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cap_ironman2010-03-08 01:23 pm
americanaviator.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2010-03-08 01:23 pm
Entry tags:
another request filled~
slowly making my way through these requests, impeded on all sides by the trials and tribulations of RL. here you go, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tonks07
title: trying it steve's way
author:theaviatorfifi
rating: pg
warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse
pairings/characters: stevextony
word count: 1668
a/n: this fic is fortonks07 . happy late v-day! this turned into a lot more than just h/c - got some first!kiss and relationship!embarking in there too. :B what can i say? i got all sappy. <3
prompt: "How about some Steve/Tony h/c? Tony stuggling to stay on the wagon or falling off and Steve there to help support him."
He could literally just call room service. It would be literally the effort of picking up the phone and hitting three numbers. How hard was that?
Fuck. It was hard.
Tony was conflicted. He shouldn't have been, he felt he shouldn't have been, but he was. Ingeg-- Angeger-- Ingyaryar-- …--whatever her name was, Swedish fashion consultant with legs a mile high. Well, she'd left, getting on for forty-five minutes ago. Tony should have felt pretty good with himself, by all means; but he really, really didn't. He felt miserable, alone and cold even in the comfortably heated hotel suite. He'd rented the suite, when all they needed was a room - hell, any horizontal surface would have been fine, especially considering how fast she got out of there once they were finished. He didn't know why - some desire to impress her, he guessed, maybe to impress himself, walking in and just handing his card to the desk, walking right on up to the suite while they processed his details. It looked good. It meant fucking nothing. He missed her, whatever her damn name was. He wanted to tell himself it was because he'd fallen in love with her.
The reality was simply that he'd wanted her - wanted anybody - to just… stick around.
Of course that was too much to ask, and Tony couldn't sleep this miserable, this alone, and the best option by a mile seemed to him to be a really good, stiff whiskey, or twelve. He wanted to get drunk so badly it hurt, and of course a hotel with his credit card at the desk was a very different place to his penthouse under the watchful eye of Pepper and Jarvis. If he asked them for booze, they would damn well give him booze.
Tony really, really wanted to ask them for booze. All he'd have to do is pick up the phone.
He sat up in bed, pressing two fingers to his lips, frowning, conflicted - and picked up the phone.
He'd honestly decided to call for a bottle of Jack and get himself deservedly piss-drunk, but somewhere between picking up the receiver with one hand and dialling the numbers with the other, he changed his mind. Never mind the three numbers for room service; Tony dialled a cell number instead, one he'd long since memorized, closing his eyes in an act barely falling short of prayer as it rang once, twice, three times… pick up--
It was answered on the fifth ring, and Tony could have cried with relief.
"..'Lo?"
Steve was obviously still mostly asleep - fuck, of course, Tony had woken him up because it was two o'clock in the morning and Steve liked to keep sensible person hours when he could.
"Steve," Tony said quietly, and Steve woke up just like that.
"Tony? Gee, you're calling pretty late, aren't you? What's on your mind?"
"…I'm at a hotel," Tony said, redundantly. Steve seemed sufficiently puzzled.
"I, uh, see. What're you doing there..?"
"…Trying not to fuck up," Tony ground out, and Steve seemed to pick up on exactly what Tony was talking about because suddenly he was all wounded-comrade-seriousness.
"Tony, talk to me," he said, low and urgent. "What happened?"
Tony swallowed sharply, his throat clicking, and let out a shuddering, hitching breath. There was something about Steve's voice, warm and reassuring and steadying, that just made Tony's chest tighten up with poignancy and relief, something about the way he didn't even mention the time or try to lecture Tony outright that made Tony think he'd be indebted to this man for the rest of his life at least.
"I was at a party," Tony explained. "Met someone there-- I can't pronounce her damn stupid name, she was Swedish, I can't handle that-- we hit it off, really well, I took her back to this goddamn hotel and booked us into the suite and that was three hours ago and she's been gone for three quarters of an hour. And there's room service here, and the front desk's got my credit card."
"Tony…" Steve said, gently, far more sympathetic than accusatory or disappointed.
"Steve? Help," Tony's voice was so small it was hard for Steve even to make out the words, but he did, and he was on his feet in moments, pulling on slacks and socks and shoes as he talked. Steve had tried a lot of approaches when Tony was drinking, mostly ranging from tough love to really tough love, but sometimes with pleading and reasoning - it wasn't until after Tony had quit that Steve softened up, and worked out the best way of dealing with potential relapses.
