ext_18328: (Default)
ext_18328 ([identity profile] jazzypom.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] cap_ironman2009-05-07 10:15 am

Ultimates fic: Matches on Gasoline

Title: Matches on Gasoline
Author: jazzypom
Rated:R for language and concepts.
Beta read: No. One day though. Promise. ¬_¬
Universe: Ultimates 1610
Summary: Steve and Tony speak of registration, have a towel snap war in a sauna room and well, make out.
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work.
Notes: British spellings. Prompt for someone who wanted ping pong sex. I hope this suits. Takes place after Ultimate Wolverine vs Hulk #4. The author doesn't share the views expressed in this piece, and begs you not to waste water. Approximately 3500 words.




It all started with balls. Ping pong balls, to be exact. It was Stark's fault, really.

After Tony vapourised the ball with a smash from the servo-arm, the game was over. Betty Ross stalked out of the room, her jaw clenched as she refused to rise to Tony’s stinging rebuke, her fists shaking with restrained anger. Distractedly, Steve watched her leave, a vague sense of disquiet rippling along the edges of his thoughts. Betty Ross was not a dame to let things be, not by a long shot.

Forge was still sitting on the bench, looking at the over-sized metallic cuffs on his hands, his dark hair a curtain across his features. The table tennis table was still there, and Steve worried his lower lip with his teeth in slight annoyance. He had been actually enjoying the game, the thrust and spar and strategy of it, nothing but the hollow kla-op of the ball as it bounced off the table and bats, shaking the air with its irregular rhythm. The rec room shrunk to nothing but the dimensions of the table; the grid of the white squares and a net where the battle took place. The light focused on the the play area, bright enough for the white, small, quickly moving sphere to be seen and hit. There was no superpowers, no destruction, just a declaration of war on the court. Man to man, nothing to hand but skill and tenacity and a bat. It was Casus Belli on the only acceptable scale.

Sadly, the fun had been short lived, with Tony in a fit of Stark -for want of a better word- putting an end to the game in short order.

With a sigh, Steve scooped up his gym bag from its place beside the soda machine, and caught up with Tony, who only had a towel slung around his shoulders. His discarded server arm lay across the bench like a corpse, only to be borne away by shadowy guards.

“Seriously, Tony, you’re against the idea of registration? You?”

“Registration isn’t like a trademark, or intellectual property, Steve,” Tony’s voice was almost patronizing, bordering on dismissive. “Super people aren’t just human; they are extra ordinary beings with extra ordinary abilities. Why should someone like Bruce be governed by people who can't even fathom the challenges he faces? Why?”

They were walking down the narrow hall towards the showers, their way illuminated by the recessed lights overhead. It was a Saturday evening, and the gym tended to be quiet at this time.

“But if we’re serving the people-"

“The people,” Tony scoffed. Although his voice was mild, Steve knew Tony long enough to recognise the edge in the words. Their footsteps slowed as they drew near to the changing rooms, and Tony pushed the door to the locker room open.

“You’d be surprised,” he said, giving Steve a thoughtful glance, “how much damage has been done by a noble thought.”

“I never took you for an anarchist, Tony,” Steve laughed, toeing off his shoes as they came into the locker room. It was basic, a wall with a grid of olive green lockers; low wooden benches that ran parallel to each other, as straight as arrows. The room was bright, due to the white florescence lights overhead striking its glare on the white ceramic floor tiles and light walls. Tony was one step ahead of him, as he already had his locker door open, scrounging around for soap.

“Not anarchistic, just pragmatic. It’s a waste of resources and an infringement on one’s civil liberties.”

Unselfconscious, Steve sat on the bench and shucked his sweatpants, clad in his T-shirt and underwear. Tony was now leaning against the wall of dark green lockers, his arms folded across his chest, his brows beetling in a thoughtful frown, and Steve followed Tony’s gaze to his – ah – chest.

Steve's T-shirt was grey, with the stars and stripes emblazoned across his chest, and the sentiment underneath read: JUST TRY AND BURN THIS.

