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simmysim.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cap_ironman2008-11-25 09:42 pm
simmysim.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-11-25 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
Fic~
Title: Privilege and Duty
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Tony needs comfort in a language he can't misinterpret.
Pairing: Rhodes/Tony/Steve
Word Count: 6220
Warning: There's this thing called "double penetration" and it's exactly what you're thinking, and it happens in this fic.
A/N: This fic was inspired by issues 160 to 200 of v1 (Specifically these two pages), when Tony falls off the wagon a second time, a period that could really be called "Adventures in Babysitting" if it had been told from Rhodes and Steve's POV. This fic had IMMENSE help from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
onewayfreak, dorothy1901 and cruelest_month, I can't even say.
ETA: Forgot to say, this takes place where most of my fics do: an estimated three years or so in the future, or however long it takes for them to return to status quo. (Steve is alive, Rhodes isn't a cyborg, CW isn't mentioned, etc)
Jim Rhodes ends up hijacking a G650 to make it out of Ireland. He spends six hours on that stolen plane, eyes focused hard on nothing but empty international airspace and the rocky, glittering international waters below. His head pounds with a kind of pain you only get from extended hospital stays, and his arms are numb, useless weights at his side from the poison that landed him there in the first place.
Tony left for New York a week or so earlier in his own private jet, left Jim there; he had no choice, apparently, and Jim spends the last leg of the flight cursing the man at the top of his lungs, just to stay awake. Twisting verbs and anatomy creatively, sometimes spoken with real anger, sometimes amusement.
Any real irritation is pushed immediately to the back burner when he walks in the door of Stark Industries.
Tony takes one look at Jim and smiles so broadly, and so happily, so goofily, practically trips over his own feet to wrap him in a clumsy hug, "Rhodey! You're back! Where've you been? How are you? Have you recovered?"
He is obviously drunk, and Jim will feel like a fool for not figuring that out until he smells it, clinging to Tony's hair and neck like aftershave. Still, the relief and joy is sincere, and somehow, anger at Tony for leaving, for being thick enough to pick up the bottle again, will turn to guilt for not recovering sooner.
Irrational guilt, but still, guilt that will set in properly when it's all said and done, after Tony goes right up to that brink and teeters in the wind; guilt fuelled by the knowledge that if Jim had just been there that week, those stupid seven days of pure hell Tony had been put through . . . .
It still would've been bad, but Tony wouldn't have ended up wandering the streets of New York in record setting cold, drunk and delirious. And Jim had been lying in a hospital. If he had just been there. Guilt, because that's what a person feels when they don't do all they should, when they shirk a responsibility. Guilt, because that's the moment he fully realizes the responsibility he's been given -- the one he's taken: Tony Stark.
Still, there's a moment there, just a second, before his brain connects the glaringly obvious dots, where he can't help but smile, because all he's processed is how much he really means to Tony, and it feels something like a privilege instead of a duty.
*
A few years, fights, armored suits, deaths, resurrections, businesses, mistakes, addictions later, Jim finds himself back at Stark's door. The smile that greets him isn't goofy, isn't wide and isn't particularly sincere. It's stiff at the edges, as are his eyes. But it's an honest effort.
"Jim," he says. "Pleasant surprise."
"Heard what happened," Jim says. Several times. He'd woke that morning to find thirty-eight missed calls and fifteen voicemails on his emergency cell, the cell he uses for superhero, Tony-related stuff; the important cell. All from various Avengers and Jarvis, telling him in abstract terms about a battle in some mountains, in a foreign country, possibly another reality, against an insane woman with godly powers, who used to be a friend, and asking Jim, well, if he had time to stop by and -- kinda make sure Tony doesn't do something life-threatening to himself or the world at large. 'Check up on him' had been the popular phrase, though. "Rough weekend?"
Tony's shoulders drop, along with that fake smile, along with any pretense that he's fine. "Yeah," he says. He looks utterly beaten. It's a hell of a lot worse than what Jim had been expecting, even with all that warning. Tony does not show his hurt. He bottles it tight, trying to fix his pains with rationalizations and distractions, until it blows up in his face, as you can't fix pain. It usually takes a keen eye to spot him fraying, before he explodes spectacularly. For him to look bad says quite a bit, and Tony looks ripped to shreds; the open hurt in his face is almost too much to take in.
Jim takes it in anyway, doesn't want to think about all the damage someone with access to all Tony Stark's demons and no scruples about using it against him could cause, and decides he's way past needing vocal invitation to enter. He steps into Tony's personal space, kicking the door shut behind him.
Tony just closes his eyes, leans forward into Jim, sighing deep and heavy. The weight is easy to take, and with his head bent like this, back slouched, it's a perfect height for Jim to rest his jaw. Not quite a hug.
There are spare parts scattered over the coffee table, which is fully visible from the doorway -- this is Tony's smaller, downtown apartment -- obviously abandoned in a hurry to answer the door. His stomach clenches, not sure if he should hope Tony was expecting him, because he wasn't even sure he'd come until the sixth message.
"Can't even tell what's real," mutters a voice thick with misery, into Jim's shoulder.
Yeah, Jim's been there. "You are," he says. "I am."
Mind fucks are part of the job, and sometimes it rolls off your back, and sometimes . . . sometimes you close the blinds and watch poorly dubbed kung fu movies while building Something Advanced and Tiny with spare parts.
The finishing credits of Horse Boxing Killer roll, and Men From The Monastery AKA Disciple of Death is up next, when heavy, insistent knocks pound on the door. Tony jerks at it immediately, dropping his toys, and from the way he rushes to the door, Jim expects to see Legs of the Week -- because this is Tony, and Tony is in pain, and he wants real, human contact.
Jim wishes the sight of Steve Rogers, larger than life even in plain civvies, was a surprise.
"You turned off your phone." He looks almost angry, but Jim can recognize blind worry when he sees it. "You never turn off your phone."
Tony starts to apologize, but Cap obviously lacks the patience to let him finish, grabbing the man and pulling him into an abrupt hug.
It feels oddly like he's eavesdropping, intruding, despite the face that you can't quite eavesdrop on a hug, let alone one that takes place directly in front of you. Tony's stiff posture slowly relaxes. His arms hang limp, then his hands move up, gripping the bottom of Cap's shirt tightly. Yeah. He diverts his attention back to the ending credits.
The title menu has played its cheesy, looping midi of Kung Fu Fighting's chorus twice by the time Tony's released.
"I had my communicator on," Tony's saying, making his way back to the living room. He settles down directly next to Jim rather than in either of the armchairs, or in his earlier perch at the other end of the couch. Close enough that Jim can feel the man's warmth, his thighs tensing and relaxing in accordance with each shift.
It's a testament to how focused Cap was, that he doesn't notice Jim until already inside, shedding his coat. "Hi, Jim," he says, after a moment of uncharacteristic staring. "Didn't see you there."
"Cap," Jim nods. Why does this feel awkward? He doesn't have a problem with Captain America -- a person would have to be insane, or a Nazi, and therefore insane, to have a problem with Cap. They just never clicked, and Jim has the distinct impression that Cap is waiting for him to stand up and leave the two of them in peace.
Ah, Cap had the same hellish weekend as Tony, Jim remembers. It must feel like he's intruding on their grief. Jim is unmoved; Tony's grief is as much Jim's business as it is Tony's, considering how it tends to spill over, directly on top of him, if ignored.
Jim settles further into the couch. Finally, Cap takes a seat on the other side of Tony, who's picked up his metal and wires again, apparently oblivious.
*
It's easy to hate Tony.
He's so good at getting what he needs, without asking; of course he would never ask, but he pulls people to him, his charm and his intelligence and his uncompromising quest to do what's right. And you find yourself marching to his drum, lifting weights you didn't think were possible, sacrificing more than you thought you had, and you're stronger for it, you have more than you started with. And of course he never asks you to, he just needs you to, so you can't actually hate him.
Which makes it that much easier to hate him more.
And it's easy to take the good he does himself for granted, easy to demonize him for mistakes. It's easy to subtract the Tony from the Stark Enterprises, the two mile high skyscraper, the garage full of classic cars, the smorgasbord of celebrities and heroes on speed dial, the literally bottomless well of cash, the toys, the startling intelligence, the unending tides of admirers and accolades.
Easy to paint confidence as arrogance, melancholy as ingratitude, and it makes sense, once someone cleans each of your wounds, wraps you up tight, promises safety from now on, promises the world, to blame them when you stub your toe.
It . . . it's so easy to blame him for every fault of the world, when he's seated himself on top of it.
And Jim had a reason once, a good reason, but it's become habit, at this point, for him to sneer at the very name of Tony Stark. To look for fault in his every move, every word. His own personal villain, a scapegoat for all occasions. It's a mindless sort of rage now, more irrational than not, but it's satisfying to hate Tony Stark -- he sets himself up for it so well, and anger is a lot warmer than logic.
