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cap_ironman2011-12-26 03:16 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2011-12-26 03:16 pm
Entry tags:
Happy Holidays, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derryderrydown part four!
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
Tony's concentration was entirely on bullshitting his way through an explanatory email when the coffee cup slammed down at his elbow. He jumped, almost falling backward in his chair as he tried to escape the attacking caffeine. It was in his least favorite mug, the one with the little chip on the edge and the handle that was just a tiny bit too small for comfort. Lovely manicured nails dug into the side, bending slightly from the pressure.
Following the arm up, Tony met Pepper's furious eyes with a sheepish smile. "Hi?"
"Explanation." Hair was falling into Pepper's eyes, falling loose from her usual neat coif, and he was almost positive that her makeup was the same as yesterday's, but touched up. Behind her, Rhodey had taken over the doorway, clearly playing a dual role as bodyguard and barricade. "Now."
He'd spent most of the morning trying to think of what to say, but staring into Pepper's face, all his delicately phrased words crumbled. "I was in the back room selling my body for fifty dollars, and then he took me home for more and I have a bite mark on my ass to prove it and I am so sorry."
Pepper's mouth hung open in shock. For a very real second, he thought she might throw hot coffee on him. "You—you skipped out—on—for—" The coffee shook with her hands, sloshing, and one of her nails cracked against the ceramic. "You said it was important!"
"It was, I swear—" Just in case, Tony rolled back away from the desk, so if Pepper did throw something, it wouldn't be at close range. "It was Steve! Rhodey, it was Steve, Steve Rogers, tell her that's important."
Rhodey, who'd been wisely silent, perked up. "Steve?" he asked, eyebrows knitted. "You mean—from college, Steve? Art student Steve?"
"Art student?" Pepper's grip on the coffee cup didn't ease as she turned her head to look at Rhodey, then back at Tony. "Are you saying that one of the people you prostituted yourself to at MIT found you last night? And for some reason you thought that having sex with him again was a good idea? I'm sorry, selling yourself to him again."
"It's not selling; it's a rental arrangement. And can you say that a little louder? I don't think Frank in Marketing heard you."
"Frank in Marketing isn't the one we need to worry about!" Thank God, Pepper let the coffee go to yank on her hair some more. She dropped down into one of the visitors chairs, elbows coming down hard on the glass desktop. "I know you like playing chicken with the tabloids, but this is more than just dating Britney Spears, Tony. This is bad. When this Steve guy goes to the papers—"
"That's not going to happen—"
"Of course it's going to happen—"
"It's not." Tony didn't usually snap at Pepper—he thought of her more as a friend than an employee, but he wasn't going to sit there and be lectured on life choices he already knew he'd screwed up on. "He doesn't know who I am, and it's going to stay that way." Even if Steve did figure it out, he wasn't the kind of guy who'd take it to market. Which was naïve and from anyone else would just be dumb to believe, but Steve wasn't like that.
"So you're not going to see him again?" Rhodey crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.
Tony hesitated. It would have been the responsible thing to do. He'd gotten Steve's number, but he'd only told Steve his the one time. The chances of Steve remembering it weren't great. If he walked away, never looked back, Steve would probably still figure it out eventually, but Tony wouldn't have to be there to see it happen.
But Tony missed him. It had been nice to just roll around in the sheets and not worry about whether he was being used for the fame or gifts or a million dollar tabloid deal. It was sex. Paid sex, but money didn't really explain staying the night, or how Steve kissed him goodbye or any of the rest of it. And it was probably more than that to Steve, too, or he wouldn't have asked Tony to stay.
The money Steve had paid him burned a hole in his pocket—a five, five ones, two tens and a twenty, bills he'd been carrying for a decade, and wasn't that a trip?
"Tones." Rhodey's voice dragged him out of his thoughts. "You're not going to, right? Just walk away."
It was the responsible thing to do. "Yeah," Tony nodded, sinking back in his computer chair. "Yeah, I'm not going to see him again."
Steve's phone rang somewhere in the depths of his hip pocket while he struggled to pin back up a work in progress. Tucking the brush in his mouth, he kept his hand on the loose canvas to hold it while he fumbled in his jeans. A streak of red-orange—water-based, thank God—followed his thumb as he pressed the answer button. "Mmfg—Rogers."
