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cap_ironman2010-01-23 05:59 am
americanaviator.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2010-01-23 05:59 am
Entry tags:
lurker de-lurks with fic
ahh, oh my! i'm de-lurking at last... my name's fi, and i can't sleep. so i wrote something from my big list of fic prompts and figured i could de-lurk with it. it's my first fic for the fandom/pairing/etc, but don't be gentle. constructive criticism is a friend. (;
someday soon i will make porn
title: milder than muscatel
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theaviatorfifi
rating: pg
warnings: none
pairings/characters: implied tonyxsteve; jan and peter get cameos
word count: 2219
a/n: the title is from j s bach's coffee cantata. the cut text is from owl city's the technicolor phase. the original idea for this was actuallyflight_wo_wings ', after he caught me being non functional in the morning.
summary: steve is the ultimate morning person, but just-add-coffee tony is non functional until the good old trimethylxanthine kicks in.
Manhattan at a quarter past seven in the morning was no less busy than any other time of the day. The sun barely hit the glittering tops of the skyscrapers, the cool spring morning promising to resolve itself into a balmy mid-day. The peach-gold of the sun was a soft, vibrant glow, and between the part of Steve that was an artist and loved the painfully beautiful aesthetic sight, and the part of him that was a patriot and loved the magnificent, unyielding achievement of the buildings themselves, the sight of it topping the impossibly tall sheer glass towers never failed to make his heart swell a little with pride, admiration. Above the gleaming skyline, the sky itself was an airy, sunrise-pale gray-blue, and below it the city was a shaded, charcoal-chalk gray-gray. The asphalt of the sidewalk seemed to rise up and meet Steve's feet as he ran, solid and completely resistant to the steady rhythm of his sprint. He felt the resistance painlessly through his ankles and calves, and it made him idly recall Tony's muttering last night about shock absorption, made him feel like he understood the engineer's point a little better.
Steve's morning routine was clockwork - he liked routine, had even before the army. He woke up without needing the alarm at half past six and rolled out of bed and into sweatpants and sneakers, and went running through Manhattan, through Central Park and Columbus circle, past Trump International, the Baxter Building, the Rose Center for Earth and Space. He could vary the route from the Stark International building - Avengers Tower, that was - to his liking and still get a good run out of it, winding up back at the building hot and pleasantly sore, and desperately needing a shower. People would notice him, recognise him more often than not, and if people waved or said good morning he would return it, though the only reason he'd stop cold in the middle of a run was for kids. Tony laughed at him for doing that, when he was there to see it - never during a run, of course, but Steve liked kids and it showed whenever he was around them. As for Tony… it wasn't that he didn't like kids, Steve knew; it was just that he wasn't too sure how to deal with them, and also that he found it endearing and adorable how much Steve did.
Steve walked into the Stark Tower lobby and the air conditioning hit him like opening the refrigerator. He smiled at the receptionist on his way through - he'd wished her a good morning on his way out - and called the elevator, bending into a hamstring stretch while it came down from the twenty-third floor. When the doors pinged open, he stepped inside and after hitting the button for the ninety-first floor - Stark International had 93 floors all told - he repeated the stretch for the other leg. He'd learned he could do a full set of stretches in the time it took to get from street level to penthouse level, so when the elevator finally let him out at the top, he cracked his back and headed for his room and the shower in the adjacent bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, clean and wet-haired and dressed in a clean t-shirt and blue jeans, Steve poked his head into the hallway. Something in the kitchen smelled great, and after the run Steve was more than hungry.
It turned out to be Jan eating french toast, but there was also the smell of fresh, strong, expensive coffee that let Steve know that Tony was up before he was even far enough into the room to see him. Jan was sitting at the kitchen table with Peter, eating her plate of french toast while Peter scarfed a bowl of lucky charms, a jug of orange juice between them. She looked bright, though Peter looked a little exhausted, Steve noticed, a bruise on his cheek and a big band-aid on one forearm - he'd been kept out the night before, then, poor guy.
