Happy Holidays, derryderrydown part two!

[cap_ironman_fe]

Title: The Billionaire Hooker's Deceived Artist
Author: tsukinofaerii
Betas: Jazzypom & Waterofthemoon
Rated: NC17
Universe: Movie-ish AU
Warnings: Underage prostitution, canon (minor) character death
Word Count: ~28,000

Summary: During Tony's senior year at MIT, his partying habit finally
hit the edge of his parents' patience. When Howard and Maria cut him
off from his usual sources of money, he decides to turn to less
conventional ones.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four



Steve squirmed, checking the time every few seconds, as if it would magically make the minute hand move faster, but no, it stayed stubbornly at five forty-something, only ticking forward occasionally. He and Bucky had taken over one of the low brick walls that hemmed in the plaza. Students wandered back and forth on the mall with the lazy energy that came at the end of the day, when the sun was setting and the only people panicking were the ones with evening classes. It was too cold for most people to linger, snow sharp and crisp enough on the ground to encourage hurrying.

"Are you okay?" Bucky eyed over his coffee—his iced cinnamon dolce latte, specifically, which was something Steve thought they might need to stage an intervention for. One of his holiday presents had been a Starbucks card, and he'd already zipped through it and had to be forcibly restrained from buying another with money that was meant for textbooks. "You keep looking at your watch."

"I'm fine," Steve said automatically, reaching for his inhaler, then putting it back unused. It was just the cold and nerves making his chest clench up, and inhalers were expensive. If he used it up and had to buy a new one, he'd go from eating ramen to eating nothing.

Or not seeing Tony again, and thinking about that made him think he might have another attack anyway. He didn't want to examine it too much. It was just sex; he wasn't that hard up.

Ice clinked as Bucky took another long draw at his favorite drug. "Don't give me that. I haven't seen you this nervous since you started dating Peggy—" He paused in the middle of sucking whipped cream from the rim of his cup. "Steve, have you got a date?"

"No!" Five-fifty. "Not really. Not a date." Sinking down on the ha-ha was practically impossible, since Steve was already on the edge and his feet didn't touch the ground. He gave it the good old college try anyway. For good measure, he fidgeted with his wristband. "I might be meeting someone. But it's not a date."

"Whatever you say, buddy." Bucky's shoulder bumped his. "So, who is she? She hot?"

"He's just a model for my life drawing class. I've got that project due Monday, and he agreed to sit for me so I can finish it." A terrible, total and complete lie. Steve had already given up and turned the thing in. He was pretty sure that Professor Aching was going to Have Words with him (probably including the big one, Disappointed) over the poor quality, but hopefully it wouldn't bring down his grade too much. Lie or not, the subject of patronizing a prostitute was never going to cross Steve's lips in Bucky's presence.

"Oh-ho, a model, huh?" A totally reasonable explanation seemed to spark Bucky's interest even more. He edged closer, until their hips were wedged together on the cold cement. "Is he hot, then?"

A blush crawled up his cheeks, which weren't nearly pink enough from cold to hide it. Five-fifty three. "Maybe. If you like that sort of thing. Don't you have class at six?"

The last of the latte vanished down Bucky's throat, and he tossed the cup into a trash can with sniper-like precision. "Five after. You're trapped. Spill the beans or I'll tell Sam where you hid the fuzzy blanket."

Steve stared in outraged shock. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The fuzzy blanket. There was only one blanket like it in the house, old and worn until the pattern had faded to muddled gray. It was made out of that weird furry material that wasn't really thermal but almost, and was probably the warmest thing any of them had ever seen that hadn't been in a crib. Steve liked to use it under his sheets, but Sam had started stealing it to cover his feet when he was on the sofa instead of using slippers like everyone else. The resultant conflict of interests had sparked a small war and a prolonged game of Hide the Blanket. Just then, Steve was ahead by a cardboard shoebox at the bottom of his laundry basket. All it would take was one slip, and Sam would have it again.

"You're a terrible person."

Pointedly, Bucky reached over and grabbed Steve's wrist, checking the time. "You've got six minutes until I have to leave for class. If I don't have details by then, I'm texting Sam."

Steve huddled lower in his coat, quickly rearranging facts in his head to cut out as much of the and I paid him fifty dollars for oral sex as possible. It was going to be hard. Bucky had a lie detector built in that Steve had never managed to slip by. "Okay, he's hot. Gorgeous."