He'd love to celebrate this failure. The limp Stark's forcing himself to ignore, the battered, swollen skin of his face, neck, the blood caked mouth, bloodshot eye. Jim would like nothing more than to root for that defeat he can see licking on the edges of Stark's resolve.
If only Stark didn't have to ruin it by hating himself more than Jim could ever dream to.
*
Jim's pretty sure Cap doesn't see genius in the painfully bad karate movies. But considering he's spent most his time staring at Tony out the corner of his eye, it's understandable he's not getting into it. He watches long enough to point out one of many, many inaccuracies or impossibilities, then back to the man, still fiddling with whatever he's been working on since before Jim got there.
He has to've noticed the good it's doing for Tony's mood -- there's an actual, small smile by the final fight scene -- he doesn't actively complain until Jim gets up at the end, puts in Magnificent Butcher.
"Another one?" Cap asks.
"These are classics, Cap," Jim informs him.
"He's right," Tony says. "What you just watched is considered a masterpiece by nearly every kung fu enthusiast."
"I'm not a kung fu enthusiast," Cap mutters.
"I thought you were a master at martial arts?" Jim asks, settling back on the couch, and catches Tony's expression -- no one should be that pleased to be crammed between an air-dale and ground-pounder. "How can you not like it?"
"I like kung fu. But whatever those people are doing is not kung fu," he says. "I've never punched someone's face and had my hand come out the back of their skull." And looks chagrined when both Tony and Jim smile at the memory.
"That reminds me, have I thanked you for this collection lately?" Jim asks.
"Least I could do," Tony says, staring more than focusing on his toy. "After driving your old one off a bridge."
"You mean after the bridge was blasted out from under you."
Tony shrugs one shoulder, that pained expression back in place, and Jim exchanges a startled look with Cap. The movie starts, but whatever they were doing for him before is gone now, he's obviously lost in his own thoughts, drawing further and further in on himself. Damn it.
The movie plays for about a half hour, Cap barely even pretending to keep one eye on the screen. When there's a quieter moment, the man shifts forward, muting it. Staring at his hands, he clears his throat.
"Clint told me he saw Bobbi," he says, boldly, into the silence. Tony stiffens at Jim's side. "Wanda made him watch her -- with Slade. Over and over." Cap braces himself, then turns to look Tony in the eye. "I saw my parents. My friends, grow old and wither away right in front of me. And then everyone, time kept going, but it didn't touch me -- all of you, you -- died while I just watched. I couldn't stop it. Bucky and Sharon and Sam and -- you, you all. Thor. Until there was nothing, everything on earth was gone, just me and overwhelming nothingness. I thought I was going to lose it. And then when it took Strange so long to pull you back out -- "
Tony's been growing more and more still, and is now essentially a statue at Jim's side, complete with the blank, lifeless stare.
"I'm sorry," he practically mouths it, it's so small. Another impressive silence grows, and when he finally speaks, it's after a deep inhale, in a cool, composed voice. "Wanda brought my mother, my parents, to life again. Happy and Pepper with three -- amazing kids. Yinsen, Rumiko, Bill Foster. Alive, with their loved ones. Even Wanda, healthy, how she used to be. Countless soldiers, and innocents that -- just everyone, how their lives could've been, in a world where I couldn't-- I didn't interfere," he shakes his head, the steadily growing hysteria in his voice gone. "And then," he says lightly. "She asked why I didn't stop her, why didn't I help her when she needed it. The real Wanda was still in there, Steve. She wanted to be saved."
"Tony --"
"No, it was her. She wasn't totally gone. But I couldn't--" his hands are tangled in his hair, slumped forward, elbows on his knees. "But I didn't know what else to--"
"Tony," Jim tries. Tony looks over sharply, blinking at him, and he's pretty sure he forgot there was anyone else in the room. He makes sure to use the tone his father taught him, the one the military perfected, the one that accepts no arguments, the one he uses when his soldiers or comrades are forgetting what's up and what's down. "The world is a better place with you in it."
Tony stares. He is going to cry. Jim's not even sure how he knows, there's no obvious signs. But he does and Jim -- he hates seeing people cry, nothing makes him feel more useless or awkward, but with Tony it's oddly easy, maybe because it's such a rarity. What had that witch -- Jim's pretty sure Tony didn't lie, just omitted certain points, probably the most haunting ones. There's no way there's not more to the story than what was said. They'll never hear it though, Tony will keep it carefully tucked inside, yet another private demon.
Before he can say a word, though, Cap's got it. He brings Tony's face to his shoulder and a hand on his back. It's silent, and maybe tearless, but Tony's shoulders jerk violently every now and then. Given the intensity --
Cap's eyes are closed, mouth set as though in severe pain.
Jim should leave.
He's moving to stand when Tony's head turns, and he can practically feel the bristly kiss left on Cap's neck.
*
Tony's lips are on the side of Jim's neck. This is a mistake. His full beard is scratching, distracting on his collar. His hand -- a man's hand, large and calloused -- is sliding up, cupping Jim's jaw. He's pressing into Jim with a blind sort of eagerness that, ludicrously, reminds him of prom, fumbling hands and awkward, breathless laughs.
This is a mistake.
But maybe any mistake would be better than the blank stare Tony's worn since finding out about Morley -- since Cly went off on both of them. Not responding till the second time his name is said, and even then, speaking in calm, slow tones. It's eerie.
Jim didn't expect sitting down next to the man and asking a gruff, you alright? would lead to groping, although, in retrospect, he should've.
The thing is, Tony's lonely. He's been alone and lonely most his life, and although they've never talked about it, Jim's pretty sure the only times Tony actually feels connected with another human is when he's fondling their dangly bits.
And Jim doesn't mean to get creepy about it, but it's how he's always been -- he looks at a problem, he looks at its bits and pieces, and he works out how it happened. Tony's parents were cold. He went to school with jerks. And for someone who loves human contact as much as Tony does, of course after a lifetime of that, sex is going to be like an all-time high. The all-time comfort. The all-time assurance. Words, he's dealt with his whole life. Words can be twisted. Words can be faked.
And for some reason, despite the many times he's been proven wrong, Tony Stark thinks you can't fake sex.
At least, Jim thinks, he's going after someone who won't end up shooting him in the back. At least he's not trying to numb it all with liquor.
Still.
He catches Tony's hand, holds it firmly.
"This is a mistake."
*
Cap looks, frankly, confused at how it got from comfort to sex, and Jim wants to laugh, because he's not sure Tony will ever fully separate the two.
"Tony, you're--"
"Steve, please," Tony interrupts, murmuring against Cap's cheek, hand pressing into that ridiculously wide chest. "Please."
Jim stands to leave, but a hand, faster than any non-enhanced human hand has any right to be, snatches his wrist. Tony's staring up at him, still perched on Cap's lap, which Cap allowed him to slide into, eyes dark and intense.
"No offense, Tony, but I'm really not into watching."
Tony slowly, slowly brings Jim's hand up to his mouth, where he sucks on the pointer and middle finger, his free hand tightening on Cap's shirt until the knuckles go white.
The Captain and Jim exchange a look over Tony's head.
"Tony, I don't--" Cap starts, his tone -- not careful enough, Tony releases Jim's hand, stiffens, and suddenly it's glaring Jim in the face. How much damage they can really do, here. How open to attack Tony's left himself, and how few people he would trust with his defenses so god damn non-existent. Cap must be thinking along the same lines, his face looks pained, nearly tortured.
The short of it is, Tony is begging for this from them. He might just need it. And, god help him, it feels right. It feels like getting Tony's back, it feels like being there for him, it feels like something he can give, is willing to give. It feels like not handing him off to someone else just because it got a little-- a lot sticky. This is a mistake, but it's one that he's willing to make, now. Consequences he's willing to shoulder, because he's sure they'll feel a hell of a lot lighter than the sudden weight of every single thoughtless favor, every bit, every scrap that Tony has thoughtlessly given Jim over the years -- so easily forgotten in light of the crap, but there all the same.
Jim bends, one knee on the couch, and cradles the side of Tony's face, who practically levitates with gratitude as they kiss.
Cap looks torn between betrayal and confusion. "Rhodes, I need a second with Tony."
"Sure thing," Jim says, gripping Tony's hand tight before going to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator, and trying not to think about what's happened, happening or about to happen.
He finishes half the bottle, and they're still talking by the time he makes it to the doorway.
At first Jim can't make out what's being said, Tony's speaking so quietly.
"I don't think that," Cap murmurs back softly. "I could never think that."
Tony's voice slowly picks up volume as it continues, rushed and tight, God, what did that witch make him see? "--need this, I need it so bad I think I might go insane without it, there's no one -- no one else, I don't have anyone else. Please, Steve."