Beating every else, as always, at looking utterly lifeless at a reasonable time in the morning, was Tony slumped at one of the high stools at the breakfast bar. Dark brown hair was still messy from sleep, unshaven face ruining the sharp angles of his goatee, and judging from the wrinkled state of his shirt it was the one he'd slept in - Tony tended to just fumble on a pair of jeans in the morning and stagger out in search of coffee. His arms were crossed on the countertop, face pillowed against them as he watched the coffee drip into the carafe.
Steve gave him a bright smile as he went to the stove to cook eggs.
"Good morning Jan, Peter," he greeted. He added: "Morning, Tony," and Tony waggled the fingers of his right hand, looking like the victim of a near-fatal accident proving he was still alive.
"Mmgh."
Steve shook his head and hid a smile, wiping out the pan Jan must have used, still hot but also flecked with sugar and cinnamon. He turned the heat up underneath it, dropping a little butter in and letting it melt, cracking the eggs sharply into the pan with the spatula when it was hot enough.
"Points for trying, Cap," Peter was chirping, with more vigor than he looked capable of possessing, as always. "But you know as well as I do that you're not gonna get much more than that out of him right now."
"Sure," agreed Steve, trying to seem more disapproving, or at least reluctant, than affectionate, and generally failing. "But I figure I should let him know I'm in the room. Besides," he reasoned, quite seriously, "it's rude not to say good morning."
Peter beamed, and then quickly took a gulp of juice before it went on too long. Steve missed it, though, carefully poking at his eggs, and moving considerately aside as Jan got up to put her empty plate and glass in the dishwasher.
"Morning, Steve," she returned with a smile, and then rounded on Tony. "You know, eating something would probably give you the energy to wake up a little," she said, quite disapprovingly. "You should have some breakfast."
Tony moaned in negation, and Steve glanced at Jan in mild surprise. "He's not going to be any more receptive to this than he was last week when you tried this," he mumbled, and Jan ignored him.
"You could have some eggs," she offered.
"Get those away from me," Tony grumbled into his arms, and Jan sighed. "Well, at least he's saying words now. I'm going to go and dig up my husband, Steve - good luck with reviving this casualty."
Steve slid his eggs, sunny side up, on to a plate, added ketchup and sat down opposite Tony. The coffee maker hissed and the drip slowly dribbled to nothing, and Tony lunged for it and sloppily filled his waiting mug. Steve wiped away the spilt coffee with a paper towel before Tony had even finished scalding his lips with the hot liquid.
"Mmm," Tony hummed blissfully, eyes closed and a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Coffee."
There was something very endearing about Tony in the mornings, Steve thought to himself as he swallowed another forkful of eggs. Last night, he'd lasted in Tony's workshop - two basement levels, below the garage under the lobby - until about half past midnight before he realised that no matter how much he liked watching Tony make things, he was going to fall asleep and the only choice his body was giving him was whether it would be on the table in the workshop or in his own bed. Tony, Steve guessed, had probably gone on until two or three in the morning before finally collapsing, and likely as not he had slept on the table. When Steve had left with a stretch and a yawn, Tony had still been bent over his armor held upright in its harness with a welding torch in his hand, heavy gloves protecting his hands and visor protecting his face, the dimly orange light of the torch unsteadily illuminating his skin. Steve liked that Tony, the one that barely noticed Steve leaving the room, the one that wore cotton vests and grease-smudged jeans, the one that couldn't give a damn about anything in the world except whatever beautiful, fabulous thing he was creating at the time. The one that had absolute focus, the one that didn't doubt or second-guess, the one with more seemingly-effortless skill at his fingertips than most universities could boast of their entire technical department. Tony was a virtuoso of an engineer, Steve knew - that much was obvious from one look at Tony with welding torch or soldering iron in hand, flushed cheeks and sweaty hair and bright, elated, steel-blue eyes, even if Steve didn't understand a word of what he was talking about most of the time.