Bucky nodded, obvious having anticipated that Steve would admit that much. "And he's going to sit around naked for you in an empty classroom."

In a very technical sense... "Yeah."

"Have you kissed?"

No, because his mouth was too busy— "No!" The blush, which was already bad enough without help, went from rosy to fire engine. "No, we haven't kissed."

Rogers, if you're going to pay someone to blow you, you should at least be able to think about it without turning into a tomato. But thinking about it inevitably reminded him of how Tony had looked, with his lips red and swollen and that little smear of come at the corner of his mouth and what they were going to do—

He slammed a mental lid down on those thoughts as fast as he could.

Lips flat, eyes narrow, Bucky stared at him, and Steve could see the lie detector beeping away in his head. Steve held his breath and prayed that he didn't look too guilty.

"No kissing, then," Bucky said slowly, like he could taste the words. "You're not lying, but... not on the mouth?" Biting his lips, Steve shook his head. "Cheek?" Shake. "Forehead?" Shake. "Nose?" Shake. "Lower?" Choke, and Bucky's eyes lit up with the perverse joy of discovery. "Steve, you rascal! Did you really—? Without kissing him first?"

There wasn't air enough to answer, so Steve hid his face in his arms and nodded. At least Bucky hadn't figured out the money part yet. As a saving grace, it wasn't much, but Steve would take whatever he could get.

"I didn't think you had it in you." Next to him, Bucky's body heat vanished. "I've got class, and you've got a hot not-date."

Panicked, Steve looked down at his watch. Six oh-one. "Damn it!" Grabbing his bag, he dropped the six inches to the sidewalk and took off at a sprint. Behind him, he could hear Bucky laughing hysterically.

"Get a kiss this time, bro!"

---

The art building wasn't too far, but Steve was panting by the time he fell into the classroom.

Tony looked up from where he'd sprawled over the professor's desk. Instead of something sensible and warm, he was wearing a pair of jeans that were practically made of rips and a thin t-shirt that showed off exactly how cold it was. The way he'd stretched out had caused his shirt to ruck up, showing a tiny sliver of skin and the dark trail of hair that dipped down below his waistband. It was obvious he'd set himself up for display. "Thought you weren't going to make it."

Steve braced himself on his knees and focused on breathing. Air in, air out, steady and deep and why had he run all the way across the mall? His lungs were on fire, but at least he could breathe. I need to start working out.

Pushing up on his elbows, Tony swiveled around so he was facing Steve, legs dangling off the desk. "Hey, you okay? You're not going to die on me or something, are you?"

Shaking his head, Steve tried to straighten, and was pleased when he could. "No—no, I just ran," he said, between deep, slowing breaths. "Didn't want to miss you."

"Aw, that's sweet." Tony's legs swung, heels knocking into the metal side of the desk with a hollow noise. "I was waiting, you know. Got no one else to do tonight."

The stretchy, tight feeling in Steve's chest eased, and he let himself lean back against the wall. "No one? It's a Friday. I kind of thought you'd have plans—things to do, people to see." Tony didn't seem like the kind of guy who sat at home and read on a Friday night, even if he wasn't working.

"I do." One of Tony's shoulders moved in a shrug. He tilted his head sideways and smirked, clearly knowing exactly how appealing he looked. "You."

The reminder made Steve's mouth go a little dry. "You make it sound so simple."

"Why should it be complicated?" Tony looked genuinely confused. "It's just sex."

"And money."

"Flat rate. The post office is more complicated than that."

"Snow, rain, sleet, hail or gloom of night?" Almost in spite of himself, Steve started to relax. Tony was easy to talk to. It wasn't hard to just not think about the money. He was just a guy who apparently liked Steve enough to have sex with him. Why didn't have to come up until later. "That's pretty impressive."

"I always deliver on time, too." Sneakers drummed the desk as Tony spread his legs and patted the surface between them. "You going to stay over there all night and chat me up? Not that I'm judging, if that's your thing, but I thought you had something you wanted to try."

"No I—" Catching himself with an apology on the tip of his tongue, Steve laughed and pushed his bag back against the wall with the tip of his toe. He shrugged out of his thick winter coat next, and the sweater under it, leaving him in just a long-sleeved thermal shirt and his jeans. "I'm just nervous. You're—you know. Sexy."