"Rhodes--"
"I don't have anyone else like you, Steve," Tony says. "I need you Steve, and I need him. Please don't leave, please don't leave me."
There's a long, long pause. "What -- exactly are you asking for?"
"Both of you," Tony says. "At once."
There's a second pause. After a long while, Tony adds something too soft for Jim to hear.
The silence continues, and when Jim finally walks around the corner, Cap is kissing Tony gently, like he's something fragile.
*
Jim Rhodes lifts security clear off the ground by his neck, threatens and bullies the staff, but it gets him into Tony's hospital room, and he's always been more of a ends justify the means type of guy.
Tubes going in and out of his mouth and nose and arms, sickly pale and gaunt -- Jim feels like he's too late, he took too long on his last mission, but Tony's been unconscious for two days now, and if he's too late for anything, it's to stop it from happening in the first place, months ago.
"Tony," he says softly, not expecting a response, and not disappointed.
Guilt. Because there's a small -- small, dark part of Jim that wanted the Iron Man suit enough that he wonders if any of this is his fault. Did Tony need something he couldn't give? Wouldn't give? Did that part of Jim, the one that wanted the chance to fly, want it bad enough that he let Tony fall to get it?
The medical equipment is sending Iron Man's sensors into overdrive, analyzing each function, each reading, he can practically feel Tony's heart rate thrumming in his head, and he can't quite ignore how serious this is any longer.
If Tony dies here, dies of exposure, because he was too plastered to find shelter-- Dies like some nobody, dies like someone who can't take a box of scraps and make revolutionary technology-- Dies like a coward instead of the hero Jim knows he is, while Jim was off playing dress up with the team Tony founded.
If he held anything back that Tony needed, any ounce of support, any word, any touch of comfort, even if it was buried so deep in his subconscious, not even he knew it . . . and Tony dies.
Jim thinks it might be enough to send him to the bottle, too.
*
The rarely used bedroom is eleven steps down the hall, featuring a gigantic bed furnished with sheets Jim is pretty sure have never been slept on.
It doesn't matter your preference, your freaking species, Captain America's body is a work of art. Six feet three inches of solid, all American muscle and strength, and the man somehow looks more composed totally naked than he does in blue jeans. And while Jim is duly familiar with the lean muscles of Tony's body, he's only ever seen them during moments of outright terror. It's an appealing sight, the long legs, thin hips, broad shoulders -- when you're not seeing them after the armor stripped away by a villain.
Jim is not an overly modest man, but their appreciative glances in return -- if it was just Tony, it'd be another story. But Captain America eyeballing his cock is surreal, to say the least, and he crosses the room quickly, settling on the bed.
"How is this happening?" he asks.
"Carefully," Cap says, immediately. Cap is not small, goes unsaid. Jim is not small. "Slowly."
"Right, but I think Jim meant the logistics," Tony says, shamelessly eyeing exactly how not small the two of them are. He doesn't so much as wince at the sight, it seems to be exactly what he expected. Anticipated. Wanted.
A vivid picture of what they're about to do blindsides Jim, along with a dark, heavy dose of lust. "I mean, where --" Jesus, if he can't even say it, this is going to be intensely awkward. "Do you even have lube here?"
Of course Tony keeps lube here. A fresh, unopened bottle of it is in the bedside drawer, and Jim wonders if it's something included on some checklist, a regularly stocked item in all of Tony's homes by some assistant.
"Will you do the honors, Colonel?" Tony asks, smirking, as though he hadn't been close to total breakdown moments ago, pressing the bottle into Jim's hand. The whole mattress shifts with Cap's weight as he moves onto the bed, against the headboard, behind Tony. Jim watches Tony's face, his eyes close, entire body leaning into the touch Cap extends, along his back.
The smirk is gone, and a part of Jim is struck at how truly sad it is, that this is the only sort of comfort that Tony accepts without question. He quickly forces the thought to the side, focusing on slicking his fingers, as he knows there's no sort of pity Tony accepts.
Turning toward Cap and baring his ass to Jim, Tony lands a rather chaste kiss on the man's chin, and another on his lips, seemingly surprised to find them open and waiting, and from the deep moan that follows, commandeering.
"This is insane," Cap says, but his hands stay on Tony's shoulders, his gaze is focused.
"We're not kids anymore," Cap says, but doesn't stop Tony from dropping light kisses down his chest, down washboard abs. Tony's head is ducked from there, blocking the view, but Jim can make a pretty good guess of what he kisses next, judging by Cap's quick inhalation.
"Tony," Cap says, but it's hardly a protest this time.
Down on all fours, ass in the air, Jim has a perfect view of Tony growing harder, thicker, just from getting a mouth full of Cap, which he supposes is a fairly good distraction from what Jim is about to put his ass through.
Fingers coated, lube dripping on the sheets, and Jim starts with two at once, forcing his way in. There's the usual resistance, the heat and ridiculous constriction that make this so taboo -- that makes a man doubt if it'll ever fit, if it's even meant to.
Jim's mouth goes dry at the thought of it clenching around his cock. The idea of Cap's in there at the same time. It's ridiculously perverted, and the thought of Tony open for two cocks at once stirs something dark in his gut. He's suddenly very eager to watch as Tony tries.
For someone with as much experience as he has, Tony stays remarkably tight around Jim's fingers. Maybe he's nervous. Or maybe he's just gone, already drowning himself in sensations, face buried in Cap's crotch, head bobbing enthusiastically; maybe he can't help it.
Jim's got a careful beat on Tony's reaction -- his mouth obviously otherwise occupied, but tensing and relaxing thighs give pretty good indication of when he's ready for another finger, his spreading legs, rocking hips tells him when he's desperate for one.
He takes it -- three fingers, then four, and Jim is doing his best to make it painless, stretch past that resistance, when finally Tony relaxes, surrendering to Jim's manipulations with a high, little whine. Jim groans quietly, a brief thought of taking that leeway, seeing just how much Tony can take. The noises he'd make, if Jim were to get his whole hand in there -- how - how open he'd be.
Jim swallows. A comforting hand on the small of Tony's back when he moans in disappointment at Jim's retreating fingers. He's about to replace them with something much more satisfying.
He avoids Cap's stare as he enters, dropping his head, eyes glued on Tony's pale back. Watching the muscles tighten almost before he feels the pressure on his cock, obviously knotting as Jim fills him.
It's silent save their heavy breathing, muffled moans. A hot, stifling sort of quiet, one that smothers Jim along with Tony's impossible heat as he forces his way in.
It couldn't have gone better if they'd planned it; Cap comes -- sudden, short, controlled jerks and gritted teeth -- just as Jim gets planted all the way in, balls to ass. Tony doesn't pull back, and Jim hardly expected him to. He swallows noisily, either losing himself in it or putting on a performance. Either way, the repeated, steadily increasing clenches around Jim's cock tells him how much he's into it. For a second Jim's sure Tony's lost it too, come all over the bedspread from the taste. But no, Tony's just as hard as Jim, dripping pre-come steadily.
Jim's clamps down on Tony's hips, trying to ignore the moans, the unrelenting, rhythmic squeezing, trying not to come. "Damn it, Tony," Jim grunts.
Maybe the odd sort of shuffle Tony does beneath him is supposed to be some sort of apology? He does loosen minutely around Jim, but the movement is nearly as bad. He slaps the wiggling hips lightly. "Knock it off," and ignores the slightly narrowed look Cap sends him for it.
Tony finally releases Cap's cock with a small noise of disappointment -- Jesus. Lapping at the bits of come that somehow managed to escape onto Cap's lower stomach. The man watches with intent, lust dark eyes, fingers gripping the sheet, and Jim's reminded of a cat, studying something small and fidgety. Tony licks long after he's finished, apparently just enjoying the taste of sweat and Captain America, before being satisfied, resting his cheek on Cap's hip.
"How are we--" Tony's cut off by Jim, falling back onto his heels and bringing Tony with him, back to chest, the other man settled fully in his lap, impossibly deep. He grits his teeth at the new angle, but Tony is shameless, moaning as his head drops back.
Cap's mouth is suddenly a tight line as he shifts, sitting up, jaw tense, it's a very intimidating picture, and for a second, Jim is sure he's about to be hit.
Then it's gone, Cap is focused on spreading Tony's thighs wide for access, and without any preamble, manages to get one finger in, along side Jim, then two, three. Jim's sure the extra pressure, the manipulations, stretching, feel good, feel amazing, but he's concentrating on everything but that, on the god awful primer on the walls around them. The name of the cab driver that dropped him off a block early. Anything but that -- insane pressure and heat, the stabs of pleasure.
Tony's breathing in shaking, deep gasps. Jim wraps his arms around the man's middle, splaying fingers on his quivering stomach and biting lightly on his throat, doing his best to distract without causing more discomfort.