With that image of Tony fresh in his mind, the bedraggled, practically monosyllabic huddle that was currently passing itself off as Tony Stark was nothing less than adorable. Tony cradled his mug in his hands, sipping at the steaming liquid and blinking as he willed the caffeine into waking him the hell up a little faster.
"So, do you have any plans for today?" Steve asked conversationally. Blue eyes met blue as Tony blinked, thought, and shook his head around a mouthful of coffee.
"No, sir," he mumbled. "Y'gonna give me some?"
Steve shrugged, smiled, enjoying the casual quip-volleyball that was the engineer's version of friendly conversation - he'd seen it with Rhodey a million times, and Rhodey was a lot better at it than he was.
"I haven't decided yet," he replied. "But I don't just want to sit idle all day, Sam and Luke are busy, so…"
Tony raised his eyebrows. "So I'm your third choice?" He wasn't really hurt, Steve knew. Tony was rarely direct when he was hurt.
"You've got a phrase for that," Steve replied, mock-archly, and Tony snorted.
"Bros before hos, right, right." The coffee was kicking in now, Tony's voice getting clearer and his sense of amusement sharper. Behind them, Peter quickly dropped his dishes off at the sink and made a swift exit - he tended to do that whenever Steve and Tony seemed like they might get on to a less than platonic topic of conversation. Half the time Steve thought Tony did it on purpose to get rid of him; the other half, he knew that was why. "So what are your ho-related plans?"
"Not a whole hell of a lot different to my bro-related plans," Steve admitted. He said 'bro' a lot less comfortably than Tony said 'ho'. "For the most part, at least; I figured I could put you through your CQC paces, or just whip your ass at basketball."
"And for the lesser part?" Tony asked, returning the grin Steve gave him, and added: "You could just whip my ass, period," just to make Steve blush.
"For the lesser part," Steve replied, well aware that his cheeks were reddening at Tony's comment - it was too early in the day for that sort of conversation - "I guess… I've been meaning to draw you again, or… maybe we could go flying?"
Tony's eyes brightened at the prospect of flying, just like Steve knew they would. "What, a lazy afternoon of petty crimefighting?"
"No," Steve replied with a little smile. "Just flying."
Tony's answering smile was mostly in his eyes, but so joyous that he may as well have laughed aloud. It wasn't that the request was special - Tony got like this about flying, in any form, under any circumstances. It was worth bringing up the subject just to see that expression, Steve thought. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd drawn it, mostly from memory, sometimes from life.
"All right," Tony agreed. "We can go flying. After I shower and stuff, though. I really need a shave."
Steve reached out and ran two fingers over Tony's cheek, against the grain of his stubble, and laughed when Tony scowled. He looked like a grumpy cat having its fur stroked the wrong way.
"Case in point," Tony grouched, and then immediately brightened. "Hey, actually, there's a place I've been meaning to go eat, nice Italian place. Want to go for lunch?"
"If I can stand on my own two feet after we land, I'd like to," Steve replied. He got up, putting his plate and fork in the dishwasher, and Peter's dishes too.
"Great! I'll go shower and dress and you should…" Tony drained his coffee mug and got up, walking past Steve to the door. "Well, you can come with me to the shower if you like," he grinned suggestively. "Or just meet me in my workshop in thirty minu--agk!"
He was cut off by walking into the table, whining and rubbing his bruised hip. Steve choked off a snort of laughter - he'd never get tired of watching Tony in the mornings.
Tony backtracked with a pout, poured himself another mug of coffee, and negotiated his way out of the kitchen drinking it.
x-posted to my journal
someday soon i will make porn
title: milder than muscatel
author:
theaviatorfifi rating: pg
warnings: none
pairings/characters: implied tonyxsteve; jan and peter get cameos
word count: 2219
a/n: the title is from j s bach's coffee cantata. the cut text is from owl city's the technicolor phase. the original idea for this was actually
flight_wo_wings ', after he caught me being non functional in the morning. summary: steve is the ultimate morning person, but just-add-coffee tony is non functional until the good old trimethylxanthine kicks in.