"Hey, are you at home?" Tony's voice through a crackle of static. Behind him, a trunk horn blared and something splashed. "I was just calling to see if you've got some spare cash."
The paint brush fell out from between Steve's lips, and he nearly dropped the phone and the canvas both trying to catch it. "I—yeah, I've got money I can give you. When do you need it by—it's not that Pep person is it?" He balanced the phone between shoulder and ear to free up his hands. Very carefully he stretched out the canvas again and re-pinned it. Wet paint had smeared in places from the fall, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed. Acrylics weren't as bad as oils when it came to that. "That offer still stands, if you need to get away."
Tony didn't say anything at first. Enough time passed that Steve worried that he'd said something wrong. Then Tony let out a snicker that cascaded into open laughter.
"I don't need money, Steve. I was asking if you want to have sex," Tony explained between chuckles, his voice barely audible over the sound of traffic and bad weather. "But thanks for the thought all the same."
A flush of heat curled through Steve's stomach. It had only been a few days since he'd kissed Tony goodbye, but it felt like much longer. Easy, Rogers. Don't expect too much. Letting his hopes get the better of him had just hurt last time.
Loving Tony wasn't an easy habit to break, though. In ten years, he hadn't really managed it. "Yeah, I think I can spare some cash."
"Great." Tony's grin was audible, a bounce in his voice that made Steve smile automatically. "Buzz me in—it's pouring out here."
"So, you're Steve Rogers."
Steve looked over his shoulder, brush still lifted from its upstroke. Behind him, a tall black man stood waiting, hands shoved into his jean pockets. Military, or ex-military, Steve could tell just from the way he stood, a second away from saluting. Carefully, he put down his brush and turned from the wall, offering his hand for a shake. "Yes, I am. Can I help you?"
He looked Steve up and down before taking his hand in a firm grip. It wasn't too strong though, which was good to know. A lot of guys tried to macho it up when they saw how big Steve was, and he didn't want to get into some sort of contest with a stranger. "I think you can," the man said, letting go of Steve's hand. "I'm a friend of Tony's."
Tony. "A friend, or a 'friend'?" Steve tried to put verbal quotes around the word. His helpers were busy farther up the mural, filling in base colors, but he didn't want any gossip. They were new people for this project, and it didn't take much to get the grapevine going.
He snorted. "Just a friend. I was his roommate in college."
It took Steve a second of thought to remember the things Tony had told him. It wasn't much—Tony was understandably a private person, and Steve had never pried. "Rhodey, right? You were always texting to check on him."
Rhodey actually smiled. "Someone had to."
"I guess you could say that," Steve nodded, looking down at his feet nervously. He'd never met anyone from Tony's real life, and he didn't know what he'd expected, but a military man in pressed jeans hadn't been it. "So I guess this is where you tell me to stay away from him, right?"
"Unless you can give me a good reason not to."
People bustled around, hurrying to get the work done before the weekend was gone. None of them looked like they had any clue what was going on. Steve wondered if Rhodey was doing this for Tony, or for Pep, then wondered if it mattered. "I wish I could."
"That so?" Rhodey's eyebrows lifted and his arms crossed. All of a sudden he looked bigger, straight-spine military bearing lifting up, until it was clear that he was nearly Steve's height. "You know how much Tony's risking for you, right?"
For Tony, then. That came as a relief. If even Tony's best friend was on Pep's side, then Steve didn't have much hope. "I can guess. But that's Tony's decision to make, not yours, not mine."
Someone nearly jostled Rhodey from behind, but he stepped forward just in time to avoid being bumped. It brought him right up into Steve's face. "Tony doesn't have a history of making good decisions," he said, voice low. "Do him a favor and don't be another mistake."
Muscles tightened along Steve's back and his heart picked up. He didn't think Rhodey was there to threaten him, but he'd been bullied too much as a kid not to react. "I understand why you're doing this," he replied in the same tone, "but I'm not the mistake you need to worry about."
Dark eyes held his before Rhodey nodded and stepped back. "I'd like to believe you, but Tony's been messed up too many times by people that said they wouldn't. You get me?"
"If I hurt him, you can come back here and kick my ass." Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it over. "I'll have earned it."