"I know."

"Modest too."

"Most modest guy you'll ever meet." Tony grinned and patted the desk again. "C'mere."

Nerves and want jostling for place in his head, Steve fitted himself between Tony's thighs. Cold as the rest of the room was, Tony was like a furnace, heating him right through his clothes. Letting out a breath, Steve turned his face up and, before his anxiety could stop him, brushed his lips over Tony's. It felt like a first kiss, no matter how ridiculous that idea was. Kisses that were bought and paid for didn't count.

Tony really was gorgeous, slim curves of muscle covered in what had to be a mostly natural tan, all elegant lines and long limbs, like a young thoroughbred that was still growing. Which might have actually been the case; Bucky was only a couple years younger than Steve, and he'd been short and skinny until he was nearly twenty, when he outgrew his clothes overnight. Tony was probably Bucky's age, Steve estimated—twenty-three or twenty-two. He couldn't have been much younger and been a senior.

Swallowing, Steve kissed him again, letting his hands slide along those long legs, feel the bend of the knee where his pen could have lingered for years and not captured the perfect angle of it. "So," Steve asked, "how do we start?"

"You're the customer." The tip of Tony's nose dragged over Steve's cheek. "You get to call the shots."

Choices. Steve really had hoped to avoid those, but he guessed he should have known he wouldn't be able to. "Then—I guess turn around? Over the desk?"

"You sound so certain," Tony laughed, making Steve's embarrassment just deepen.

"I've never—not for money," Steve tried to explained, pulling his hands off Tony. "It's not like it was with Peggy." It was awkward and weird, that was what it was. He didn't have it in him to just get on with things, no matter if Tony was just someone with a job to do. Steve just didn't work that way. "Maybe this was a bad idea. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"Hold hold hold it." Tony's knees tightened, catching Steve around the waist unless he wanted to try and fight for freedom. He pulled Steve back in close, this time enough that their hips pressed together. Warm, soft lips dragged over Steve's, just a feather-light touch of skin to skin. "Let's try it your way before you back out on me, huh? Sex is supposed to be fun, not all tense. Come on."

"I..." What would it hurt? Steve asked himself, staring at Tony's eyes. Maybe he wouldn't be able to relax, and it would just be money wasted, but maybe... "Alright."

Another kiss, less fragile than the last, and then another as Tony's fingers slid up into his hair. The kisses stayed mostly soft at first, Tony coaxing him into responding with little sighs and nudges. Almost, Steve could believe that Tony actually wanted to be there, that it wasn't just for some quick cash. His hands skimmed under Tony's shirt, feeling the faint outline of his ribs, less prominent than Steve's but still visibly lean. Tony let Steve strip off the shirt entirely.

For all that Steve was the skinnier one, his palms were huge against Tony's chest. He ran his thumbs along the sharp jut of Tony's hips where black ink peeked out, nuzzled a kiss to the hollow at his throat. When Steve's tongue darted out to lick it, his nose wrinkled at the sharp, bitter taste of cologne.

"Better now?" To Steve's delight and surprise, Tony sounded breathless. He squirmed, rocking against Steve. Thin denim did nothing to hide the hard length of Tony's cock. "Please tell me you're better."

"Yeah. Better." Nervous still, but not so stiff. He could do it; Tony was just another guy. Whatever happened after was after. As long as Steve kept telling himself that, the butterflies were manageable. "Turn."

Eagerly, Tony wiggled around, planting his feet on the concrete and his elbows on the desk. Steve's hands shook a little as he popped the fly on Tony's jeans and rolled them down his hips. Up close, Tony's ass was just as nice as Steve had always thought, the dip of his back turning into a perfect curve, just slightly lighter than the rest of his skin. Even though it wasn't easy to see at that angle, Steve still rubbed his thumb over Tony's tattoo. It got him a shiver in response that made Steve's heart give a funny flip.

Tony had brought lube and condoms in a little paper grocery bag, both still new and in their boxes, which was a huge relief—Steve hadn't even thought of that, and he really should have. The lube was water-based, nice and slick when Steve spread it on his fingers. Rubbing it between them, Steve shook his head and squirted a larger handful, working it between his hands while Tony watched over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.

"You're really—what are you doing?" One leg twisted around Steve's to bop the small of his back. "Are you delaying, or do you have a thing for lube, too?"