“Loyalty is more than flag and country, Steve,” Tony’s tone was thoughtful, almost introspective. “It’s more than blindly trusting the powers that be to regulate people like Bruce… or even you.”

“So you think we should have a right for self governance, although we serve the interests of SHIELD and the U.S.?” Steve tugged off his tube socks, wincing at the chill of tiles under his bare feet.

“I do,” Tony said, unperturbed by Steve's sharp glare. “Your belief assumes that people in power will abide by principle. That they will have fail safes against an agenda, that the laws will be on the side of right. They won’t.”

“And you know this how? You can’t just vapourise other beliefs like you did that ball.”

“This is about the ping pong game, isn’t it?” Tony asked as he too toed off his shoes, then braced one hand against the lockers while he tugged off his socks.

“I would have won,” Steve objected. “Tenacity. I was coming back.”

Tony paused in mid tug, one foot raised in mid air, the other planted on the ground. He looked in Steve's eyes and saw the self belief there, as plain as the flag on his shirt.

“You poor, deluded sod," Tony began to laugh, but sobered quickly at Steve's expression. "You’re serious. I was two points away from match point. Probably if you’d used strategy and held me off for another half hour, when I’d be crippled by lactic acid levels-“

“Ha.” Steve said, as he unzipped his duffel, and took out a towel and placed it across his knees. He carefully folded it, and held its ends in each hand.

Tony straightened, placing his foot on the ground. He looked at the motion of the towel in Steve’s hand, the intent in his eyes, and became instantly suspicious. Steve shifted to the edge of the bench, towel in hand. Something was afoot.

“You're not a sore loser, are you, Steve?”

With the towel grasped firmly in his left hand, and the tip of the towel loosely in-check with his other hand, Steve pulled his arm back. Tony tried to dodge, but was too late. Lightning quick, Steve threw his arm into it, let loose with a ferocious whip, the towel smacking Tony solidly on his leg. Shocked, Tony automatically rubbed the sore spot on his calf as he looked at his team-mate.

Did he just...? Really? Granted, the towel was not wet, but Steve had an upper body strength that was well...superhuman. Steve only raised his eyebrows in challenge.

Well, he was not having it. Grimly, Tony grasped the end of the towel slung around his shoulders with the other hand, and accepted the dare. "I'd like you to know Steve," his eyes lit with unholy glee. "This means war."


There was a strategy for towel snapping wars. Since the element of surprise was gone, they needed space to evade, spar and maneuver.

“Hah! Missed me!” Steve whooped, as he deftly ducked the crack of Tony’s towel, and cleared the bench with a clean jump.

Tony too cleared the bench, charged through the doorway, and turned right, barreled into the shower rooms and into a wall of steam. Frantically, he blinked his eyes to clear them, seeing nothing but fine rolling clouds of mist in his vision, and hearing the thunder of water against the tiles.

Oh bugger, Steve Rogers was a right canny bastard, Tony thought.

The communal shower room was as big as a basketball court, its roof a latticework of shower heads and lights. The grid of revolving shower-heads were designed to deliver a wallop of pressure for sore bodies at the end of a shift. Normally, six people would be using the room at a time, so ideally, only few of the showers would be in use.

The actions were simple, but brilliant. Steve opened up all the shower-heads to full power on hot water, letting in immediate steam and heat. As a result the place was a sauna on steroids, and each pulse of water on the flesh was a slap. It got the blood circulation going, the skin sensitized to touch. Although recessed lights in the ceiling lighted the room, the clouds of steam made it impossible to see beyond the reach of his hand. In addition, the drumming of water on the titles created white noise, more or less masking Steve’s footsteps.

Steve Rogers had the super soldier serum teeming in his veins and Tony Stark had nothing but alcohol - albeit fine- and meds teeming in his. Someone in this battle was outmatched.

Tony Stark was smart enough to know that he was in trouble.