Tony turns his head toward Jim, and for a moment, he's pretty sure he knows exactly what drives all his girlfriends completely insane. That gaze, that intense fucking gaze, bright blues are sucking Jim in, practically suffocating and -- yeah. This is what Tony was after. This is what he needs. This is him -- making contact, this is him getting the comfort he was after. Jim knows it's going to piss Cap off, but he can't help it, he grips Tony's neck, kissing him deeply.
"Alright, are -- " Cap clears his throat. The kiss breaks on a heavy breath. "You okay? You good?"
Tony nods jerkily.
Cap moves in closer, one larger than life thigh crossing on top of Jim's, the other one under. Tony sandwiched tightly between them. It's not going to fit. It's not, there's no way, but Cap's -- the head of his cock is pressing insistently against Tony's already full entrance, against Jim. Forcing its way upward, and Captain America, with the apparent refractory period of a 14 year old, is in. Tony's sweating, shaking all over now, hands on Cap's shoulders in a grip obviously hard enough to bruise.
Tony's thighs are spread wide, wider than they need to be, and Jim's sure it's a futile attempt the ease the pressure of the slowly entering cock. Cap's murmuring a steady stream of soothing nothings, kissing up and down the side of Tony's throat, but the muscles of Tony's back stay locked up, rock hard. Jim's just beginning to wonder if they've made a mistake, when Tony moans.
Eyes still closed in what looks like pain, but he is breathing -- panting. Quick, high pitched noises that sound a hell of a lot more like good than badbadbad. "Juh-Jesus," Tony chokes out.
"Don't -- don't move," Cap directs, and Jim has to bite down hard on numerous sarcastic responses that come to mind. Instead he just nods, and tries to breathe, and tries not to think about how Tony Stark is clamping down on his and Captain America's cocks.
"This is insane," Jim is saying it this time, hands moving down from Tony's stomach to his hips. Pulls back when he realizes Cap's hands are already there. Tony lets out a deep, guttural moan, dropping his weight against Cap, who takes it, wincing. No doubt at the pleasure of it, that Tony's every shift provides. Trying to hold back.
"Now, okay, now," Tony's insisting, nodding in agreement with his own decision, eyes closed. He rises just a fraction, then back down, and Cap practically hisses.
"No, not like--" he shakes his head, stilling Tony's hips with apparent ease.
Tony lets out a desperate, wild whine, "No, no, you have to move -- you can't just -- so full, I need -- please, fuck me."
Cap groans deep in his throat as Jim's mouth goes dry. "We're going to, but not like that, you'll hurt yourself. You stay still, we'll just -- rock."
Following the Captain's orders, Jim begins a steady shifting, rocking motion that Cap quickly mirrors, and sends Tony into a fit of moaning, his thighs tensing so hard they feel stone. Clinging desperately to Cap's shoulders, apparently unable to hold his own weight any longer.
The movement makes it worse. Staying still, Jim could do, a matter of distraction, control. But rocking, just leaning up into Tony's open, wanting body is a tease, and Jim has to concentrate hard on the glistening skin of Tony's shoulder, on not pushing too much, not causing damage, not caving to the weight on his chest that wants nothing more than to force Tony down, make him take it all, thrust and fuck like some kind of animal -- when suddenly, the moans stop. He looks up and sees Tony's mouth captured once again by Cap, a sloppy, wet kiss, both of Cap's hands in Tony's hair, Tony's curling at Cap's neck.
Jim reaches around, grips Tony's hard, leaking cock, and the man ducks his head, wails into Cap's collar, tightens unbearably around the both of them.
The world grays; control finally slips and he comes, hard, feeling vaguely cheated even as he explodes -- after all that concentration, restraint. He didn't want to be blindsided by a too early orgasm.
The pressure is suddenly entirely too much on his over stimulated cock, near painful. He winces as he disentangles, Cap and Tony echoing his every movement in moans and grunts. Cap actually holding tight to the bed sheet, eyes clenched shut.
When he's finally free, limp and wrung out next to the still connected men on the mattress, the feeling of eavesdropping returns, even more ludicrous than before. Cap's got Tony tipped over, back on the mattress almost immediately, his legs wrapped around his waist, hips thrusting with no apparent restraint, staring into Tony's face -- so intent, so engrossed. You'd never guess Jim had been there at all.
Cap is saying something, dark and quiet as his hips move steadily, forcing Tony up the bed with each plunge of his hips. Something that makes Tony gasp and nod and cling.
And again, Jim feels like an intruder. If he weren't so utterly wasted, he'd get up now, leave them to it. Instead he just watches, silent, as Cap comes for a second time, Tony's own shuddering completion.
They both drop to the bed, Tony sandwiched between the two of them, a somewhat dazed, panting silence taking over the room.
He's sure they've both drifted off when Tony says, "Thank you," soft and quiet.
Jim hopes Cap's arms tight around Tony's waist, Jim's own hand resting on his cheek, thumb just behind his ear, pressing lightly, is answer enough.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Tony needs comfort in a language he can't misinterpret.
Pairing: Rhodes/Tony/Steve
Word Count: 6220
Warning: There's this thing called "double penetration" and it's exactly what you're thinking, and it happens in this fic.
A/N: This fic was inspired by issues 160 to 200 of v1 (Specifically these two pages), when Tony falls off the wagon a second time, a period that could really be called "Adventures in Babysitting" if it had been told from Rhodes and Steve's POV. This fic had IMMENSE help from
onewayfreak, dorothy1901 and cruelest_month, I can't even say.ETA: Forgot to say, this takes place where most of my fics do: an estimated three years or so in the future, or however long it takes for them to return to status quo. (Steve is alive, Rhodes isn't a cyborg, CW isn't mentioned, etc)
Jim Rhodes ends up hijacking a G650 to make it out of Ireland. He spends six hours on that stolen plane, eyes focused hard on nothing but empty international airspace and the rocky, glittering international waters below. His head pounds with a kind of pain you only get from extended hospital stays, and his arms are numb, useless weights at his side from the poison that landed him there in the first place.
Tony left for New York a week or so earlier in his own private jet, left Jim there; he had no choice, apparently, and Jim spends the last leg of the flight cursing the man at the top of his lungs, just to stay awake. Twisting verbs and anatomy creatively, sometimes spoken with real anger, sometimes amusement.
Any real irritation is pushed immediately to the back burner when he walks in the door of Stark Industries.
Tony takes one look at Jim and smiles so broadly, and so happily, so goofily, practically trips over his own feet to wrap him in a clumsy hug, "Rhodey! You're back! Where've you been? How are you? Have you recovered?"
He is obviously drunk, and Jim will feel like a fool for not figuring that out until he smells it, clinging to Tony's hair and neck like aftershave. Still, the relief and joy is sincere, and somehow, anger at Tony for leaving, for being thick enough to pick up the bottle again, will turn to guilt for not recovering sooner.
Irrational guilt, but still, guilt that will set in properly when it's all said and done, after Tony goes right up to that brink and teeters in the wind; guilt fuelled by the knowledge that if Jim had just been there that week, those stupid seven days of pure hell Tony had been put through . . . .
It still would've been bad, but Tony wouldn't have ended up wandering the streets of New York in record setting cold, drunk and delirious. And Jim had been lying in a hospital. If he had just been there. Guilt, because that's what a person feels when they don't do all they should, when they shirk a responsibility. Guilt, because that's the moment he fully realizes the responsibility he's been given -- the one he's taken: Tony Stark.
Still, there's a moment there, just a second, before his brain connects the glaringly obvious dots, where he can't help but smile, because all he's processed is how much he really means to Tony, and it feels something like a privilege instead of a duty.
*
A few years, fights, armored suits, deaths, resurrections, businesses, mistakes, addictions later, Jim finds himself back at Stark's door. The smile that greets him isn't goofy, isn't wide and isn't particularly sincere. It's stiff at the edges, as are his eyes. But it's an honest effort.
"Jim," he says. "Pleasant surprise."
"Heard what happened," Jim says. Several times. He'd woke that morning to find thirty-eight missed calls and fifteen voicemails on his emergency cell, the cell he uses for superhero, Tony-related stuff; the important cell. All from various Avengers and Jarvis, telling him in abstract terms about a battle in some mountains, in a foreign country, possibly another reality, against an insane woman with godly powers, who used to be a friend, and asking Jim, well, if he had time to stop by and -- kinda make sure Tony doesn't do something life-threatening to himself or the world at large. 'Check up on him' had been the popular phrase, though. "Rough weekend?"
Tony's shoulders drop, along with that fake smile, along with any pretense that he's fine. "Yeah," he says. He looks utterly beaten. It's a hell of a lot worse than what Jim had been expecting, even with all that warning. Tony does not show his hurt. He bottles it tight, trying to fix his pains with rationalizations and distractions, until it blows up in his face, as you can't fix pain. It usually takes a keen eye to spot him fraying, before he explodes spectacularly. For him to look bad says quite a bit, and Tony looks ripped to shreds; the open hurt in his face is almost too much to take in.