"It was cold," Steve explained, frowning a little. Peggy had done it back when they were together, before she'd gone off to the army. Sometimes she'd even just boil a pot of water and then drop the bottle in, like milk for an infant. He'd never really thought it was weird, but maybe Peggy had just been different. "What, no one ever did that for you before?"

"No, it's..." An odd, wistful expression flickered across Tony's face before he turned back around. "Whatever makes you happy, I guess."

Weird guy. It didn't take more than a minute to warm the lube up to body temperature, and by then it had lost some of its gel-like gloopiness, so it ended up being a good thing that he'd poured a handful. Steve smeared it over his fingers generously, sliding it along Tony's crack before pushing one finger in. Tony made a soft, strange noise, back arching a little. He opened easily, without really any fight for the first finger. Still, Steve took his time, making sure to work him slowly, massaging the muscles from the inside. Paid or not, he'd never forgive himself if he'd hurt anyone just because he was overeager and impatient.

When Tony started squirming, Steve took it as a good sign and pressed in a second finger, easing them back and forth in slow, loose motions. The tip of his finger brushed against a spot with a lightly different texture, and the impatient wiggles froze.

Tony let out a high, urgent-sounding noise in the back of his throat. "You can do that again any time."

"I'll remember that." Steve curled his fingers against it again and trying to mark the spot in his memory. He had a feeling it might take a few tries.

After that, easy turned to downright loose, Tony's muscles relaxing and swallowing Steve's fingers to the last knuckle without a problem. Suddenly, Peggy's interest in this made a lot of sense, even if she had used a strap-on instead. Each little squirm made Steve's cock tighten or his breath pause until he was afraid he'd go off just from getting Tony ready. There was something fascinating in the way Tony's muscles trembled around his fingers and the arch of his back when he rocked his hips.

Leaning forward, Steve dragged his tongue along the dip of Tony's spine. His fingers curled again, fumbling for that spongy little place—prostate, he remembered faintly—when Tony's whole body jerked.

"Fuck," Tony groaned in frustration, pushing his hips back with a needy whine. The flat of his palm slapped against the desktop and he did it again, jamming himself down onto Steve's fingers. "If I get more ready, I'm going to be done."

"Already?" A little bit of pride might have touched Steve's voice, not that he'd ever admit it.

"Already? What do you mean, already? You've been—" There was a thump as Tony's forehead dropped heavily to the desk. "Look, if you don't get your dick in me right now, I'm charging extra."

It wasn't Steve's fault that he laughed, but he did reach for the box of condoms as ordered. "Yes, sir."

The condoms were one of the super, ridiculously large sizes that guys mostly got to cater to their ego. Ripping the foil, it didn't really look any different from most, but Steve still grinned a little. "Super Soldier Magnum? Really?"

"Hey, I've had your dick in my mouth. I know what size it is." Another pop of Tony's heel against his backside, like it would make Steve roll on the condom faster. "Come on, counting down to a ten dollar upcharge."

It was too much. Steve pressed his forehead between Tony's shoulders and started laughing. Every few seconds, Tony's heel would bounce against him again, just when he was starting to get a grip, and it would set him off again. He tried to tell Tony that the kicks weren't helping, but he barely managed a couple of words before the next would come.

After about three minutes of it, Tony got fed up enough to reach behind and grab Steve's cock for himself. A second of fumbling and he sank backward. Warm, tight muscle wrapped around Steve's cock, and suddenly he was breathless for reasons that only had a little to do with the snickers that still escaped him.

"When I said sex is supposed to be fun, I didn't mean laugh at me," Tony grumbled, grinding back against Steve.

Swallowing back the last bit of his amusement, Steve kissed Tony's back, right over his bumpy spine. Strangely, the laughter had relaxed what the kisses hadn't. Maybe it was just Tony, but he suspected that most hookers didn't start getting demanding. "Sorry."

"No you're not."

"You're right. I'm not." Another kiss, and Steve started to move. It was different than being inside Peggy—tighter, mostly. Even though he thought he had worked Tony over pretty good, he could still feel Tony's muscles dragging at him, see him cling. A few slow thrusts opened him up more, but it was a tighter fit than Steve had expected.

He wasn't the only one who thought so. Tony lifted up on his elbows with a groan, pushing back with a gasp that Steve hoped was a good one. It was slow going at first, a little too tight.. He couldn't fight Tony's muscles enough to move actually freely, so he did the best he could with slow, deep thrusts Tony seemed to like it at least, making little noises that clenched him even tighter around Steve.