The wallop of the towel on his hip caught Tony off guard; his feet skidded on the slippery surface of the floor, causing him to lose his balance. Tony threw his hands out to break his fall, wincing as his knee hit the floor. Hard.

Fuck.


Steve was at a loss to remember the last time he had this much fun.

The expression of shock and indignation as Tony registered the intent of the first snap of the towel.

The whoop that came out of Steve as he jumped over the benches and flat out ran towards the shower room would have made Fury frown. Steve did not care about that now, what with tactics unfolding in his brain at every step. Steve knew the showers were hot, and with the room being as sleek and self contained as a Boeing 747, well, Tony Stark was in a world of trouble.

His work done, Steve settled down by the doorway to wait, and Tony did not disappoint, as he hot footed it through the door, and got a mighty snap of the towel for his troubles. Steve bit his tongue, trying not to laugh at Tony’s outraged whelp of surprise.

His amusement was short lived however, as Tony came down on his knee – hard – and stayed there, curled in a ball, holding his knee close to his chest and rocking back and forth.

Ah, no. Steve thought, this was not a part of the game, as he picked his way towards Tony, mindful of his grip on the floor. Although the tiles were highly textured in defence against slippage, the combined weight of the water on the shower-heads was akin to a freak summer storm, complete with thunder.

Wiping his eyes, Steve made his way to Tony, and stood over him. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, to offer his hand, he felt a pair of hands on his calf. Steve’s eyes dropped to Tony’s face and saw the grim satisfaction there.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Tony yanked, throwing his entire weight behind the motion. Steve yelped, losing his balance as he fell on the tiles with a smack. The water sloshed around them, each movement creating mini currents.

Before he could catch his breath, Tony was on him, thighs astride his sides, triumphant.

“You were playing possum!” Steve shouted, as he tried to glare at Tony, which was difficult, because the water was drumming against his features, stinging his eyes.

“Steve, by day, I'm the face of Fortune 500 and all that entails. You really didn’t expect me to play fair, did you? Tch,” Tony’s voice was almost lost in the water, but Steve got the undiluted mockery and waited for the insult. Tony took his time, made a great show of buffing his nails on his sodden shirt, and idly blowing on them before he delivered his crushing judgment.

“Like I said, Steve–o. Slow.”

Steve grinned as he clamped a hand around Tony’s wrist. His grip sure despite the slickness of water that pooled and spilt over his hand.

“Remember what I said about tenacity?”

Tony looked down at his wrist, then at Steve's face, and swore hotly. Only for it to be cut short as Steve did a neat inverse twist, and Tony found himself on his back with a smack, the air knocked out of him.

They stayed there like that for a few seconds, bodies heaving from exertion and steam. The showers were a roar around them, Steve’s body mostly shielding Tony from the hammering of the water. If it stung Steve or gave discomfort, it was hard to tell, since Steve did not move. The water sluiced off Steve’s features; his cheeks, the tip of his nose, turned the fringe of his eyelashes to dull gold. There was the fact that Steve’s clothing was drenched, his shirt nothing but a transparent, sodden rag.

Steve only had an inch on Tony in height, so they fit, thigh to thigh and chest to chest. Their bodies slicked with water, and Tony could feel the flex of Steve's every sinew, the hard pad of muscles as they shifted under Steve's skin as he moved, trying to find some balance. Tony almost smiled at the situation he found himself in, and decided to bare himself to it. It was akin to white water rafting, feeling yourself being pushed and thrown by water, left to nothing but luck and skill. Steve might say no, might not be interested. Fair enough, but Tony went through life with the assumption that everyone said yes, until they did not. Then he worked on them until they did. Steve would be no different, and with this thought in mind, Tony opened his hand, and gripped the front of Steve's T-shirt.

“I-“ Steve began, his voice trailing off with that look in Tony’s eyes. It was the same look he had when they were playing ping pong, as if he were seeing something that Steve couldn’t. As if he had identified the solution, and went about what he wanted, with grim intent. Steve was at a loss at what Tony wanted now.

