his projects over all else.
I love this bit -- both Tony's hands being extra sensitive and the idea that he values them so highly (which Steve, as an artist, would completely understand), and the thought of Tony making love to Steve like he's working on the armor.
Love this
Yeah, and hot smex. Yes, plz.
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Tony always struck me as the type to have done his own Mythbusters experiments, so I could see that as one of his favorite shows as well.
Pic made me giggle. Love it all.
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