Manhattan at a quarter past seven in the morning was no less busy than any other time of the day. The sun barely hit the glittering tops of the skyscrapers, the cool spring morning promising to resolve itself into a balmy mid-day. The peach-gold of the sun was a soft, vibrant glow, and between the part of Steve that was an artist and loved the painfully beautiful aesthetic sight, and the part of him that was a patriot and loved the magnificent, unyielding achievement of the buildings themselves, the sight of it topping the impossibly tall sheer glass towers never failed to make his heart swell a little with pride, admiration. Above the gleaming skyline, the sky itself was an airy, sunrise-pale gray-blue, and below it the city was a shaded, charcoal-chalk gray-gray. The asphalt of the sidewalk seemed to rise up and meet Steve's feet as he ran, solid and completely resistant to the steady rhythm of his sprint. He felt the resistance painlessly through his ankles and calves, and it made him idly recall Tony's muttering last night about shock absorption, made him feel like he understood the engineer's point a little better.
Steve's morning routine was clockwork - he liked routine, had even before the army. He woke up without needing the alarm at half past six and rolled out of bed and into sweatpants and sneakers, and went running through Manhattan, through Central Park and Columbus circle, past Trump International, the Baxter Building, the Rose Center for Earth and Space. He could vary the route from the Stark International building - Avengers Tower, that was - to his liking and still get a good run out of it, winding up back at the building hot and pleasantly sore, and desperately needing a shower. People would notice him, recognise him more often than not, and if people waved or said good morning he would return it, though the only reason he'd stop cold in the middle of a run was for kids. Tony laughed at him for doing that, when he was there to see it - never during a run, of course, but Steve liked kids and it showed whenever he was around them. As for Tony… it wasn't that he didn't like kids, Steve knew; it was just that he wasn't too sure how to deal with them, and also that he found it endearing and adorable how much Steve did.
Steve walked into the Stark Tower lobby and the air conditioning hit him like opening the refrigerator. He smiled at the receptionist on his way through - he'd wished her a good morning on his way out - and called the elevator, bending into a hamstring stretch while it came down from the twenty-third floor. When the doors pinged open, he stepped inside and after hitting the button for the ninety-first floor - Stark International had 93 floors all told - he repeated the stretch for the other leg. He'd learned he could do a full set of stretches in the time it took to get from street level to penthouse level, so when the elevator finally let him out at the top, he cracked his back and headed for his room and the shower in the adjacent bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, clean and wet-haired and dressed in a clean t-shirt and blue jeans, Steve poked his head into the hallway. Something in the kitchen smelled great, and after the run Steve was more than hungry.
It turned out to be Jan eating french toast, but there was also the smell of fresh, strong, expensive coffee that let Steve know that Tony was up before he was even far enough into the room to see him. Jan was sitting at the kitchen table with Peter, eating her plate of french toast while Peter scarfed a bowl of lucky charms, a jug of orange juice between them. She looked bright, though Peter looked a little exhausted, Steve noticed, a bruise on his cheek and a big band-aid on one forearm - he'd been kept out the night before, then, poor guy.
Beating every else, as always, at looking utterly lifeless at a reasonable time in the morning, was Tony slumped at one of the high stools at the breakfast bar. Dark brown hair was still messy from sleep, unshaven face ruining the sharp angles of his goatee, and judging from the wrinkled state of his shirt it was the one he'd slept in - Tony tended to just fumble on a pair of jeans in the morning and stagger out in search of coffee. His arms were crossed on the countertop, face pillowed against them as he watched the coffee drip into the carafe.
Steve gave him a bright smile as he went to the stove to cook eggs.
"Good morning Jan, Peter," he greeted. He added: "Morning, Tony," and Tony waggled the fingers of his right hand, looking like the victim of a near-fatal accident proving he was still alive.
"Mmgh."