"It's okay, Tony," he said, firmly reassuring, not quite the voice he'd use to command troops, but just as hard to disobey. "Just-- just sit tight, willya? I'm coming over - just don't move until I'm there, don't do anything, you'll be fine. Give me the address. I'm coming right now."
Tony gave him the address and put down the receiver; he didn't move a muscle, sitting up in bed, perfectly still until he heard a knock at the door. He got up to open it, and Steve stood on the other side, and almost immediately Tony felt the tension ebb out of him.
"Steve--"
"Hey-- c'mere."
Steve wrapped his arms around Tony's shoulders, guiding him backwards to the bed, coaxing him to sit down. Tony looked awful, like he was on the verge of tears and didn't realize it, and Steve ached with the desire to soothe this somehow. It was obvious to any idiot that Tony adored him, loved him, whatever word you chose for it - Steve, for his part, had never met a man he respected more. Tony's hardships and problems only added to his value - though he always seemed to have new ones, he always overcame them in the end. It had never seriously occurred to Steve to suggest anything on the basis of this - Tony had his own way of doing things and Steve wasn't going to start complicating that, not when things were complicated enough for Tony already.
The steadily increasing correlation, though, between loose or dangerous women that Tony wound up with and his desire to go back to drink was becoming apparent, and this most recent episode was starting to make Steve wonder if it wasn't time to try things his way.
"Steve, I'm sorry."
"Hush."
"I am."
"Be quiet, Tony. It's all right. Everything's gonna be all right."
Tony shuddered. "Yeah," he said, not sounding very convinced. He swung to the side and wrapped his arms tightly around Steve's broad shoulders, burying his face in Steve's neck and taking a deep, hitching breath. Steve, in return, worked an arm around him, holding him close, one big hand pressed to his back, stroking the base of his neck with his thumb.
"I didn't-- I didn't know what to do," Tony whispered. "I still don't know… I'm so fucking-- alone. I just don't wanna be awake for this, I want to just-- stop being conscious, wake up when it's all over... Jesus, I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this…"
"Hush up, Tony," Steve said sternly, and Tony hushed up. "Look here," he continued, "don't you even think about beating yourself up over this, okay? I'd rather be out here with you than back at the mansion any time of the day or night. You got that?"
Tony looked up from Steve's shoulder miserably, and Steve couldn't help but think he looked just like a puppy dog. He nearly said it out loud, catching himself just in time. "Really?" Tony asked, and Steve held him a little tighter, gave him one of those dazzling football-star smiles that made him melt just a little bit inside, and patted him gently on the back.
"Really."
They stayed like that, looking at each other for at least five seconds, before Tony moved - leaning forwards and pressing his mouth chastely to Steve's, steel blue eyes wide open as though he were surprised. He pulled back slowly, sensually, and Steve blinked down at him. Something seemed to snap, and Tony practically lunged forwards, clinging to Steve tightly as though he were afraid he'd be beaten back.
"Don't go--" he gasped, and Steve immediately responded, "I won't--" "I'm sorry--" "It's fine--" "I'm so sorry--" "No, it's OK, Tony--" "Steve--" "C'mon--" "Please don't go--"
"I'm not going anywhere."
Tony looked at Steve as if he didn't understand what he was saying, and Steve looked back and thought, what the hell. He pressed a kiss to Tony's mouth in return, and Tony clutched at his arms with shaking hands even after he pulled back.
"I'm not going anywhere, Tony. I promise."
"I lo--"
"I know." Tony had been saying it to try and scare Steve away, to prove true the hypothesis he so desperately wanted to be false, Steve knew it - he wasn't going to give Tony a chance. Tony looked stunned, as though the fabric of his reality had just unravelled around him.
"I know you do, Tony. It's okay." Steve kissed Tony's face. "The feeling's mutual - I love you, too. Don't ask me why. I'll explain, I swear I will, but not now. Now you're going to rest up. Got it?"
Tony swayed sitting, and whispered, "Really?"
"Really."
Slowly, he lowered himself back on to Steve's shoulder, pressing his face to Steve's skin and clutching him tightly, and the pressure didn't show any signs of letting up.
"You're gonna be fine, Tony. We're gonna be fine." Jesus. Somehow, Steve realized, he was in a relationship with Tony Stark. "You got that?" He already knew it was worth it. "You're not gonna drink a drop. Not while I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." He already knew he wanted it. "You got that, Tony?"