Jim takes it in anyway, doesn't want to think about all the damage someone with access to all Tony Stark's demons and no scruples about using it against him could cause, and decides he's way past needing vocal invitation to enter. He steps into Tony's personal space, kicking the door shut behind him.
Tony just closes his eyes, leans forward into Jim, sighing deep and heavy. The weight is easy to take, and with his head bent like this, back slouched, it's a perfect height for Jim to rest his jaw. Not quite a hug.
There are spare parts scattered over the coffee table, which is fully visible from the doorway -- this is Tony's smaller, downtown apartment -- obviously abandoned in a hurry to answer the door. His stomach clenches, not sure if he should hope Tony was expecting him, because he wasn't even sure he'd come until the sixth message.
"Can't even tell what's real," mutters a voice thick with misery, into Jim's shoulder.
Yeah, Jim's been there. "You are," he says. "I am."
Mind fucks are part of the job, and sometimes it rolls off your back, and sometimes . . . sometimes you close the blinds and watch poorly dubbed kung fu movies while building Something Advanced and Tiny with spare parts.
The finishing credits of Horse Boxing Killer roll, and Men From The Monastery AKA Disciple of Death is up next, when heavy, insistent knocks pound on the door. Tony jerks at it immediately, dropping his toys, and from the way he rushes to the door, Jim expects to see Legs of the Week -- because this is Tony, and Tony is in pain, and he wants real, human contact.
Jim wishes the sight of Steve Rogers, larger than life even in plain civvies, was a surprise.
"You turned off your phone." He looks almost angry, but Jim can recognize blind worry when he sees it. "You never turn off your phone."
Tony starts to apologize, but Cap obviously lacks the patience to let him finish, grabbing the man and pulling him into an abrupt hug.
It feels oddly like he's eavesdropping, intruding, despite the face that you can't quite eavesdrop on a hug, let alone one that takes place directly in front of you. Tony's stiff posture slowly relaxes. His arms hang limp, then his hands move up, gripping the bottom of Cap's shirt tightly. Yeah. He diverts his attention back to the ending credits.
The title menu has played its cheesy, looping midi of Kung Fu Fighting's chorus twice by the time Tony's released.
"I had my communicator on," Tony's saying, making his way back to the living room. He settles down directly next to Jim rather than in either of the armchairs, or in his earlier perch at the other end of the couch. Close enough that Jim can feel the man's warmth, his thighs tensing and relaxing in accordance with each shift.
It's a testament to how focused Cap was, that he doesn't notice Jim until already inside, shedding his coat. "Hi, Jim," he says, after a moment of uncharacteristic staring. "Didn't see you there."
"Cap," Jim nods. Why does this feel awkward? He doesn't have a problem with Captain America -- a person would have to be insane, or a Nazi, and therefore insane, to have a problem with Cap. They just never clicked, and Jim has the distinct impression that Cap is waiting for him to stand up and leave the two of them in peace.
Ah, Cap had the same hellish weekend as Tony, Jim remembers. It must feel like he's intruding on their grief. Jim is unmoved; Tony's grief is as much Jim's business as it is Tony's, considering how it tends to spill over, directly on top of him, if ignored.
Jim settles further into the couch. Finally, Cap takes a seat on the other side of Tony, who's picked up his metal and wires again, apparently oblivious.
*
It's easy to hate Tony.
He's so good at getting what he needs, without asking; of course he would never ask, but he pulls people to him, his charm and his intelligence and his uncompromising quest to do what's right. And you find yourself marching to his drum, lifting weights you didn't think were possible, sacrificing more than you thought you had, and you're stronger for it, you have more than you started with. And of course he never asks you to, he just needs you to, so you can't actually hate him.
Which makes it that much easier to hate him more.
And it's easy to take the good he does himself for granted, easy to demonize him for mistakes. It's easy to subtract the Tony from the Stark Enterprises, the two mile high skyscraper, the garage full of classic cars, the smorgasbord of celebrities and heroes on speed dial, the literally bottomless well of cash, the toys, the startling intelligence, the unending tides of admirers and accolades.
Easy to paint confidence as arrogance, melancholy as ingratitude, and it makes sense, once someone cleans each of your wounds, wraps you up tight, promises safety from now on, promises the world, to blame them when you stub your toe.
It . . . it's so easy to blame him for every fault of the world, when he's seated himself on top of it.
And Jim had a reason once, a good reason, but it's become habit, at this point, for him to sneer at the very name of Tony Stark. To look for fault in his every move, every word. His own personal villain, a scapegoat for all occasions. It's a mindless sort of rage now, more irrational than not, but it's satisfying to hate Tony Stark -- he sets himself up for it so well, and anger is a lot warmer than logic.
He'd love to celebrate this failure. The limp Stark's forcing himself to ignore, the battered, swollen skin of his face, neck, the blood caked mouth, bloodshot eye. Jim would like nothing more than to root for that defeat he can see licking on the edges of Stark's resolve.
If only Stark didn't have to ruin it by hating himself more than Jim could ever dream to.
*
Jim's pretty sure Cap doesn't see genius in the painfully bad karate movies. But considering he's spent most his time staring at Tony out the corner of his eye, it's understandable he's not getting into it. He watches long enough to point out one of many, many inaccuracies or impossibilities, then back to the man, still fiddling with whatever he's been working on since before Jim got there.
He has to've noticed the good it's doing for Tony's mood -- there's an actual, small smile by the final fight scene -- he doesn't actively complain until Jim gets up at the end, puts in Magnificent Butcher.
"Another one?" Cap asks.
"These are classics, Cap," Jim informs him.
"He's right," Tony says. "What you just watched is considered a masterpiece by nearly every kung fu enthusiast."
"I'm not a kung fu enthusiast," Cap mutters.
"I thought you were a master at martial arts?" Jim asks, settling back on the couch, and catches Tony's expression -- no one should be that pleased to be crammed between an air-dale and ground-pounder. "How can you not like it?"
"I like kung fu. But whatever those people are doing is not kung fu," he says. "I've never punched someone's face and had my hand come out the back of their skull." And looks chagrined when both Tony and Jim smile at the memory.
"That reminds me, have I thanked you for this collection lately?" Jim asks.
"Least I could do," Tony says, staring more than focusing on his toy. "After driving your old one off a bridge."
"You mean after the bridge was blasted out from under you."
Tony shrugs one shoulder, that pained expression back in place, and Jim exchanges a startled look with Cap. The movie starts, but whatever they were doing for him before is gone now, he's obviously lost in his own thoughts, drawing further and further in on himself. Damn it.
The movie plays for about a half hour, Cap barely even pretending to keep one eye on the screen. When there's a quieter moment, the man shifts forward, muting it. Staring at his hands, he clears his throat.
"Clint told me he saw Bobbi," he says, boldly, into the silence. Tony stiffens at Jim's side. "Wanda made him watch her -- with Slade. Over and over." Cap braces himself, then turns to look Tony in the eye. "I saw my parents. My friends, grow old and wither away right in front of me. And then everyone, time kept going, but it didn't touch me -- all of you, you -- died while I just watched. I couldn't stop it. Bucky and Sharon and Sam and -- you, you all. Thor. Until there was nothing, everything on earth was gone, just me and overwhelming nothingness. I thought I was going to lose it. And then when it took Strange so long to pull you back out -- "
Tony's been growing more and more still, and is now essentially a statue at Jim's side, complete with the blank, lifeless stare.
"I'm sorry," he practically mouths it, it's so small. Another impressive silence grows, and when he finally speaks, it's after a deep inhale, in a cool, composed voice. "Wanda brought my mother, my parents, to life again. Happy and Pepper with three -- amazing kids. Yinsen, Rumiko, Bill Foster. Alive, with their loved ones. Even Wanda, healthy, how she used to be. Countless soldiers, and innocents that -- just everyone, how their lives could've been, in a world where I couldn't-- I didn't interfere," he shakes his head, the steadily growing hysteria in his voice gone. "And then," he says lightly. "She asked why I didn't stop her, why didn't I help her when she needed it. The real Wanda was still in there, Steve. She wanted to be saved."
"Tony --"
"No, it was her. She wasn't totally gone. But I couldn't--" his hands are tangled in his hair, slumped forward, elbows on his knees. "But I didn't know what else to--"
"Tony," Jim tries. Tony looks over sharply, blinking at him, and he's pretty sure he forgot there was anyone else in the room. He makes sure to use the tone his father taught him, the one the military perfected, the one that accepts no arguments, the one he uses when his soldiers or comrades are forgetting what's up and what's down. "The world is a better place with you in it."