His thought was cut off by Tony’s grabbing the fabric of his T-shirt, and using it as leverage.

Before Steve could figure out what for, Tony had enough of the element of surprise to yank Steve’s face to his, and bit his lower lip.

Steve opened his mouth at the shock of it. Not from pain, just shock. However, his body was ahead of his thoughts, and pure instinct made Steve return the bite, only to miss, his teeth scraping against Tony’s cheek.

Another angle, another try, and there was the heat of tongue and open mouth under his. The shock of new flesh barely softened by the water and steam; Tony’s body slick and slippery as the day’s catch.

Drowning, Steve was drowning, his breath a catch in his throat as their groins rubbed against each other. For a second, Steve stilled, only for Tony to say, “This is where your tenacity might come in handy, Steve.”

Steve huffed a laugh that shattered into a moan as Tony did something that made him monetarily cross eyed.

“You agree then, I'd have won.” Steve had the pleasure of seeing Tony’s eyes haze with want, then the pause as his brain ticked over Steve’s question.

Steve might have sympathized if he had not known Tony.

“You, Steve? Against my steely wit? Hardly.”

Before Steve could snap a sharp report, Tony’s hands and mouth were on his, their limbs tangled and snared together. Tony’s hands were all over him, their bodies, the beat of water on flesh as Steve allowed Tony’s hands and mouth to go anywhere they wanted. Touch was precarious, creating little earthquakes. They fumbled against each other, clumsy from want, stupid from their shared greed. Tony was the aggressor in this rough and tumble groping, his hand on Steve's flank, his mouth open, as he scraped his teeth on chin, nipped at clavicle. Steve winced at the scrape of nails on his upper thigh, but got his own back with his hand on Tony's cock, and laughed at Tony as he caught his breath, almost choking on water as it fell from on and around their bodies. Their skins were reddened from the heat and exertion, from the pound of water and the smack of the tiles. Tony’s mouth was as heady as the steam they breathed, as potent as wine on a hot day.

Life could not drag Tony away from this moment. There were too many sensations to relish, the breath of steam as it curled around them, and between them, turning the air into something almost solid. Steve's body was warm, wet marble under hyper-sensitive wrinkled fingertips. The friction and heat as their cocks slid against each other slick with steam, wet and discharge. Tony sensed more than felt the coil of Steve's body, as taut as spring. The tremor in his limbs, the shudder of breath as he fought against it, what he needed to do. Steve was trembling with inhibition, desperately trying to hold back.

"You're with me, Steve," Tony whispered, as he pressed his lips against Steve's, and the texture of the kiss was different, new. Tony caught Steve's sob in his mouth, as he reached between them and stroked him to completion. Tony closed his eyes against the drum of water on his face, and tasted Steve on his tongue, caught in the slipstream of his own orgasm.


The world came back to Steve in stages.

The force of the shower-heads was lessening, the steam clearing. The edges of the wall, the hints of mirror and tile, faded then firmed into view as the mist and heat slowly dissipated. Tony disentangled himself from Steve, their movements gingery and careful as they avoided looking at each other and Steve let him go. He heard Tony splashing around, saw Tony as he found his shirt and sat up. Tony's hair was a wet skull cap on his head, his lashes ink black, clumped with drops of water, which only made his eyes seem bluer.

Another few minutes passed, and the force of the showers abated. There was nothing but the odd plop of water from the shower-heads on to the water skimmed ground below, making the quiet that spilt between them seem even deeper.

“This might not be the best way to go about discussing Registration," Steve said inanely.

Tony snorted as he tried in vain to wring the water out of his shirt, and with a sigh, put it on.

“I can see it now," Tony rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as he rested his elbow on his thigh. "Tortured discourse, with fights in between and death at the end? It would be a bit too Hughes and Plath, old boy."

"People or stars/ Regard me sadly, I disappoint them."

Tony's double take would have been hilarious, if it hadn't been midly insulting. "What?" asked Steve, "I read."