"Good to see we're on the same page." Rhodey accepted the card without looking at it, slipping it immediately into his back pocket. He looked up at the mural, taking in the vines of flowers and sprays of sunshine winding through the whole thing. "Well, I won't keep you. Just remember what I said, and we'll be good." With a nod, he turned and walked away.
The curtains were drawn, leaving the entire penthouse in darkness. He'd dressed for camouflage, in a dark grey button-up and darker pants, holding his shoes in his hand to minimize squeaking. Keeping low, Tony leaned around the bend of the stairwell, glancing both directions and up before easing out of the shadows and into the open, making for the door at a fast trot.
He'd been down in the labs when he'd gotten Steve's text, and had been so excited that he'd burned himself leaning over a hot engine. The forming blister on his stomach didn't look like it would be that big, but every little movement tugged at it. Lab accidents usually netted him worse, but it was the first time he'd done something so dumb.
Not that near death by stupidity had stopped him from accepting immediately. He'd just had to do it while slathering burn ointment on his nipples.
JARVIS had been sworn to secrecy, using the override protocols Tony had put it precisely so he could sneak out of the house. Dummy wasn't artificially intelligent enough to tattle, but he'd been docked for repairs for the evening. That left only one being who could get in his way.
Tony reached the door and dashed toward the exit elevator, socked feet shuffling on the rug. Almost there, almost...
Just as he reached the door, the elevator dinged open.
"Going somewhere?" Pepper had her arms crossed and her briefcase at her feet, still dressed for the business dinner he'd sent her on.
Like a rabbit coming face to face with a wolf, Tony froze, a thousand panicked excuses tripping¬ through his head at once. "Pep—Pepper! I was just—going for a walk. In the rain." As soon as he said it, Tony knew exactly how stupid that answer was, but once started it was too late to back out. "I love the rain—don't you like the rain? It's so... wet and... wet."
"A walk, hm?" With what had to be a carefully practiced lack of melodrama, Pepper pulled out her phone and checked it. "Not dinner, then?"
Being the sterling intellect that he was, Tony immediately leaped upon the most important aspect of this. "Did you intercept my text messages?"
"Of course I did. How else am I supposed to keep up with your schedule when you never tell me things?" She didn't look away from her phone, pointedly scrolling through with her thumb. When her eyebrows lifted, Tony winced. "You might want to make sure you have a spotter for that one, you're not that flexible."
"Look, Pep, I can—"
"No, Tony. You don't need to." Sighing, Pepper clicked her phone off and slipped it in her purse. Then she picked up her briefcase and strode past. "Do what you want. I give up."
"What?" The amount of not processing that took up was equal to a blue screen of death. Tony pivoted to keep his eyes on Pepper's back. "Why? How? Who?"
"When and where come next." Still not looking at him, Pepper paused by her usual table and started sorting papers onto it. "Because if you've ignored both Rhodey and I over something so obviously risky, you're obviously not going to stop. Rather than having you sneak around behind my back, I'm just not going to argue. Be smart, be safe, and for God's sake don't let there be a sex tape."
"Sex in front of video cameras creeps Steve out."
"Thank God for little blessings." Pepper finished fanning out whatever it was she needed him to look at and finally turned. "Just keep it from hitting the papers and I won't say a word. Deal?"
Impulsively, Tony left the elevator and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. "Thanks, Pepper."
Gently, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged back, nails scratching the back of his neck lightly. "You're welcome. Now get going, you have a dinner engagement."
Cooking was not one of Steve's talents, as it turned out. He tried, and he could manage plain things if he followed the directions to the letter, usually. Finicky foods, or anything that took more than three pans to make were beyond him.
As it turned out, a surprising amount of food was finicky or took more than three pans. After filling the kitchen with smoke he had to throw out everything and order out. Luckily, there was a Italian place just a few streets away that would deliver.
Three weeks of meeting every few days had taken a toll on Steve's wallet, but not too badly. The illustrations he'd just finished had been a good deal, and Tony barely charged a pittance compared to what Steve suspected he could have asked for. If Tony hadn't been so stubbornly insistent on not needing help, Steve probably would have asked him to move in again and paid him a salary. Then Tony could call-block Pep, and Steve wouldn't have to listen to him scramble for excuses at least once a week.