"Maybe the soldiers weren't big enough after all," Tony groaned, throat visibly working as his head tilted back.

Steve hesitated, fingers digging into Tony's hip to keep him still for a second. He wanted to move, to slam in but he couldn't and it was driving him mad. "Do you want—is it too much—"

"Stop and I'm charging you triple," Tony threatened, pulling free of Steve's hand and pushing back again.

Only needing a couple of hints, Steve started moving again. He tried speeding up to give Tony what they both wanted, but he couldn't find a pace. There was no slap of skin, no quick build of tension, just a slow burn that he was pretty sure was going to kill him.

Rising from elbows to hands, Tony braced himself against the desk, rocking back harder, fighting to make Steve go faster. "Steve," he whined, reaching pitches that could really only be called needy. "Please—please, come on, just a little...?"

Biting his lip, Steve tried to think back through the fog of frustration. He slid lower, pressing his forehead against Tony's shoulder and thrust—

Tony rose up on his toes, choking off a sound that might have been Steve's name. Reaching around, Steve fisted his cock, flicking his wrist in short, hard strokes that had Tony coming in less than a minute. His whole body tightened, arching back into Steve and clamping down. The vain hope Steve had of relaxing Tony more died as it practically dragged his own orgasm out of him, milking him right along with Tony.

They both fell forward against the desk, Tony face-first and Steve catching himself with his arms. Steve was too skinny to do any crushing, but he had a feeling that if he fell he'd keep falling. Concrete floors hurt. Pain wasn't a friend he cared to have visit often.

"Well?" Tony asked, voice muffled by the desk. "What'ya think?"

Slow, was Steve's first thought. Sometimes slow was good, but he hadn't had a choice. There just hadn't been room to move, not the way he'd wanted to, and he was pretty sure not the way Tony had wanted him to, either. "I think next time, we'll do it the other way," he decided, dropping his head in exhaustion.

"So there's going to be a next time?" Tony's head rolled, a hint of blue peeking out from the corner of his eye.

Steve hadn't actually decided that there would be, but he nodded again and closed his eyes. "Sure, why not?" It wasn't that much, really. And he liked Tony.

"Oh, good." Underneath him, he felt Tony's back heave in a sigh. "No upcharge, then."

---

"I don't know what you hear when I say things, but when I told you not to become a hooker, I meant don't do it." Rhodey was sprawled out on Tony's bed, dressed for class other than his blue fuzzy slippers. As soon as Tony had told him what his plans were for the night, he'd thrown himself down, hidden his face, and not come out. Not even peek-a-boo had worked, and Tony was a master at peek-a-boo.

"Go be a hooker, got it, Rhodey." Tony held up two shirts, trying to decide. Neither had seen their best day, but he'd figured out fast that whatever he wore out had a pretty good chance of being ruined. But it was Steve, not some freak with a hard on for hot young Stark ass—which, granted, was most people, but Steve wasn't weird about it, at least. "Which is better, the blue or Motley Crüe?"

"Motley Crüe," Rhodey answered without pulling his head out of the pillow. "Tony, come on, I'm really worried about you here."

Discarding the blue into the dirty clothes pile, Tony pulled the band shirt over his head. "What's to worry about? It's Steve—he's about as dangerous as a puppy. One of those little cuddly ones with the big eyes and way too much fur." No cologne, Steve never said anything, but he always wrinkled his nose when Tony wore it. Maybe one of the girly body mist things Rhodey used?

"Maybe a rabid puppy. Tony—Tony." Rhodey sat up, holding the pillow to his chest. "Listen to me, man, I'm serious."

Huffing, Tony turned around and crossed his arms, leaning back against the dresser. "Listening."

Nearly as earnest as Steve on an off-day, Rhodey said, "This Steve guy calls you every week. You text him dirty messages in physics—yeah, I saw it, shut up and listen—and I know you've had dinner with him last month, and sometimes you don't come home until the asscrack of dawn, and I worry about you. That's not safe."

Okay, when Rhodey put it that way, it did sound a little weird. Shuffling a bare foot against the carpet, Tony shrugged. "It's just business. He just doesn't think I eat enough, so he started buying me meals."