Tony stares. He is going to cry. Jim's not even sure how he knows, there's no obvious signs. But he does and Jim -- he hates seeing people cry, nothing makes him feel more useless or awkward, but with Tony it's oddly easy, maybe because it's such a rarity. What had that witch -- Jim's pretty sure Tony didn't lie, just omitted certain points, probably the most haunting ones. There's no way there's not more to the story than what was said. They'll never hear it though, Tony will keep it carefully tucked inside, yet another private demon.
Before he can say a word, though, Cap's got it. He brings Tony's face to his shoulder and a hand on his back. It's silent, and maybe tearless, but Tony's shoulders jerk violently every now and then. Given the intensity --
Cap's eyes are closed, mouth set as though in severe pain.
Jim should leave.
He's moving to stand when Tony's head turns, and he can practically feel the bristly kiss left on Cap's neck.
*
Tony's lips are on the side of Jim's neck. This is a mistake. His full beard is scratching, distracting on his collar. His hand -- a man's hand, large and calloused -- is sliding up, cupping Jim's jaw. He's pressing into Jim with a blind sort of eagerness that, ludicrously, reminds him of prom, fumbling hands and awkward, breathless laughs.
This is a mistake.
But maybe any mistake would be better than the blank stare Tony's worn since finding out about Morley -- since Cly went off on both of them. Not responding till the second time his name is said, and even then, speaking in calm, slow tones. It's eerie.
Jim didn't expect sitting down next to the man and asking a gruff, you alright? would lead to groping, although, in retrospect, he should've.
The thing is, Tony's lonely. He's been alone and lonely most his life, and although they've never talked about it, Jim's pretty sure the only times Tony actually feels connected with another human is when he's fondling their dangly bits.
And Jim doesn't mean to get creepy about it, but it's how he's always been -- he looks at a problem, he looks at its bits and pieces, and he works out how it happened. Tony's parents were cold. He went to school with jerks. And for someone who loves human contact as much as Tony does, of course after a lifetime of that, sex is going to be like an all-time high. The all-time comfort. The all-time assurance. Words, he's dealt with his whole life. Words can be twisted. Words can be faked.
And for some reason, despite the many times he's been proven wrong, Tony Stark thinks you can't fake sex.
At least, Jim thinks, he's going after someone who won't end up shooting him in the back. At least he's not trying to numb it all with liquor.
Still.
He catches Tony's hand, holds it firmly.
"This is a mistake."
*
Cap looks, frankly, confused at how it got from comfort to sex, and Jim wants to laugh, because he's not sure Tony will ever fully separate the two.
"Tony, you're--"
"Steve, please," Tony interrupts, murmuring against Cap's cheek, hand pressing into that ridiculously wide chest. "Please."
Jim stands to leave, but a hand, faster than any non-enhanced human hand has any right to be, snatches his wrist. Tony's staring up at him, still perched on Cap's lap, which Cap allowed him to slide into, eyes dark and intense.
"No offense, Tony, but I'm really not into watching."
Tony slowly, slowly brings Jim's hand up to his mouth, where he sucks on the pointer and middle finger, his free hand tightening on Cap's shirt until the knuckles go white.
The Captain and Jim exchange a look over Tony's head.
"Tony, I don't--" Cap starts, his tone -- not careful enough, Tony releases Jim's hand, stiffens, and suddenly it's glaring Jim in the face. How much damage they can really do, here. How open to attack Tony's left himself, and how few people he would trust with his defenses so god damn non-existent. Cap must be thinking along the same lines, his face looks pained, nearly tortured.
The short of it is, Tony is begging for this from them. He might just need it. And, god help him, it feels right. It feels like getting Tony's back, it feels like being there for him, it feels like something he can give, is willing to give. It feels like not handing him off to someone else just because it got a little-- a lot sticky. This is a mistake, but it's one that he's willing to make, now. Consequences he's willing to shoulder, because he's sure they'll feel a hell of a lot lighter than the sudden weight of every single thoughtless favor, every bit, every scrap that Tony has thoughtlessly given Jim over the years -- so easily forgotten in light of the crap, but there all the same.
Jim bends, one knee on the couch, and cradles the side of Tony's face, who practically levitates with gratitude as they kiss.
Cap looks torn between betrayal and confusion. "Rhodes, I need a second with Tony."
"Sure thing," Jim says, gripping Tony's hand tight before going to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator, and trying not to think about what's happened, happening or about to happen.
He finishes half the bottle, and they're still talking by the time he makes it to the doorway.
At first Jim can't make out what's being said, Tony's speaking so quietly.
"I don't think that," Cap murmurs back softly. "I could never think that."
Tony's voice slowly picks up volume as it continues, rushed and tight, God, what did that witch make him see? "--need this, I need it so bad I think I might go insane without it, there's no one -- no one else, I don't have anyone else. Please, Steve."
"Rhodes--"
"I don't have anyone else like you, Steve," Tony says. "I need you Steve, and I need him. Please don't leave, please don't leave me."
There's a long, long pause. "What -- exactly are you asking for?"
"Both of you," Tony says. "At once."
There's a second pause. After a long while, Tony adds something too soft for Jim to hear.
The silence continues, and when Jim finally walks around the corner, Cap is kissing Tony gently, like he's something fragile.
*
Jim Rhodes lifts security clear off the ground by his neck, threatens and bullies the staff, but it gets him into Tony's hospital room, and he's always been more of a ends justify the means type of guy.
Tubes going in and out of his mouth and nose and arms, sickly pale and gaunt -- Jim feels like he's too late, he took too long on his last mission, but Tony's been unconscious for two days now, and if he's too late for anything, it's to stop it from happening in the first place, months ago.
"Tony," he says softly, not expecting a response, and not disappointed.
Guilt. Because there's a small -- small, dark part of Jim that wanted the Iron Man suit enough that he wonders if any of this is his fault. Did Tony need something he couldn't give? Wouldn't give? Did that part of Jim, the one that wanted the chance to fly, want it bad enough that he let Tony fall to get it?
The medical equipment is sending Iron Man's sensors into overdrive, analyzing each function, each reading, he can practically feel Tony's heart rate thrumming in his head, and he can't quite ignore how serious this is any longer.
If Tony dies here, dies of exposure, because he was too plastered to find shelter-- Dies like some nobody, dies like someone who can't take a box of scraps and make revolutionary technology-- Dies like a coward instead of the hero Jim knows he is, while Jim was off playing dress up with the team Tony founded.
If he held anything back that Tony needed, any ounce of support, any word, any touch of comfort, even if it was buried so deep in his subconscious, not even he knew it . . . and Tony dies.
Jim thinks it might be enough to send him to the bottle, too.
*
The rarely used bedroom is eleven steps down the hall, featuring a gigantic bed furnished with sheets Jim is pretty sure have never been slept on.
It doesn't matter your preference, your freaking species, Captain America's body is a work of art. Six feet three inches of solid, all American muscle and strength, and the man somehow looks more composed totally naked than he does in blue jeans. And while Jim is duly familiar with the lean muscles of Tony's body, he's only ever seen them during moments of outright terror. It's an appealing sight, the long legs, thin hips, broad shoulders -- when you're not seeing them after the armor stripped away by a villain.
Jim is not an overly modest man, but their appreciative glances in return -- if it was just Tony, it'd be another story. But Captain America eyeballing his cock is surreal, to say the least, and he crosses the room quickly, settling on the bed.
"How is this happening?" he asks.
"Carefully," Cap says, immediately. Cap is not small, goes unsaid. Jim is not small. "Slowly."
"Right, but I think Jim meant the logistics," Tony says, shamelessly eyeing exactly how not small the two of them are. He doesn't so much as wince at the sight, it seems to be exactly what he expected. Anticipated. Wanted.
A vivid picture of what they're about to do blindsides Jim, along with a dark, heavy dose of lust. "I mean, where --" Jesus, if he can't even say it, this is going to be intensely awkward. "Do you even have lube here?"
Of course Tony keeps lube here. A fresh, unopened bottle of it is in the bedside drawer, and Jim wonders if it's something included on some checklist, a regularly stocked item in all of Tony's homes by some assistant.
"Will you do the honors, Colonel?" Tony asks, smirking, as though he hadn't been close to total breakdown moments ago, pressing the bottle into Jim's hand. The whole mattress shifts with Cap's weight as he moves onto the bed, against the headboard, behind Tony. Jim watches Tony's face, his eyes close, entire body leaning into the touch Cap extends, along his back.
The smirk is gone, and a part of Jim is struck at how truly sad it is, that this is the only sort of comfort that Tony accepts without question. He quickly forces the thought to the side, focusing on slicking his fingers, as he knows there's no sort of pity Tony accepts.
Turning toward Cap and baring his ass to Jim, Tony lands a rather chaste kiss on the man's chin, and another on his lips, seemingly surprised to find them open and waiting, and from the deep moan that follows, commandeering.
