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cap_ironman2009-01-10 06:18 pm
posyvanilla.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2009-01-10 06:18 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Let the Rain, PG
Title: Let the Rain
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
posyvanilla
Rated: PG
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Warnings: Nada! This is just gratuitous fluff.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No profit is derived from this fan-made work.
Summary: For the third night in a row, it was raining, and Tony couldn't sleep. Set post-Red Zone, 1394 words long.
Author's Note: Thanks toneptunedream for beta reading!
Title comes from a Langston Hughes quote.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes
For the third night in a row, it was raining, and Tony couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning in bed for--Tony looked at the clock--maybe an hour or so; it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. He'd been dreaming, the same nightmare plaguing him for nearly a week now. Tony wasn't normally one for worrying about things that he couldn't control, but these nightmares (he was suffocating, the air too thick to breathe, his lungs wouldn't work, he couldn't breathe) seemed to suggest that his subconscious had other thoughts.
Tony fisted his hands in the sheets that tangled about his body, and then shivered. It was cold, he realized, and yet he could feel beads of sweat lining his forehead. With a sigh, Tony kicked off the covers, and then stood, fumbling around in the dark momentarily before locating and pulling back on the pajama bottoms he'd earlier kicked off into the floor.
Tony walked over to the large window set into his bedroom, resting his fingertips on the cool glass. At first, he'd told himself that the nightmares were stemming from exhaustion, and that he just needed to get one good night's sleep and he'd be fine. Then, of course, he kept having nightmares, and getting one good night's sleep seemed impossible. After the thunderstorms had begun a couple of days ago, he'd blamed his troubles sleeping on them, knowing all the while that it was a lie. The softly falling rain outside had nothing to do with his insomnia; it was the nightmares, the suffocating dreams, or worse, the dreams where, when he pulled off his helmet, Steve was already dead. . .
A drink. He needed a drink of water. Or--maybe a couple of hours pulling apart a carburetor, getting his hands dirty with engine grease and oil.
Tony opened the door to his bedroom and ran right into Steve's broad chest.
“Whoa,” he said, reaching out an arm to steady himself. “Is everything okay?”
Steve, he noticed, looked just about as startled as he did. Steve had reached up to steady Tony after their inadvertent collision, and his hands were still wrapped around Tony's biceps.
“Yeah, I just--” Steve trailed off, dropping his hands to his sides. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Tony answered, and stepped back, watching Steve walk awkwardly into his bedroom.
The room was dark, lit only from the patch of moonlight filtering in through the solitary window. Steve didn't seem to mind, though; he walked immediately across the room and stood there for a moment, his back to Tony. Tony left the lamp he'd been reaching for untouched.
Steve turned so that the pale light from the window washed over his face, and Tony noticed, for the first time, that Steve had circles around his eyes. “You haven't been sleeping.”
Steve started, glancing up at Tony almost guiltily.
“I mean, that's sort of obvious, with the week you've had,” Tony continued, wincing inwardly. Of course Steve hadn't been sleeping; barely a week earlier, he'd faced down the Red Skull and had nearly died, and now Tony was bringing it all up again, exactly when he didn't need to hear it.
Steve didn't say anything, though; he just stood there, looking uncertain. Belatedly, Tony realized that Steve was just wearing a thin pair of boxer shorts; Tony blinked a couple of times. If it had taken him that long to notice that Steve Rogers, standing in his bedroom, was practically naked, then it was definitely time to get some solid rest.
“I keep having these nightmares, and I just wanted to make sure that you weren't d--” Steve broke off then, his face coloring. “I should go.”
Tony had just a moment to watch as Steve walked carefully past him, and then it hit him--Steve was leaving--and before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out and grabbing Steve by the elbow.
Don't go, Tony thought, Stay, I need you.
“Come on,” he said instead, and tugged Steve over to the bed, pushing him down to sit on its edge. Tony crossed to the other side and sat down next to him, his back pressed up against the cool headboard.
Steve, he thought, looked like he might bolt at any second. But finally, after a minute or so, he relaxed and leaned over enough to brush his shoulders with Tony. Tony just sat there, feeling as Steve relaxed by degrees and slowly settled in closer.
“I'm not dead, you know.”
Tony meant for it to come off as flippant, but Steve didn't move, didn't even open his eyes, and the silence in the room grew heavy. Tony nudged him with the palm of his hand. “Steve. Look at me.”
Steve glanced at him, caught his eye, and for a long moment, simply stared at him, so intense he might as well have been looking through him.
“I know,” Steve said, sounding so, so tired, and then he looked away.
The next thing Tony knew, Steve was shifting next to him, and Tony sat up straight, wincing at the new knot in his neck as he straightened from where he'd apparently been sleeping on Steve's shoulder.
“I really should go,” Steve murmured, but he didn't leave; just turned his head a bit, looking at Tony questioningly.
According to his bedside clock, it had only been about forty-five minutes since he'd first woken up and asked Steve into his room, but he'd been sleeping for most of that time, which was the best he'd been able to manage in a while.
