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cap_ironman2011-09-06 07:55 pm
a few short drabbles
Title: I AM BAD AT TITLES SO HAVE RANDOM DRABBLES INSTEAD
Universe: Uh, some odd mashup of movies and 616
Pairings/Characters: Tony/Steve
Rating: ...uh, these are all around PG, yeah
Word Count: SHORT
Summary: VARIOUS SUMMARIES
sob, I am really bad at this but someone said I should post my stuff on here and so I am, sob. I hope I did all of this right.
-------
“You gave Thor sugar cereal,” Steve’s voice is controlled and even. Tony can sense the tension underneath it though.
Steve’s not as subtle as he thinks.
“Yes, I did,” Tony agrees. “He’s a grown man. He can have Fruit Loops.”
“You know it upsets his stomach, Tony.”
Tony hums a response. The wiring of his face plate had been damaged in the last fight—delicate work, work he needed to concentrate on, work that—“Would you stop looming?”
“I’m not looming,” Steve says.
“You totally are. You’re also wearing your I-am-Captain-America-and-I-know-what’s-best face. It doesn’t work on me, by the way.”
Steve frowns harder, crossing his arms. “You know, I wouldn’t wear that face if you just listened. It’s like that time you took Hulk to the zoo!”
“—hey, hey,” Tony points at him. “He wanted to pet a goat. Who was I to say no?”
“Tony! He destroyed half of the petting zoo when the goat ran away!”
“Which I covered the costs for.”
“Fine!” Steve throws up his arms in frustration. “You’re taking care of Thor when he throws up!”
“Fine!”
“Good!” Steve shouts.
A pitiful voice sounds out. “Shield-brothers, I am not feeling well.”
“Oh, Thor,” Tony and Steve say at the same time, standing up. “Let’s get you to bed,” Tony murmurs, Steve stroking a gentle hand down Thor’s back.
-----(pg--Tony can be a bit of a creep at times)
“Oh, wow,” Peter’s voice, clear and bright in the morning, and Tony groans at the sound of it. “Wow, I just—um. I knew you were a fan but—”
“Peter, why are you in Tony’s room?” That would be Steve’s voice, something much more palatable in the mornings than Peter. “—oh.”
“Why would either of you be in my room?” Tony manages to croak out, blinking the grogginess out of his eyes.
“We were—well, you see—” Peter’s babbling. Peter likes to do that. “Cap couldn’t find his spare uniform top and the one from last night is a little mangled and we were looking and um, well! We found it! Go team!” He adds a nervous clap, bouncing from one foot to another.
It takes Tony a good five seconds to put meaning behind Peter’s words. “Oh,” he says, then casts a horrified glance at the blue scales he’d been drooling on. “It’s not what it looks like, Steve, I swear—”
“Um,” squeaks out Peter, “I’m just going to leave now, yeah.” But Tony’s too busy staring at an impassive Steve to even care about Peter.
“Well,” Steve says evenly. “It’s—”
“—a great pillow! That’s all! Must have got mixed up with my stuff, comfort, uh, you’re not…buying any of this, are you?”
“No,” Steve shakes his head, but he’s smiling now. “You know, you could have just asked.”
“I, oh.” Tony’s brain works slowly in the mornings and slower still without coffee. “Oh.”
Steve just gives him a look of fond amusement. Tony huffs at him.
“It’s your fault,” he says. “You always smell so good after—fighting. All sweat and leather and—and I’m going to stop now before I say anything else incredibly dumb and I’m babbling like Peter, aren’t I? Don’t answer that, I am.”
“Tony—”
“If your next actions don’t involve us kissing, I’m just going to take your spare top back to bed if you don’t mind.”
Steve shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says and then leans over and kisses Tony awake.
He’s still keeping the shirt, though.
-----(pg--Perils of Modernity)
“I have nightmares,” Steve says quietly to him.
Nightmares. Tony does too, ones where he’s stuck in an endless cave that winds about in a labyrinth. He reaches the heart of it once and finds himself, crowned king of a pile of maggot-eaten children and women, bodies bloated with rot.
“I’m in France, or just Europe. And sometimes I’m with Bucky and sometimes I’m not. I don’t—people die, in them, and they ask me why I’m so special. Why I got to live. Bucky asks me that, usually,” Steve’s voice is as distant as the time he talks about, a war caught in sepia photos and mounted into museums. A relic in the modern day. He shakes a little, shuddering breaths that tremble with the exhale. “What am I doing here? Why—why did you wake me up?”
There’s a bottle that Tony likes to crawl into. It’s warm and it makes him forget and he likes it, which is selfish and stupid of him.
Tony was the little boy who played cruel god with ants, who tore apart butterfly wings and destroyed the beauty of the world with fact.
There’s a fluttering flame of hope carried by Steve and it flounders here, choking without air to feed it.
“Couldn’t leave you there, Cap,” he answers with a grin that’s both the cruelest thing he’s done and not. He is become death and he wants a drink. “Wouldn’t have been right.”
There’s a tense line between Steve’s eyes, a crease. He’s frowning as Tony knocks back a scotch that burns fire and heat in its wake. “I’m a—”
“—you know, my father talked about you. About how great you were. You were the American dream without any of the post-JFK cynicism. You’re a good man, Steve, probably the last good man.”
“I don’t like this place,” Steve says. “This world wasn’t meant for me. It doesn’t like me. I have nightmares, Tony, and somehow they’re better than this.”
“Funny,” Tony remarks. His scotch has turned liquid gold in the dying light of the sun. “So are mine.”
----Um, so yeah! Hi there!
I'm mostly on tumblr but someone said I should post here. Tumblr is still the best place to talk to me, haha, and where I post most often. But I'll post the rest of my stuff here, too!
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I like the last one the best, I think. But they are all really great, and really well-written.
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Looking forward to seeing the rest of your stuff! :D
Though, it might be helpful to bold the individual ficlet headings and extend the divider a little bit? Might make the formatting easier to read, I think.
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Maybe you could post the rest on LJ too?