Whoever Pep was, Steve didn't like him. Most of the calls sounded pleasant, but it was obvious that he had a firm hold on Tony's life. The calls were always full of appointments and schedules, demands to know where Tony was and who he was with. It was worrying, that someone should have so much control over Tony, but whenever Steve said so Tony just blew him off. He didn't see any problem with Pep threatening to put a GPS tracker on him, but for Steve, it had been the last straw. Tony obviously couldn't see how deep in it he was, but Steve could, and he wasn't going to let Tony get hurt just because he didn't want to cause a scene.
Hopefully, a nice dinner and something quiet would make for a good time to ask Tony to stay again. Even if Tony said no, Steve wasn't going to let up. He cared too much not to at least make sure the door was open if Tony ever wanted to use it.
Steve was just laying out the food on serving plates when someone knocked. Frowning, Steve went to open the door, using his elbow to trip the lock and jiggle it open while transferring the lasagna from its Styrofoam container. As soon as the door swung open, Tony pounced, pushing the lasagna out of the way. Steve's back hit the wall, elbow knocking painfully as Tony's mouth covered his. One of Tony's feet kicked off to the side, knocking into the door and pushing it closed.
The kiss dragged on, tongues sliding against one another, desperation sharp and palpable. Clever fingers tugged at Steve's shirt, pulling it out of his slacks. He let Tony have his way right up until his hands slid down to Steve's fly. Then he pulled away, head smacking against the wall.
"You didn't buzz in," he gasped, short of breath and already feeling overheated.
"Someone else was leaving, I just caught the door," Tony grinned, popping the button on Steve's pants.
"Dinner—we have dinner," Steve protested half-heartedly, tilting his hips away. His arms were starting to ache, but not half as much as his cock.
Tony reached around and took first the loaded container, then the half full serving tray. He only moved away from Steve's body enough to set them on a table. Then he blocked him back in, hands clenched in Steve's collar. "It can wait."
A twist of the hips was all Steve needed to flip their positions. His knee slid between Tony's thighs, pinning him in place against the wall. He nipped at Tony's lips, fingers flying over the buttons of his slate grey shirt. As soon as he had an opening, he spread it open, fingers running along the skin it revealed.
Unexpectedly, Tony hissed between his teeth and flinched back. Steve went still, horror cooling his ardor. He started yanking at Tony's shirt, lifting it up, all thoughts of sex gone.
"Steve, no," Tony protested, pushing at his shoulders. "It's fine, don't worry about it—"
Steve ignored him, peeling up Tony's shirt. When he saw the bright red burn across Tony's stomach, his jaw tightened. It looked like someone had touched him with the point of a hot iron, the edges well-defined and already starting to blister. He pressed his thumb along the healthy skin under the burn. "What happened?" Steve asked, distantly surprised by how hard his voice was.
Tony yanked his shirt out of Steve's hands and down, covering up the burn. "It was an accident, and it's fine. I get worse all the time."
Worse all the time. Anger and fear rose hot in Steve's throat. He made himself take a slow breath before his emotions got the better of him. Tony wouldn't tell him who did it, and it wouldn't do any good anyway. Even if he found this one, there'd be another, and another after that.
"You should put something on it," he finally forced out, looking up. "I'll finish setting out dinner."
"Steve, don't be like this." Tony had his lip between his teeth, but everything else was blank—a professional expression, like some banker or CEO giving out bad news. Steve hated it, hated how it shut him out, hated whatever had made Tony put it on. "It's fine, it doesn't need anything."
"For me? Please?" Steve's fingers curled in Tony's shirt, gripping tight to keep from clenching into fists. "There's stuff in the bathroom cabinet, it won't take you a minute."
At first, he thought Tony would argue, but after a few seconds of staring he sighed and leaned back against the wall. "Okay, okay, let me go and I'll do it. Not that I need to, but if it makes you happy."
Unknotting his hands was hard. Steve thought he'd break a finger before he managed to let go of Tony's shirt. A kiss sweetened the deal, though, and was enough to make the last little bit of cloth come free almost easily. Tony grinned too wide and kissed him again before slipping past Steve and vanishing into the bathroom.
Steve pressed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes, listening as Tony rummaged around in his cabinet.
Something had to change.