"Yeah," Tony mumbled, and Steve could tell that now, he really believed that. "Got it."
"Attaboy."
tonks07title: trying it steve's way
author:
theaviatorfifi rating: pg
warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse
pairings/characters: stevextony
word count: 1668
a/n: this fic is for
tonks07 . happy late v-day! this turned into a lot more than just h/c - got some first!kiss and relationship!embarking in there too. :B what can i say? i got all sappy. <3prompt: "How about some Steve/Tony h/c? Tony stuggling to stay on the wagon or falling off and Steve there to help support him."
He could literally just call room service. It would be literally the effort of picking up the phone and hitting three numbers. How hard was that?
Fuck. It was hard.
Tony was conflicted. He shouldn't have been, he felt he shouldn't have been, but he was. Ingeg-- Angeger-- Ingyaryar-- …--whatever her name was, Swedish fashion consultant with legs a mile high. Well, she'd left, getting on for forty-five minutes ago. Tony should have felt pretty good with himself, by all means; but he really, really didn't. He felt miserable, alone and cold even in the comfortably heated hotel suite. He'd rented the suite, when all they needed was a room - hell, any horizontal surface would have been fine, especially considering how fast she got out of there once they were finished. He didn't know why - some desire to impress her, he guessed, maybe to impress himself, walking in and just handing his card to the desk, walking right on up to the suite while they processed his details. It looked good. It meant fucking nothing. He missed her, whatever her damn name was. He wanted to tell himself it was because he'd fallen in love with her.
The reality was simply that he'd wanted her - wanted anybody - to just… stick around.
Of course that was too much to ask, and Tony couldn't sleep this miserable, this alone, and the best option by a mile seemed to him to be a really good, stiff whiskey, or twelve. He wanted to get drunk so badly it hurt, and of course a hotel with his credit card at the desk was a very different place to his penthouse under the watchful eye of Pepper and Jarvis. If he asked them for booze, they would damn well give him booze.
Tony really, really wanted to ask them for booze. All he'd have to do is pick up the phone.
He sat up in bed, pressing two fingers to his lips, frowning, conflicted - and picked up the phone.
He'd honestly decided to call for a bottle of Jack and get himself deservedly piss-drunk, but somewhere between picking up the receiver with one hand and dialling the numbers with the other, he changed his mind. Never mind the three numbers for room service; Tony dialled a cell number instead, one he'd long since memorized, closing his eyes in an act barely falling short of prayer as it rang once, twice, three times… pick up--
It was answered on the fifth ring, and Tony could have cried with relief.
"..'Lo?"
Steve was obviously still mostly asleep - fuck, of course, Tony had woken him up because it was two o'clock in the morning and Steve liked to keep sensible person hours when he could.
"Steve," Tony said quietly, and Steve woke up just like that.
"Tony? Gee, you're calling pretty late, aren't you? What's on your mind?"
"…I'm at a hotel," Tony said, redundantly. Steve seemed sufficiently puzzled.
"I, uh, see. What're you doing there..?"
"…Trying not to fuck up," Tony ground out, and Steve seemed to pick up on exactly what Tony was talking about because suddenly he was all wounded-comrade-seriousness.
"Tony, talk to me," he said, low and urgent. "What happened?"
Tony swallowed sharply, his throat clicking, and let out a shuddering, hitching breath. There was something about Steve's voice, warm and reassuring and steadying, that just made Tony's chest tighten up with poignancy and relief, something about the way he didn't even mention the time or try to lecture Tony outright that made Tony think he'd be indebted to this man for the rest of his life at least.
"I was at a party," Tony explained. "Met someone there-- I can't pronounce her damn stupid name, she was Swedish, I can't handle that-- we hit it off, really well, I took her back to this goddamn hotel and booked us into the suite and that was three hours ago and she's been gone for three quarters of an hour. And there's room service here, and the front desk's got my credit card."
"Tony…" Steve said, gently, far more sympathetic than accusatory or disappointed.
"Steve? Help," Tony's voice was so small it was hard for Steve even to make out the words, but he did, and he was on his feet in moments, pulling on slacks and socks and shoes as he talked. Steve had tried a lot of approaches when Tony was drinking, mostly ranging from tough love to really tough love, but sometimes with pleading and reasoning - it wasn't until after Tony had quit that Steve softened up, and worked out the best way of dealing with potential relapses.