"Tones... it's not normal. Sex—even paying for it, yeah, I get that. I don't like it, but I get that. But this is way more than that."

Judgey. Rhodey's expression was getting judgey, and while he was allowed to do that to Tony, Steve didn't deserve it. Bristling, Tony set his jaw. "Steve's a nice guy—an actual nice guy, not like that asshole last month. You know how many nice guys I know? You. So give him a break, okay?"

Over the top of the pillow, Rhodey stared at him hard. "If I didn't know he paid you, I'd think he was your boyfriend." Ouch. Tony winced, and the pillow dropped to the floor. "Is he? Is he paying you to date him? That's just messed up, Tones."

"It's not like that!" Defensive didn't look good on anyone, but what the hell, it wasn't like he had much to defend left. "Look, he's just—it's not what you think, so can it with the holier than thou."

Awkward silence descended, and Tony turned his back to start digging through Rhodey's stuff for a body mist that wasn't too girly. There had to be something that wouldn't make him smell like he rolled in an issue of Cosmo. Or maybe he'd just mix some cologne with water to dilute it; he was pretty sure it was the strength that got Steve's asthma going.

After a second, Rhodey spoke again. "Do you like him? Like—would you date him? No money involved?"

Tony's hands paused over Body for Men. He thought about Steve's eyes, and how he curled up inside his hoodie even though it had started to warm up because he had less meat on him than Tony, and that took work. How his whole face lit up when he laughed. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Are you even seeing anyone else?"

Double ouch. He picked up a different bottle and gave it an experimental sniff. How many of these things did Rhodey have, anyway? "Not really. I make enough from the art school thing and..." Tony shrugged and let the second bottle drop. "You know, it just wasn't what I'd thought it would be." There'd be a few close calls, people who thought they could get away with crap, and a lot of people who just weren't worth his time. It'd been easier to cut down on partying.

And there was still Steve, anyway.

Another silence, and then a sigh. "Dude, you are so in deep shit."

Steve's hands on his hips and the smudge of color that was always somewhere on his face after art class and the way he talked about American History and how he'd held that kitten he found behind the pizza place like it was made of spun sunshine and the way he frowned when Tony said he wasn't hungry—

"Rub it in, why don't you?" Tony wasn't going to think about it, wasn't going to even ask if Steve might want for free what he was paying for, because the chance of no was just too damned high. Steve just felt sorry for him, thought Tony was some poor kid having trouble putting food on the table, so he was nice to him, hired him out, made sure he ate. That was all, and pretending there might be more to it was just stupid. They'd get through the semester, Tony would graduate, that that would be the end of that.

—and the way he blushed when Tony finally got his pants off and the sound of his voice when he came and how he always came too fast and how damned much he always wanted Tony to come too even if he was already done and the way the sunlight hit his hair in the morning the few times Tony had snuck into his room and and and...

"You're going to regret this."

"Yeah." Body for Men was just going to have to do, even if it did smell like dead flowers and baby powder. Tony sprayed it on lightly, one careful squirt at a time, and hoped it wouldn't be too much for Steve's nose to handle. "Yeah, I know."

---

Steve collapsed to the bed, dragging Tony with him into a kiss, hands running up his back to strip off his t-shirt with a practiced move. The thin, patched comforter bunched up under their legs until Steve kicked it to the floor.

It felt perfect and weird, bringing Tony back home, so he only did it once in a while. It was a thousand times better than a strong of empty classrooms or closets or—most memorably—the thick bushes back behind the library. No one was around to ask who Tony was, either, since they'd all gone out to some ridiculous pseudo-historical drama. There was plenty of time.

Tony groaned and straddled Steve's hips, grinning. He'd chopped his hair short, so it didn't fall in his eyes the way it used to, but it was still soft when Steve ran his fingers through it. "Eager, aren't you?"

"Been two weeks," Steve muttered, yanking him down for another kiss. Two incredibly long, frustrating weeks, but he'd put away enough in overtime to see Tony at least three or four more times. Steve had gotten used to seeing Tony every payday, whether it was a quickie or something else. He'd also gotten used to eating a lot of cheap stir-fry.

Clever fingers flicked open the buttons on Steve's shirt, then spread it open so Tony could run his hands over Steve's chest. Muscle had finally started to pad his ribs after months of working stock for the art store, and Tony took his time examining them, thumb flicking over the peaked nipple, then drawing down over the faintly defined pecs. "Looking good there. Where'd my scrawny art student go?"