"I can't believe you're paying me to eat lunch with you," Tony griped, taking a poke at the remainder of his panini. Steve had insisted that for once, Tony would be getting sunshine and real food. The resultant argument had nearly led back into sex, but restraint was one of the virtues Steve cultivated. "You have the weirdest fetishes, Rogers."
"It's my money." That had become a stock phrase that got a lot of use. Steve used his fork to poke Tony's salad closer to him. "You look like you miss every other meal. Eat."
"I just forget to eat. I get busy, and it happens. I'm not starving." But Tony picked up his fork and took a bite anyway, looking at Steve for approval.
At exactly twelve forty-five, the alarm on Tony's phone beeped. He glanced at it and made a face before folding his napkin. "And I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Pep, and then I've got a one-thirty, and I'll never hear the end of it if I'm late."
Under the table, Steve bumped Tony with his ankle. One last try. "Are you sure?"
"I'll be fine. You worry more than my mother ever did." Tony squeezed Steve's hand and pocketed the fifty Steve still insisted on giving him, hoping he'd put it aside for a rainy day. "Give me a call; maybe we can do something tonight."
"Yeah." Steve squeezed back, then let Tony go. If they'd been back at his apartment, he would have given him a kiss, but he didn't want to cause a scene. He wasn't worried about himself, but if something happened and the police were called, he didn't know what might be on Tony's record. "I'll do that. You get going—I don't want you in trouble."
Tony grinned and gave him a wave. "Catch you later."
Steve waited until Tony was on the corner hailing a cab before throwing a wad of money down on the table and making for his bike. It was one of the smaller ones, made for speed and agility, which made it perfect for New York traffic. Within a couple of minutes, he had his helmet on and was on his way, six cars back from the cab Tony had climbed into.
Traffic started fairly smooth, but got thick as the cab headed straight for the office buildings and skyscrapers of downtown. Steve stayed in the middle lane, expecting the cab to turn at any second. It kept its course, and discharged Tony a half-hour later in front of one of the glass and steel masterpieces of the business district.
Parking was predictably terrible and one of the many reasons why Steve never took his bike downtown if he could help it. By the time he'd found a place to leave his bike where it wouldn't get run over or stolen, it was already a quarter to two, and Steve just had to hope that Pep and Tony hadn't left.
Inside the building was as starkly intimidating as the outside, but it was also familiar. The Maria Stark Foundation had its offices on a couple of the top floors, and the business arm of Stark Industries took up the ones above it. Steve studied the directory with bewilderment. Why would a pimp work out of an office building? Maybe it was an escort service? None of the listed businesses seemed like that, but there were enough generic names that Steve wouldn't have sworn to it.
Or maybe it was just a place to meet. One of Tony's clients could work there. Maybe even the one he'd been at the award ceremony for, or the one who burned him.
Without many other options, Steve took the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor—the Maria Stark Foundation. When he'd been there last, they'd been nice and helpful, and maybe they'd recognize a description of Tony. He was handsome enough that someone might remember seeing him, and it would be a lead.
Unlike when he'd been there last, the floor wasn't teeming with artists and contractors and businesspeople who were eager to get good works down on their resumes. There was only one person, actually—a petite redhead behind the main desk. Her suit looked like it walked off a runway, perfectly tailored in a crisp blue-green. Steve didn't have any experience with couture, but he had a feeling he was in its presence.
The redhead looked up from her tablet expectantly as Steve approached, smiling with that professional edge that no one ever actually meant. "Yes, can I help you?"
"I'm actually looking for someone. I know he's in the building, but I don't know which floor. I was wondering if you might be able to point me in the right direction?" Steve smiled hopefully, twiddling his thumbs with anxiety.
The woman laughed, posture relaxing subtly. "I think I can try. What's their name?"
"Um—Pep or Tony? I'm sorry, I don't know their last names." Her eyebrows went up, and Steve felt his heart drop. "Tony's about a few inches shorter than me. Kind of thin with dark hair, a goatee and blue eyes? Really good looking? And Pep's his—boss, I guess. I never met him... "The longer he talked, the more her face closed in, smile vanishing, jaw going tense.
Steve took a step back, shoulders drooping. She wasn't going to help, and probably thought he was an idiot for trying. "You know, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be wasting your time—"
"No, wait." Still not smiling, she leaned forward and locked her hands. "I think I know who you're looking for. What I don't know is why."