Steve shook his head and hid a smile, wiping out the pan Jan must have used, still hot but also flecked with sugar and cinnamon. He turned the heat up underneath it, dropping a little butter in and letting it melt, cracking the eggs sharply into the pan with the spatula when it was hot enough.
"Points for trying, Cap," Peter was chirping, with more vigor than he looked capable of possessing, as always. "But you know as well as I do that you're not gonna get much more than that out of him right now."
"Sure," agreed Steve, trying to seem more disapproving, or at least reluctant, than affectionate, and generally failing. "But I figure I should let him know I'm in the room. Besides," he reasoned, quite seriously, "it's rude not to say good morning."
Peter beamed, and then quickly took a gulp of juice before it went on too long. Steve missed it, though, carefully poking at his eggs, and moving considerately aside as Jan got up to put her empty plate and glass in the dishwasher.
"Morning, Steve," she returned with a smile, and then rounded on Tony. "You know, eating something would probably give you the energy to wake up a little," she said, quite disapprovingly. "You should have some breakfast."
Tony moaned in negation, and Steve glanced at Jan in mild surprise. "He's not going to be any more receptive to this than he was last week when you tried this," he mumbled, and Jan ignored him.
"You could have some eggs," she offered.
"Get those away from me," Tony grumbled into his arms, and Jan sighed. "Well, at least he's saying words now. I'm going to go and dig up my husband, Steve - good luck with reviving this casualty."
Steve slid his eggs, sunny side up, on to a plate, added ketchup and sat down opposite Tony. The coffee maker hissed and the drip slowly dribbled to nothing, and Tony lunged for it and sloppily filled his waiting mug. Steve wiped away the spilt coffee with a paper towel before Tony had even finished scalding his lips with the hot liquid.
"Mmm," Tony hummed blissfully, eyes closed and a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Coffee."
There was something very endearing about Tony in the mornings, Steve thought to himself as he swallowed another forkful of eggs. Last night, he'd lasted in Tony's workshop - two basement levels, below the garage under the lobby - until about half past midnight before he realised that no matter how much he liked watching Tony make things, he was going to fall asleep and the only choice his body was giving him was whether it would be on the table in the workshop or in his own bed. Tony, Steve guessed, had probably gone on until two or three in the morning before finally collapsing, and likely as not he had slept on the table. When Steve had left with a stretch and a yawn, Tony had still been bent over his armor held upright in its harness with a welding torch in his hand, heavy gloves protecting his hands and visor protecting his face, the dimly orange light of the torch unsteadily illuminating his skin. Steve liked that Tony, the one that barely noticed Steve leaving the room, the one that wore cotton vests and grease-smudged jeans, the one that couldn't give a damn about anything in the world except whatever beautiful, fabulous thing he was creating at the time. The one that had absolute focus, the one that didn't doubt or second-guess, the one with more seemingly-effortless skill at his fingertips than most universities could boast of their entire technical department. Tony was a virtuoso of an engineer, Steve knew - that much was obvious from one look at Tony with welding torch or soldering iron in hand, flushed cheeks and sweaty hair and bright, elated, steel-blue eyes, even if Steve didn't understand a word of what he was talking about most of the time.
With that image of Tony fresh in his mind, the bedraggled, practically monosyllabic huddle that was currently passing itself off as Tony Stark was nothing less than adorable. Tony cradled his mug in his hands, sipping at the steaming liquid and blinking as he willed the caffeine into waking him the hell up a little faster.
"So, do you have any plans for today?" Steve asked conversationally. Blue eyes met blue as Tony blinked, thought, and shook his head around a mouthful of coffee.
"No, sir," he mumbled. "Y'gonna give me some?"
Steve shrugged, smiled, enjoying the casual quip-volleyball that was the engineer's version of friendly conversation - he'd seen it with Rhodey a million times, and Rhodey was a lot better at it than he was.
"I haven't decided yet," he replied. "But I don't just want to sit idle all day, Sam and Luke are busy, so…"
Tony raised his eyebrows. "So I'm your third choice?" He wasn't really hurt, Steve knew. Tony was rarely direct when he was hurt.