"Yes," Tony was still amused, "you do. This has been good fun, as gym nights on Saturdays go." He got up, and Steve noticed Tony's slight limp as he favoured his knee. But Tony was not one for sympathy, and Steve did not say a word. "My driver should be coming for me shortly, can I offer you a ride to wherever you go on a Saturday?"

Steve thought about being in his little room, him going through the phone book, marking the names of contemporaries who were now dead. Shadows and dust, their individual epitaphs reduced to a surname, a first initial, number and address.

"No," Steve said, as he roused himself into a sitting position, picked up his sodden towel and squeezed the water from it before rubbing his hair. "I'll find my own way home."

"Indeed," Tony nodded, as he made his way to the door, and did not have a hitch in his stride when Steve said, "I still could have won."

Tony stopped at the door of the showers, turned and gave Steve a jaunty wave. "The world will never know. Pity, that."

Then he was gone.

Steve still sat there, mindful of the water going from lukewarm to cold, and took in the sheet of water still on the tiles, the drains working overtime. He had to admit that Tony had been right about one thing, it had been good fun.

Fin.

[identity profile] lupus-dragon.livejournal.com 2009-05-07 10:50 am (UTC)(link)
Ooh, very nice. I love how you manage to make it sexy and playful and angsty all at the same time. It's all in the details - Tony wasn't just faking being hurt and Steve's going to go home and go through the phone book. Your characterizations are great and the plot is really well executed.

Thanks for sharing this!

[identity profile] ani-bester.livejournal.com 2009-05-07 11:51 am (UTC)(link)
You are made of awesome.
I loved this

[identity profile] dieewigenacht.livejournal.com 2009-05-07 12:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Nehe, This Is Great

As ani_bester said:
You are made of Awesome

[identity profile] cellared.livejournal.com 2009-05-07 09:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Ahhh this is so great. Hot and delightful and sad all at once.

And I loved how much fun Steve was having with the shower fight.

[identity profile] elefwin.livejournal.com 2009-05-07 10:05 pm (UTC)(link)
's about time I said it: it was you who made me read & love The Ultimates, and every new story reminds me why. you're so good at weaving a great tale and bringing the canon's many strong & unique sides out. sharp, and fast, and unfair-but-true, and *hot*.
"in a fit of Stark" indeed ♥

Re: Oh wow! High praise indeed!

[identity profile] elefwin.livejournal.com 2009-05-07 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)
*beams back* they say telling the truth is easy and feels nice, so there.
Ultimate Marvel is not exactly the kind of universe that would welcome/appreciate a big hug, but there are times when one can't help herself.

[identity profile] jwaneeta.livejournal.com 2009-05-08 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
Wow! I absolutely loved this!

Tony in a fit of Stark -for want of a better word

Heh! That made me snorfle, as did Steve's Just TRY AND BURN THIS tee shirt. I really like how you use all these little touches to solidify the characterizations. You do a fantastic Ult!Steve and Ult!Tony.

And the sex was really hot, too. :D

Oh, and I liked the dying fall of the ending. Just right.

[identity profile] posyvanilla.livejournal.com 2009-05-08 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
I knew that this would be awesome! Their voices are spot on, and I love the awkwardness and how they completely don't talk about the sex afterward; that's just the right amount of melancholy. And of course it's hot! And full of buckets of water, you weren't kidding. But seriously, you should not doubt your porn-writing skills. Or any writing skills, for that matter. And I do really love that Plath quote from Steve; that hits all the right notes.

You are just so good at Ult!Steve & Tony's voices; I can't get over that. I feel like I'm reading the nc17 version of the trade. <3

I also completely disagree with Steve. This is clearly the best way to discuss Registration, and possibly they should do it more often.

[identity profile] tavella.livejournal.com 2009-06-10 06:21 am (UTC)(link)
I think this illustrates one of the major differences in ultimates and 616 -- getting together may be *fun* in ultimates, but they don't make each other happy the way that 616 works.

Great fic!