He stopped backing up. "You know them? Can you tell me where they are? Please?" Was it some sort of conspiracy? A ring of illegal prostitution disguised as a charity? Whatever was going on, it paid better than he'd ever dreamed.
She nodded, eyes scanning up and down him, obviously noting the bike leathers and his less-than-designer jeans. "First, tell me why you want to see them."
"It's private."
"Then so is their location." She straightened up and reached for the phone, dialing a five-digit number. "I'll call security to escort you—"
Steve dashed for the desk, slamming his thumb down on the phone-lift. A glare that could have melted the polar caps skewered him, but Steve held firm. "Wait—please? Just tell me where I can find them. That's all I want."
She didn't pick her hand up from the dial pad. "Mr. Rogers, you're demanding to know the location of specific individuals whose whereabouts are sensitive and protected information. Unless you can give me something more, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Chills curled around Steve's chest, threatening a shortness of breath like the asthma attacks he still had occasionally. "I didn't tell you my name."
The secretary froze, closing her eyes with an acidic curse. "Alright, let's do this the hard way." Slowly, she put the phone back on the hook and leaned back in her chair. "I'm Pep—Pepper Potts.
"You're Tony's pimp?" The words blurted out before Steve's brain had a chance to work as a filter.
Her smile tinkled with ice. "No, but you're hardly the first person to call me that. I expected to see you weeks ago, Mr. Rogers. You're slow on the draw." She leaned forward, one of her fashionably chunky necklaces chiming as it knocked against the desktop. "If you want to see Tony, you have to go through me."
That was unexpected, Steve thought, a bit fuzzily. When he'd made his plans to confront Tony's manager, he'd pretty much expected to be arguing with someone built like a brick wall, maybe with tattoos and piercings, or a sleazy guy in a nice suit with other people to be muscle for him. An attractive woman sitting behind a desk hadn't even crossed his mind. "No—no, that's alright. I came to see you."
"Me?" Pepper's lips turned down into a sharp frown. "Whatever you want, you're not going to get it, so I advise you to leave. Walk away, remove Tony from your contacts list, and forget any of it ever happened."
"No." Planting his hands on the smooth black desk, Steve met her eyes. "I need you to let Tony go."
She actually laughed in shock, covering her mouth politely. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Steve forced himself to take slow, even breaths. Anxiety twisted in his stomach, threatening his lunch. Confrontation didn't come naturally to him. He could hold his own, but he'd always tried the peaceful way first. Deliberately walking into the office of someone who could be dangerous was just plain nerve-wracking. "If he owes you money or something, I'll pay it. If it's something else, I'll take care of it. But I want you to leave him alone."
The hard, aggressive line of her mouth faded. "You really don't know, do you?" she asked softly, tilting her head to the side. "I thought for sure you—God damn it, Tony, why do you always leave the hard parts to me?"
"What?" Steve asked, bewildered by her sudden about-face.
"Why are you doing this?" Everything about her demeanor had changed. If he hadn't seen it, Steve never would have known she was anything but a concerned friend. "Just—tell me. Is it the thrill of the illicit? Because he's good in bed? Or do you just want him for yourself?"
"I—" A blush rose in Steve's cheeks. He licked his lips, not sure how much to say. Just because she wasn't what he'd expected didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. But there wouldn't be any use in lying. "I love him, and I want him to be safe. That's all."
"And if he doesn't love you?" Pepper's voice stayed steady. "Mr. Rogers, Tony is in high demand. If I—" Her lips twitched. "If I let him go, he could do anything he wants. Be with whoever he wants. What if that's not you?"
Just the thought made Steve's heart break a little. From the start he'd known that whatever reason Tony had for being with him, it wasn't because he cared the way Steve did. Or, apparently, for the money, unless Pepper was keeping it all for things like Manolo Blahniks and ritzy offices. "As long as he's happy and safe. That's all that matters. If he's happy with you, then—" Steve swallowed back a taste of acid in the back of his throat. "Then that's fine. I'll go away. But I need to know first."