"This is insane," Cap says, but his hands stay on Tony's shoulders, his gaze is focused.
"We're not kids anymore," Cap says, but doesn't stop Tony from dropping light kisses down his chest, down washboard abs. Tony's head is ducked from there, blocking the view, but Jim can make a pretty good guess of what he kisses next, judging by Cap's quick inhalation.
"Tony," Cap says, but it's hardly a protest this time.
Down on all fours, ass in the air, Jim has a perfect view of Tony growing harder, thicker, just from getting a mouth full of Cap, which he supposes is a fairly good distraction from what Jim is about to put his ass through.
Fingers coated, lube dripping on the sheets, and Jim starts with two at once, forcing his way in. There's the usual resistance, the heat and ridiculous constriction that make this so taboo -- that makes a man doubt if it'll ever fit, if it's even meant to.
Jim's mouth goes dry at the thought of it clenching around his cock. The idea of Cap's in there at the same time. It's ridiculously perverted, and the thought of Tony open for two cocks at once stirs something dark in his gut. He's suddenly very eager to watch as Tony tries.
For someone with as much experience as he has, Tony stays remarkably tight around Jim's fingers. Maybe he's nervous. Or maybe he's just gone, already drowning himself in sensations, face buried in Cap's crotch, head bobbing enthusiastically; maybe he can't help it.
Jim's got a careful beat on Tony's reaction -- his mouth obviously otherwise occupied, but tensing and relaxing thighs give pretty good indication of when he's ready for another finger, his spreading legs, rocking hips tells him when he's desperate for one.
He takes it -- three fingers, then four, and Jim is doing his best to make it painless, stretch past that resistance, when finally Tony relaxes, surrendering to Jim's manipulations with a high, little whine. Jim groans quietly, a brief thought of taking that leeway, seeing just how much Tony can take. The noises he'd make, if Jim were to get his whole hand in there -- how - how open he'd be.
Jim swallows. A comforting hand on the small of Tony's back when he moans in disappointment at Jim's retreating fingers. He's about to replace them with something much more satisfying.
He avoids Cap's stare as he enters, dropping his head, eyes glued on Tony's pale back. Watching the muscles tighten almost before he feels the pressure on his cock, obviously knotting as Jim fills him.
It's silent save their heavy breathing, muffled moans. A hot, stifling sort of quiet, one that smothers Jim along with Tony's impossible heat as he forces his way in.
It couldn't have gone better if they'd planned it; Cap comes -- sudden, short, controlled jerks and gritted teeth -- just as Jim gets planted all the way in, balls to ass. Tony doesn't pull back, and Jim hardly expected him to. He swallows noisily, either losing himself in it or putting on a performance. Either way, the repeated, steadily increasing clenches around Jim's cock tells him how much he's into it. For a second Jim's sure Tony's lost it too, come all over the bedspread from the taste. But no, Tony's just as hard as Jim, dripping pre-come steadily.
Jim's clamps down on Tony's hips, trying to ignore the moans, the unrelenting, rhythmic squeezing, trying not to come. "Damn it, Tony," Jim grunts.
Maybe the odd sort of shuffle Tony does beneath him is supposed to be some sort of apology? He does loosen minutely around Jim, but the movement is nearly as bad. He slaps the wiggling hips lightly. "Knock it off," and ignores the slightly narrowed look Cap sends him for it.
Tony finally releases Cap's cock with a small noise of disappointment -- Jesus. Lapping at the bits of come that somehow managed to escape onto Cap's lower stomach. The man watches with intent, lust dark eyes, fingers gripping the sheet, and Jim's reminded of a cat, studying something small and fidgety. Tony licks long after he's finished, apparently just enjoying the taste of sweat and Captain America, before being satisfied, resting his cheek on Cap's hip.
"How are we--" Tony's cut off by Jim, falling back onto his heels and bringing Tony with him, back to chest, the other man settled fully in his lap, impossibly deep. He grits his teeth at the new angle, but Tony is shameless, moaning as his head drops back.
Cap's mouth is suddenly a tight line as he shifts, sitting up, jaw tense, it's a very intimidating picture, and for a second, Jim is sure he's about to be hit.
Then it's gone, Cap is focused on spreading Tony's thighs wide for access, and without any preamble, manages to get one finger in, along side Jim, then two, three. Jim's sure the extra pressure, the manipulations, stretching, feel good, feel amazing, but he's concentrating on everything but that, on the god awful primer on the walls around them. The name of the cab driver that dropped him off a block early. Anything but that -- insane pressure and heat, the stabs of pleasure.
Tony's breathing in shaking, deep gasps. Jim wraps his arms around the man's middle, splaying fingers on his quivering stomach and biting lightly on his throat, doing his best to distract without causing more discomfort.
Tony turns his head toward Jim, and for a moment, he's pretty sure he knows exactly what drives all his girlfriends completely insane. That gaze, that intense fucking gaze, bright blues are sucking Jim in, practically suffocating and -- yeah. This is what Tony was after. This is what he needs. This is him -- making contact, this is him getting the comfort he was after. Jim knows it's going to piss Cap off, but he can't help it, he grips Tony's neck, kissing him deeply.
"Alright, are -- " Cap clears his throat. The kiss breaks on a heavy breath. "You okay? You good?"
Tony nods jerkily.
Cap moves in closer, one larger than life thigh crossing on top of Jim's, the other one under. Tony sandwiched tightly between them. It's not going to fit. It's not, there's no way, but Cap's -- the head of his cock is pressing insistently against Tony's already full entrance, against Jim. Forcing its way upward, and Captain America, with the apparent refractory period of a 14 year old, is in. Tony's sweating, shaking all over now, hands on Cap's shoulders in a grip obviously hard enough to bruise.
Tony's thighs are spread wide, wider than they need to be, and Jim's sure it's a futile attempt the ease the pressure of the slowly entering cock. Cap's murmuring a steady stream of soothing nothings, kissing up and down the side of Tony's throat, but the muscles of Tony's back stay locked up, rock hard. Jim's just beginning to wonder if they've made a mistake, when Tony moans.
Eyes still closed in what looks like pain, but he is breathing -- panting. Quick, high pitched noises that sound a hell of a lot more like good than badbadbad. "Juh-Jesus," Tony chokes out.
"Don't -- don't move," Cap directs, and Jim has to bite down hard on numerous sarcastic responses that come to mind. Instead he just nods, and tries to breathe, and tries not to think about how Tony Stark is clamping down on his and Captain America's cocks.
"This is insane," Jim is saying it this time, hands moving down from Tony's stomach to his hips. Pulls back when he realizes Cap's hands are already there. Tony lets out a deep, guttural moan, dropping his weight against Cap, who takes it, wincing. No doubt at the pleasure of it, that Tony's every shift provides. Trying to hold back.
"Now, okay, now," Tony's insisting, nodding in agreement with his own decision, eyes closed. He rises just a fraction, then back down, and Cap practically hisses.
"No, not like--" he shakes his head, stilling Tony's hips with apparent ease.
Tony lets out a desperate, wild whine, "No, no, you have to move -- you can't just -- so full, I need -- please, fuck me."
Cap groans deep in his throat as Jim's mouth goes dry. "We're going to, but not like that, you'll hurt yourself. You stay still, we'll just -- rock."
Following the Captain's orders, Jim begins a steady shifting, rocking motion that Cap quickly mirrors, and sends Tony into a fit of moaning, his thighs tensing so hard they feel stone. Clinging desperately to Cap's shoulders, apparently unable to hold his own weight any longer.
The movement makes it worse. Staying still, Jim could do, a matter of distraction, control. But rocking, just leaning up into Tony's open, wanting body is a tease, and Jim has to concentrate hard on the glistening skin of Tony's shoulder, on not pushing too much, not causing damage, not caving to the weight on his chest that wants nothing more than to force Tony down, make him take it all, thrust and fuck like some kind of animal -- when suddenly, the moans stop. He looks up and sees Tony's mouth captured once again by Cap, a sloppy, wet kiss, both of Cap's hands in Tony's hair, Tony's curling at Cap's neck.
Jim reaches around, grips Tony's hard, leaking cock, and the man ducks his head, wails into Cap's collar, tightens unbearably around the both of them.
The world grays; control finally slips and he comes, hard, feeling vaguely cheated even as he explodes -- after all that concentration, restraint. He didn't want to be blindsided by a too early orgasm.
The pressure is suddenly entirely too much on his over stimulated cock, near painful. He winces as he disentangles, Cap and Tony echoing his every movement in moans and grunts. Cap actually holding tight to the bed sheet, eyes clenched shut.
When he's finally free, limp and wrung out next to the still connected men on the mattress, the feeling of eavesdropping returns, even more ludicrous than before. Cap's got Tony tipped over, back on the mattress almost immediately, his legs wrapped around his waist, hips thrusting with no apparent restraint, staring into Tony's face -- so intent, so engrossed. You'd never guess Jim had been there at all.