"It's okay, Tony," he said, firmly reassuring, not quite the voice he'd use to command troops, but just as hard to disobey. "Just-- just sit tight, willya? I'm coming over - just don't move until I'm there, don't do anything, you'll be fine. Give me the address. I'm coming right now."
Tony gave him the address and put down the receiver; he didn't move a muscle, sitting up in bed, perfectly still until he heard a knock at the door. He got up to open it, and Steve stood on the other side, and almost immediately Tony felt the tension ebb out of him.
"Steve--"
"Hey-- c'mere."
Steve wrapped his arms around Tony's shoulders, guiding him backwards to the bed, coaxing him to sit down. Tony looked awful, like he was on the verge of tears and didn't realize it, and Steve ached with the desire to soothe this somehow. It was obvious to any idiot that Tony adored him, loved him, whatever word you chose for it - Steve, for his part, had never met a man he respected more. Tony's hardships and problems only added to his value - though he always seemed to have new ones, he always overcame them in the end. It had never seriously occurred to Steve to suggest anything on the basis of this - Tony had his own way of doing things and Steve wasn't going to start complicating that, not when things were complicated enough for Tony already.
The steadily increasing correlation, though, between loose or dangerous women that Tony wound up with and his desire to go back to drink was becoming apparent, and this most recent episode was starting to make Steve wonder if it wasn't time to try things his way.
"Steve, I'm sorry."
"Hush."
"I am."
"Be quiet, Tony. It's all right. Everything's gonna be all right."
Tony shuddered. "Yeah," he said, not sounding very convinced. He swung to the side and wrapped his arms tightly around Steve's broad shoulders, burying his face in Steve's neck and taking a deep, hitching breath. Steve, in return, worked an arm around him, holding him close, one big hand pressed to his back, stroking the base of his neck with his thumb.
"I didn't-- I didn't know what to do," Tony whispered. "I still don't know… I'm so fucking-- alone. I just don't wanna be awake for this, I want to just-- stop being conscious, wake up when it's all over... Jesus, I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this…"
"Hush up, Tony," Steve said sternly, and Tony hushed up. "Look here," he continued, "don't you even think about beating yourself up over this, okay? I'd rather be out here with you than back at the mansion any time of the day or night. You got that?"
Tony looked up from Steve's shoulder miserably, and Steve couldn't help but think he looked just like a puppy dog. He nearly said it out loud, catching himself just in time. "Really?" Tony asked, and Steve held him a little tighter, gave him one of those dazzling football-star smiles that made him melt just a little bit inside, and patted him gently on the back.
"Really."
They stayed like that, looking at each other for at least five seconds, before Tony moved - leaning forwards and pressing his mouth chastely to Steve's, steel blue eyes wide open as though he were surprised. He pulled back slowly, sensually, and Steve blinked down at him. Something seemed to snap, and Tony practically lunged forwards, clinging to Steve tightly as though he were afraid he'd be beaten back.
"Don't go--" he gasped, and Steve immediately responded, "I won't--" "I'm sorry--" "It's fine--" "I'm so sorry--" "No, it's OK, Tony--" "Steve--" "C'mon--" "Please don't go--"
"I'm not going anywhere."
Tony looked at Steve as if he didn't understand what he was saying, and Steve looked back and thought, what the hell. He pressed a kiss to Tony's mouth in return, and Tony clutched at his arms with shaking hands even after he pulled back.
"I'm not going anywhere, Tony. I promise."
"I lo--"
"I know." Tony had been saying it to try and scare Steve away, to prove true the hypothesis he so desperately wanted to be false, Steve knew it - he wasn't going to give Tony a chance. Tony looked stunned, as though the fabric of his reality had just unravelled around him.
"I know you do, Tony. It's okay." Steve kissed Tony's face. "The feeling's mutual - I love you, too. Don't ask me why. I'll explain, I swear I will, but not now. Now you're going to rest up. Got it?"
Tony swayed sitting, and whispered, "Really?"
"Really."
Slowly, he lowered himself back on to Steve's shoulder, pressing his face to Steve's skin and clutching him tightly, and the pressure didn't show any signs of letting up.
"You're gonna be fine, Tony. We're gonna be fine." Jesus. Somehow, Steve realized, he was in a relationship with Tony Stark. "You got that?" He already knew it was worth it. "You're not gonna drink a drop. Not while I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." He already knew he wanted it. "You got that, Tony?"
"Yeah," Tony mumbled, and Steve could tell that now, he really believed that. "Got it."
"Attaboy."