“You need sleep,” Steve finished, and Tony took his hand again, nodding.
“Yeah,” he muttered, kicking around at the bottom of the bed to pull up the sheets he'd pushed down earlier.
“Come on, get with the program.” Tony nudged Steve with one bony knee, settling himself onto the bed and pulling the sheets up over the both of them.
“Tony--what--” If Steve's eyebrows were to raise any higher, they'd be receding into his hairline.
“Sleep,” Tony said softly. “Just sleep.”
For a minute, Tony thought Steve was still going to leave--he looked to be mulling his options over quite carefully--but then, with a hunch of his shoulders, he flopped down onto the bed, resting his head on Tony's pillow.
Tony closed his eyes, evened out his breathing, and heard Steve do the same. Turning his head to the side, he risked a glance at the man beside him. The circles under his eyes looked like faint smudges in the dark; Tony could only guess at low long Steve had been having these nightmares--it wasn't like it was unusual for anyone in their profession--but he'd specifically mentioned dreaming of Tony.
Steve was worried about him. Steve was losing sleep over him, and was distraught enough (or sleep-deprived enough) to seek him out and then. . . fall asleep in Tony's bed. Right. They were going to talk about this in the morning, Tony promised himself. Yawning, he closed his eyes, drifting to sleep with the image of Steve's face, shadowed in moonlight, burned into his brain.
Then, somehow, it was morning. Tony opened his eyes to see dim, gray light streaming in through the window. It was still raining outside, spattering quietly against the window. Tony turned his head to look at Steve, still sleeping beside him, and briefly remembered his resolve to discuss this--whatever it was--before discarding that idea immediately. Before he knew what he was doing, however, Tony was rolling over onto his side, bracing one arm on the other side of Steve's face.
Steve's eyes blinked open, and Tony watched as the line of Steve's brows drew up in confusion, and then smoothed back out as he realized where he was, remembered the previous night.
Tony brushed his lips over Steve's, watching as surprise bloomed over his face.
“Good morning,” Tony whispered, his voice rough with sleep, and then Steve was smiling, reaching up with a broad hand to grasp at his shoulder, and kissing him back.
“Good morning.”
Author:
posyvanillaRated: PG
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Warnings: Nada! This is just gratuitous fluff.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No profit is derived from this fan-made work.
Summary: For the third night in a row, it was raining, and Tony couldn't sleep. Set post-Red Zone, 1394 words long.
Author's Note: Thanks to
neptunedream for beta reading! Title comes from a Langston Hughes quote.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes
For the third night in a row, it was raining, and Tony couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning in bed for--Tony looked at the clock--maybe an hour or so; it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. He'd been dreaming, the same nightmare plaguing him for nearly a week now. Tony wasn't normally one for worrying about things that he couldn't control, but these nightmares (he was suffocating, the air too thick to breathe, his lungs wouldn't work, he couldn't breathe) seemed to suggest that his subconscious had other thoughts.
Tony fisted his hands in the sheets that tangled about his body, and then shivered. It was cold, he realized, and yet he could feel beads of sweat lining his forehead. With a sigh, Tony kicked off the covers, and then stood, fumbling around in the dark momentarily before locating and pulling back on the pajama bottoms he'd earlier kicked off into the floor.
Tony walked over to the large window set into his bedroom, resting his fingertips on the cool glass. At first, he'd told himself that the nightmares were stemming from exhaustion, and that he just needed to get one good night's sleep and he'd be fine. Then, of course, he kept having nightmares, and getting one good night's sleep seemed impossible. After the thunderstorms had begun a couple of days ago, he'd blamed his troubles sleeping on them, knowing all the while that it was a lie. The softly falling rain outside had nothing to do with his insomnia; it was the nightmares, the suffocating dreams, or worse, the dreams where, when he pulled off his helmet, Steve was already dead. . .
A drink. He needed a drink of water. Or--maybe a couple of hours pulling apart a carburetor, getting his hands dirty with engine grease and oil.
Tony opened the door to his bedroom and ran right into Steve's broad chest.
“Whoa,” he said, reaching out an arm to steady himself. “Is everything okay?”
Steve, he noticed, looked just about as startled as he did. Steve had reached up to steady Tony after their inadvertent collision, and his hands were still wrapped around Tony's biceps.
“Yeah, I just--” Steve trailed off, dropping his hands to his sides. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Tony answered, and stepped back, watching Steve walk awkwardly into his bedroom.
The room was dark, lit only from the patch of moonlight filtering in through the solitary window. Steve didn't seem to mind, though; he walked immediately across the room and stood there for a moment, his back to Tony. Tony left the lamp he'd been reaching for untouched.
Steve turned so that the pale light from the window washed over his face, and Tony noticed, for the first time, that Steve had circles around his eyes. “You haven't been sleeping.”
Steve started, glancing up at Tony almost guiltily.
“I mean, that's sort of obvious, with the week you've had,” Tony continued, wincing inwardly. Of course Steve hadn't been sleeping; barely a week earlier, he'd faced down the Red Skull and had nearly died, and now Tony was bringing it all up again, exactly when he didn't need to hear it.