Cap is saying something, dark and quiet as his hips move steadily, forcing Tony up the bed with each plunge of his hips. Something that makes Tony gasp and nod and cling.
And again, Jim feels like an intruder. If he weren't so utterly wasted, he'd get up now, leave them to it. Instead he just watches, silent, as Cap comes for a second time, Tony's own shuddering completion.
They both drop to the bed, Tony sandwiched between the two of them, a somewhat dazed, panting silence taking over the room.
He's sure they've both drifted off when Tony says, "Thank you," soft and quiet.
Jim hopes Cap's arms tight around Tony's waist, Jim's own hand resting on his cheek, thumb just behind his ear, pressing lightly, is answer enough.
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I thought the bit I read of this on /pco/ was hot (and I should have known that was you!).
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The person who asked about it on that thread actually reminded me it existed, I've had it almost done for quite a while now xD
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WELL, that made my evening.
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Your characterisation was perfect, the pacing just right and the non-linear cut aways worked but most of all the porn..... the porn was fantastic.
Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be re-lurking in my bunk.
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Thank you very much, I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)
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But I'm very glad my attempt pleased you! :D Thank you for the comment!
*wince a bit*
...but thank you for writing a Steve/Tony/Rhodey sandwhich, I've wanted to read something like that since forever, it's uber kinky, Tony so needy and being gently made love to by two soldiers.
Re: *wince a bit*
Holy crap, I'd cooled down since reading the porn but that description just got me again. -tugs collar and fans himself-
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My god, this fic, totally hot;
Tony lets out a desperate, wild whine, "No, no, you have to move -- you can't just -- so full, I need -- please, fuck me."
Cap groans deep in his throat as Jim's mouth goes dry. "We're going to, but not like that, you'll hurt yourself. You stay still, we'll just -- rock."
Re: *wince a bit*
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I should just get you to write my summaries from now on, I swear.
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delicious kink is delicious
LOL, it would be so hilarious if Tony gets frisky EVERYTIME he's on the helicarrier, or visit a military base. Tony wriggling on Steve's lap, with Steve's dogtags tying his wrists together behind him. Or would that be implausible because dogtags might be a little too sharp?
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My brain has imploded and died due to the hotness of that mental image.
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I love the way that was written. Personally I think Tony doesn't necessarily fake sex with Legs of the Week, he just robs himself of a real connection. He's cheating himself.
Cap tolerating Rhodey because of Tony was an element that really amused me. Maybe it shouldn't have? I just found myself smirking at how often Rhodey feels like a voyeur.
That gaze drives ME insane! I could just see those eyes now, piercing, magnetic, sucking me towards his bedroom/couch/car hood... ngh.
I can buy the reason why Cap is how he is in this fic
Like, the fact that Tony had to talk him into it, and even when it came to it, Steve was all, "Let's do this slowly" and giving direction and ish, and at the end, when Tony gets his wish, he takes Tony and shags him again.
Tony is just the convergence between them both, I reckon, and they just accept each other, because you have to if you're going to accept Tony.
I can't believe that I'm leaving considered comments on a double penetration fic.
Egads.
Can't believe I am meta-ing on a dp fic comment
ha
I don't ship Cap/Tony anymore, but Rhodes and Tony? THEY gots some potential, babeh. The fact Tony begged for his presence really struck me. It's my personal canon they've been in sexual situations together, not necessarily exclusively with each other.
Oh yeah
I hear you. I really do. I ship Tony/Henry, Tony/Cap, Tony/Rhodes, Tony/Peter in varying degrees of intensity because Tony is that way.
Rhodes and Tony? THEY gots some potential, babeh.
Yeah, I can see it. In the older comics (oy, showing my age) Rhodes was always ride or die with Tony, and the fact that Rhodes covered for Tony as iron man (war machine) was a big deal. Ah, the eighties/ nineties. Back when minority characters actually got some face time.
The fact Tony begged for his presence really struck me. It's my personal canon they've been in sexual situations together, not necessarily exclusively with each other.
Yeah, I can see it. Air pilot, filfthy as rich industrialist? I see it as a Matt Damon/Ben Affleck thing, them, girls, poker and blow.
Re: Oh yeah
Tony forces Rhodey to be his wingman tho XD
LOL. I'd write that fic, if I could write sex scenes
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Iiiiiiii think he kind of assumes that sex means as much to other people as it does to him. And like, for as much of a playboy as Tony is, he tends to get pussy whipped pretty much immediately. So he gives and gives in a relationship, feeling like a commitment is being made (because who could fake sex~!), when it is not, and he ends up getting poisoned/shot in the back(although he was kinda asking for that, Kathy was pretty totally obviously completely insane)/kidnapped/manipulated/etc.
anywayanyway, I am very glad you liked it. :D
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Wow... I never realized how trippy and wonderful it is to read good pr0n on Vicodin and five shots of espresso. Whee~! ♥
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in the style of Deadpool'sthat let's me remember what I want to. XDno subject
I LOVE YOU! SERIOUSLY!
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Oh jimmney cricket and crimey
Cap's collar _ I thought he was naked? Or do you mean his collar bone.
Right, now that aside.... It took me close to an hour to read this story, because stuff like this is easy to get wrong, to go cheap, and for the reader to feel cheated and bad for the characters being written (i can stand reading 'faceless' porn if the characters are just random and introduced for those purposes, but I can't read bad porn about characters I like and know).
But you didn't go cheap, you paced the story with a LOT more discipline than I envisioned, and your sex was a part of the narrative, and I salute you.
I need to go and drink something now, if it's even mouthwash (we don't keep liquor in the house), because Jesus Tony's naked need has broken me.
Oh, and another thing...
Right. Drink. Now.
Jesus.
Re: Oh, and another thing...
Yesssss, that is exactly what I wanted to show :DD Two very different relationships that mean a lot, but one doesn't take away from the other, except for now Steve will probably never let Jim and Tony in a room alone again, hurray hurray this review makes me so happy x)))
Re: Oh jimmney cricket and crimey
Ah jeez man, thank you. DP fic is like 95% restraint/preparation/build up and discipline, maybe 5% reward lol. BUT IT IS MY KINK SO.
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Is that avatar... a female chipmunk?
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HERE IS ELEANOR.
I NEED A JANETTE ICON TO COMPLETE THE SET.
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I really like the flashbacks to volume one -- first Tony drinking, and then Tony in the hospital, and they Tony & Rhodey after MOrley's been killd and Clytemnestra's left.
The thing is, Tony's lonely. He's been alone and lonely most his life, and although they've never talked about it, Jim's pretty sure the only times Tony actually feels connected with another human is when he's fondling their dangly bits
I love the way you get across Rhodey's insights into Tony's head -- not unsympathetic, but not romanticized at all, either.
Guilt. Because there's a small -- small, dark part of Jim that wanted the Iron Man suit enough that he wonders if any of this is his fault. Did Tony need something he couldn't give? Wouldn't give? Did that part of Jim, the one that wanted the chance to fly, want it bad enough that he let Tony fall to get it?
*pets Rhodey* No, of course you didn't. But he would wonder that, wouldn't he, especially considering how little he was able to help Tony, and that he could have tried harder, and how fucked up everything got between them later.
And as for the sex part, dude, you melted my brain. I love Tony being broken and desperate and eager and a little smug/pleased, on some level, to be getting both of them at once, and Steve uncomfortable and not a little possessive/jealous, and Rhodey knowing exactly what's going on and feeling alittle like a third wheel, but just going with it.
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But he would wonder that, wouldn't he, especially considering how little he was able to help Tony, and that he could have tried harder, and how fucked up everything got between them later.
That line's actual like, verbatim canon! That's the line that made me want to write this, because god damn what a thought process to have when looking at your friend -- that you didn't give enough, just, torn up with guilt. I mean that is an intense level of friendship.
Hee thank you so much!! I'm proud you liked it. :)))
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Nngnjdkffdkj Tony is so needy here, and it's lovely because it's so incredibly in-character, you're just reminding us of it. Tony depends on these two so much and sex is such a huge part of his life, this kind of just feels like a natural progression.
Jim's voice is amazing. I mean, you do this with all male characters you write, but especially here, I kept remembering that this is a guy, these are guy emotions, he expresses what he needs to to get the point across and the rest stays in his head. Then there's that little glimpse of what happens when he lets them loose, the kiss when he gets Tony in his lap, it's like, that's Rhodes being unguarded about Tony's unguardedness.
And Steve's possessiveness is nsajdkdsnk yeah immeasurable levels of hot. Like, this wasn't his idea, he didn't even agree to it at first, but still, obviously he's entitled to that claim, Tony is his. Rhodes needs to learn those boundaries, god damnit.
A++ would read again, have been reading again, will forever be rereading.
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