"You've got a phrase for that," Steve replied, mock-archly, and Tony snorted.
"Bros before hos, right, right." The coffee was kicking in now, Tony's voice getting clearer and his sense of amusement sharper. Behind them, Peter quickly dropped his dishes off at the sink and made a swift exit - he tended to do that whenever Steve and Tony seemed like they might get on to a less than platonic topic of conversation. Half the time Steve thought Tony did it on purpose to get rid of him; the other half, he knew that was why. "So what are your ho-related plans?"
"Not a whole hell of a lot different to my bro-related plans," Steve admitted. He said 'bro' a lot less comfortably than Tony said 'ho'. "For the most part, at least; I figured I could put you through your CQC paces, or just whip your ass at basketball."
"And for the lesser part?" Tony asked, returning the grin Steve gave him, and added: "You could just whip my ass, period," just to make Steve blush.
"For the lesser part," Steve replied, well aware that his cheeks were reddening at Tony's comment - it was too early in the day for that sort of conversation - "I guess… I've been meaning to draw you again, or… maybe we could go flying?"
Tony's eyes brightened at the prospect of flying, just like Steve knew they would. "What, a lazy afternoon of petty crimefighting?"
"No," Steve replied with a little smile. "Just flying."
Tony's answering smile was mostly in his eyes, but so joyous that he may as well have laughed aloud. It wasn't that the request was special - Tony got like this about flying, in any form, under any circumstances. It was worth bringing up the subject just to see that expression, Steve thought. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd drawn it, mostly from memory, sometimes from life.
"All right," Tony agreed. "We can go flying. After I shower and stuff, though. I really need a shave."
Steve reached out and ran two fingers over Tony's cheek, against the grain of his stubble, and laughed when Tony scowled. He looked like a grumpy cat having its fur stroked the wrong way.
"Case in point," Tony grouched, and then immediately brightened. "Hey, actually, there's a place I've been meaning to go eat, nice Italian place. Want to go for lunch?"
"If I can stand on my own two feet after we land, I'd like to," Steve replied. He got up, putting his plate and fork in the dishwasher, and Peter's dishes too.
"Great! I'll go shower and dress and you should…" Tony drained his coffee mug and got up, walking past Steve to the door. "Well, you can come with me to the shower if you like," he grinned suggestively. "Or just meet me in my workshop in thirty minu--agk!"
He was cut off by walking into the table, whining and rubbing his bruised hip. Steve choked off a snort of laughter - he'd never get tired of watching Tony in the mornings.
Tony backtracked with a pout, poured himself another mug of coffee, and negotiated his way out of the kitchen drinking it.
x-posted to my journal
no subject
I liked how the first half of this story worked as a Steve character piece, and then how we got to see Tony through Steve's eyes and see how well they complemented each other in the second half. The story itself had a very weekend morning feel to it.
You have some awesome details, like the shock absorption sentence, and how Steve reuses Jan's pan, and the bit about Tony wiggling his fingers like an accident-victim. And I loved how Steve felt it was too early in the morning for innuendo.
Oh, and welcome to cap_ironman!
no subject
i'm so flattered you like my details n_n i'm a big fan of richard feynman... the way he relates science to everyday experiences and ideas seems like the best way steve would understand it. but of course, tony wouldn't usually explain it in those terms, so... cap gets to figure it out on his own XD
as for the accident-victim part... i can sympathize with him, haha XD and steve's 1940s sensibilities, while not to be overdone (especially since he was in the armed forces!), are just too endearing to encourage him to lose (;
thank you! it looks like a great comm so i'm sure i'll have fun (:
no subject
also, sorry it took me so long to remember to friend you. It's my job's fault, leaving me exhausted every night. I'll go fix that.
no subject
thanks so much =) i really enjoyed writing it~
no subject
I hope we'll see more from you soon!
no subject
i hope so too! thanks to you, especially (;
yayy I can type!
Re: yayy I can type!