"Still here, just slightly less scrawny." Wrapping his hands around Tony's waist, Steve pressed his thumb against the tattoo that he still didn't know the meaning of. The bones that poked out under Tony's skin bothered him, but Tony swore he wasn't starving, and some high-energy people did stay skinny without being unhealthy. No telling which Tony was without knowing more about him than he'd ever let Steve find out. That didn't stop him from trying. "What about you? Eat dinner yet?"

Laughter huffed against his skin. "Yes, mother. Fruits and vegetables and three ounces of meat, I promise." Tony peeked up at him with bright eyes, and Steve really, really hoped that was real happiness and not just making rent. "I stay warm, too. Roommate pins mittens to my sweater every morning."

"That's—good," Steve smiled, running his fingers up Tony's spine. "You need someone to look out for you."

The loose, lazy set of Tony's shoulders went stiff. He pushed up, locking his elbows, pride and panic and something very close to shame in his eyes. "Steve, no. I'm not some kitten you can take in off the street. It's a lot more complicated than that."

"I know." Swallowing back his nerves, Steve thought about asking Tony to move into the flat for the umpteenth time. Their rent was cheap, probably cheaper than whatever Tony was already paying, and Steve was already practically giving Tony his share of the bills already. But Tony would never go for it, and asking just might send him running. And if that was bad, saying I love you probably meant he wouldn't stop for his shirt. "I just worry about you."

Tension eased from Tony's expression. Dipping his head, he pressed a slow kiss to Steve's mouth. "Don't. I've got everything under control. Now why don't we—"

Something buzzed against Steve's hip, a sharp vibrating rattle that made him jump.

Why won't you answer me? Hello? This is your cell phone! What, you think you can just keep me in your pocket like some dirty little—beeeeeep!

They froze, staring at each other. Then Tony collapsed forward, laughing as he dug into his pocket. The phone he pulled out was shiny and sleek, glittering in the lamplight, and looked like it might cost more than Steve's tuition.

"Sorry," Tony snickered, flicking it open. "I thought I'd turned that..." His expression fell. "... Off. Sorry, I've got to take this."

Twisting his hips, Tony slid off Steve and turned his back, lifting the phone to his ear. He hunched forward, as if Steve couldn't hear every word he said. "Dad, what the hell, you never call this late—Jarvis? No—no, I'm at a friend's... What do you mean, an accident?" As Steve listened, Tony's voice got quieter and quieter, until it had nearly vanished. "Are they..? Oh. Okay. Yeah, I'll—yeah. Yeah. Bye."

After the call ended, Tony didn't move. Cautiously, Steve edged across the bed to sit by him. "Did something happen?"

Sagging sideways, Tony leaned his temple on Steve's shoulder. His eyes were closed, but the lashes had clumped together. "There was an accident. My parents..." Tony's throat worked in a hard swallow. In a burst of energy, he pushed off the bed and reached for his shirt, yanking it on over his head. "I have to go. My uncle's got me a plane ticket home for the—I have to go."

Buttoning up his shirt, Steve reached for his wallet and scooter keys on the bedside table. "I'll give you a ride—"

"No!"

Steve's hand paused just above his keys. "Tony..."

Jaw tight, Tony forced out a smile, lips pressed together. The rims of his eyes were suspiciously red, even though his cheeks were dry. He sat down to shove his feet into sneakers that he hadn't even bothered undoing the laces on. "It's not that far. And I need—I just need some space, you know?"

"Yeah. I know." Steve had lost his mother years before, but he still remembered what it was like. Deep down, he hoped they were just hurt, but he didn't think so. Not by the way Tony was acting. "Call if you need someone to talk to, alright? I mean that."

"You're a good guy, Steve." Crawling up the bed, Tony sat himself on Steve's lap and dragged him into a kiss, slow and sweet and just a little desperate. Tony's fingers dug bruises into his shoulders, and against his chest Steve could feel him shaking. "I'll call, okay? Save that fifty for me."

Dread curled in Steve's stomach, but he just nodded and swallowed back his doubts. "I'll keep it in my wallet."

Steve gave it two weeks before trying himself, sitting on the edge of the bed clutching his fifty dollars in one hand and his phone in the other, listening to the voice over and over again.

The number you have dialed is no longer in service.



Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four