Steve didn't say anything, though; he just stood there, looking uncertain. Belatedly, Tony realized that Steve was just wearing a thin pair of boxer shorts; Tony blinked a couple of times. If it had taken him that long to notice that Steve Rogers, standing in his bedroom, was practically naked, then it was definitely time to get some solid rest.
“I keep having these nightmares, and I just wanted to make sure that you weren't d--” Steve broke off then, his face coloring. “I should go.”
Tony had just a moment to watch as Steve walked carefully past him, and then it hit him--Steve was leaving--and before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out and grabbing Steve by the elbow.
Don't go, Tony thought, Stay, I need you.
“Come on,” he said instead, and tugged Steve over to the bed, pushing him down to sit on its edge. Tony crossed to the other side and sat down next to him, his back pressed up against the cool headboard.
Steve, he thought, looked like he might bolt at any second. But finally, after a minute or so, he relaxed and leaned over enough to brush his shoulders with Tony. Tony just sat there, feeling as Steve relaxed by degrees and slowly settled in closer.
“I'm not dead, you know.”
Tony meant for it to come off as flippant, but Steve didn't move, didn't even open his eyes, and the silence in the room grew heavy. Tony nudged him with the palm of his hand. “Steve. Look at me.”
Steve glanced at him, caught his eye, and for a long moment, simply stared at him, so intense he might as well have been looking through him.
“I know,” Steve said, sounding so, so tired, and then he looked away.
The next thing Tony knew, Steve was shifting next to him, and Tony sat up straight, wincing at the new knot in his neck as he straightened from where he'd apparently been sleeping on Steve's shoulder.
“I really should go,” Steve murmured, but he didn't leave; just turned his head a bit, looking at Tony questioningly.
According to his bedside clock, it had only been about forty-five minutes since he'd first woken up and asked Steve into his room, but he'd been sleeping for most of that time, which was the best he'd been able to manage in a while.
“You need sleep,” Steve finished, and Tony took his hand again, nodding.
“Yeah,” he muttered, kicking around at the bottom of the bed to pull up the sheets he'd pushed down earlier.
“Come on, get with the program.” Tony nudged Steve with one bony knee, settling himself onto the bed and pulling the sheets up over the both of them.
“Tony--what--” If Steve's eyebrows were to raise any higher, they'd be receding into his hairline.
“Sleep,” Tony said softly. “Just sleep.”
For a minute, Tony thought Steve was still going to leave--he looked to be mulling his options over quite carefully--but then, with a hunch of his shoulders, he flopped down onto the bed, resting his head on Tony's pillow.
Tony closed his eyes, evened out his breathing, and heard Steve do the same. Turning his head to the side, he risked a glance at the man beside him. The circles under his eyes looked like faint smudges in the dark; Tony could only guess at low long Steve had been having these nightmares--it wasn't like it was unusual for anyone in their profession--but he'd specifically mentioned dreaming of Tony.
Steve was worried about him. Steve was losing sleep over him, and was distraught enough (or sleep-deprived enough) to seek him out and then. . . fall asleep in Tony's bed. Right. They were going to talk about this in the morning, Tony promised himself. Yawning, he closed his eyes, drifting to sleep with the image of Steve's face, shadowed in moonlight, burned into his brain.
Then, somehow, it was morning. Tony opened his eyes to see dim, gray light streaming in through the window. It was still raining outside, spattering quietly against the window. Tony turned his head to look at Steve, still sleeping beside him, and briefly remembered his resolve to discuss this--whatever it was--before discarding that idea immediately. Before he knew what he was doing, however, Tony was rolling over onto his side, bracing one arm on the other side of Steve's face.
Steve's eyes blinked open, and Tony watched as the line of Steve's brows drew up in confusion, and then smoothed back out as he realized where he was, remembered the previous night.
Tony brushed his lips over Steve's, watching as surprise bloomed over his face.
“Good morning,” Tony whispered, his voice rough with sleep, and then Steve was smiling, reaching up with a broad hand to grasp at his shoulder, and kissing him back.
“Good morning.”
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Red Zone is still one of my favorite slashy moments between the boys, and I love the idea that their whole thing was started because of that incident. *dances* Wonderful!
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Dude! This is so random!
Damn. This is just... odd.
Re: Dude! This is so random!
Definitely odd. And random. But pretty cool, too. :)
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You also did a good job of showing through various ways just how tired both of them were.
And what a sweet ending!
Yay
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That was lovely: very low-key, sweet and moving. I loved To0ny's amazement that Steve would be worried about him, aw. Good work!
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Aw, Steve. I really like the beginning of the fic, with Tony's nightmares about being unable to breath, but I especially love that Steve is having nightmares, too, about almost the same thing (Tony not being able to breath).
And then they sleep together! *is now ded of cute* I have a huge kink for characters sleeping together, for some reason (in the literal sense, not the sense where it's a euphemism for sex).
edited to fix my html suck