For a second, she stared at him, and Steve had a feeling he was being sized up, weighed, and judged. Eventually, Pepper pushed to her feet—standing, she was taller than he thought, but then she stepped out from behind the desk and he saw her shoes. Five extra inches would make almost anyone tall. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
Curious and completely lost, Steve followed her back into the maze of offices and glass-enclosed boardrooms that made up the building. Everyone they passed was dressed like her—expensively—and the longer they walked, the more out of place Steve felt. He'd thought he was doing good being able to afford a decent apartment in a safe neighborhood, but even the man carting around a tray of coffee to different offices had a Gucci watch.
Pepper took him all the way to the southwest side of the building, where an elegant boardroom took up the entire corner. Thick glass windows lined the hall, the blinds raised so passing people could see everything that happened. An older woman in a suit was giving a presentation, but Steve barely glanced at the charts. His attention locked on the man at the very end of the table, heels kicked up and playing with his phone.
Tony had switched out of his t-shirt and jeans and into a business suit and tie. Surrounded by other people dressed just like him, he looked perfectly at home, a fish cozy in his fishtank. He also looked ridiculously young; the next oldest person in the room could have been his father, and there wasn't a single other person without gray hair. Every few seconds, Tony would glance up at the display, then back down at whatever he was doing on his phone, only giving it half of his attention.
"That's Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries and chair of the Maria Stark Foundation," Pepper said behind him in a gentle, soothing tone. "One of the richest men in the world and supposedly the fourth smartest. I'm not his pimp, I'm his personal assistant."
"I didn't know." Steve's hand touched the cool glass, leaving a streak behind. Dimly, he thought he should have been angry or hurt, but there wasn't anything to feel, just a slow, seeping nausea building in his stomach. I really didn't know anything about him. "I—he didn't tell me, I just assumed..."
"I know. Tony can be—" Pepper made a frustrated sound, and Steve nodded, understanding exactly what she meant to say. "But he means well. He wouldn't have intended to hurt you."
"Why are you telling me this? Aren't I a liability?" Steve turned toward Pepper, elbow bumping the glass on accident. It hadn't sounded loud to Steve, but Tony's head lifted, expression going from boredom to a rictus of horror. His mouth framed a word, inaudible but obvious.
Steve.
Legs went to work before Steve's head mind even finished cursing. Turning, he bolted down the hall.
As soon as Tony saw Steve, the bottom dropped out of his world. He scrambled to his feet, nearly leaping over his chair. Pepper barely missed being run over as he threw open the door, just in time to see Steve's back vanish around a corner.
Distantly, Tony was grateful that Pepper and Rhodey insisted he get in gym time. For an asthmatic, Steve was fast. It was everything Tony could do to keep him in sight. People shouted and careened into walls as he shoved past them, barreling through any obstacle that happened to get between him and Steve. Someone too quick on their feet for their own good flashed a picture.
This is going to be in the Enquirer tomorrow.
He was still a good two hundred feet back when Steve darted past the receptionist's desk at full tilt, diving at the elevator and pounding at the buttons. It dinged open cheerfully, and Steve scrambled in, slapping at the controls.
He's getting away he's getting away he's getting away—
Putting on a burst of speed he didn't know he had in him, Tony surged past the desk and threw himself forward, sliding into the elevator just as it closed. Muscles screamed in pain, and his shoulder knocked painfully against the floor. Tony forced himself to get to his feet, pulling his access card and swiping it through the security panel. Buttons flashed red as the override sunk in, the elevator jolting as it switched from down to up.
"We—" Tony panted, sagging against the wall, "—are going to talk."
"What's there to talk about?" Steve demanded, and it really, really wasn't fair that he barely sounded winded. Asthmatic, sure. "You lied to me."
"I didn't lie, I just didn't correct you!" There were handrails along the walls of the elevator. Tony used them to haul himself upright. If he were going to defend the last remaining scraps of his honor, he'd rather not do it while shredding the last remaining scraps of his dignity. "I never told you my last name!"
"You let me think you were a hooker!" Steve had figured out something was up. He kept thumbing the button for the ground floor, which the elevator dutifully ignored. When Tony used his override, it only had two stops, and Tony's office was the closest.
"Technically, I am—I took the money, didn't I?" The constant button-pressing was getting on Tony's nerves. He edged himself in front of the panel, so Steve had a choice between giving up and pressing Tony's belly button. "Look, let's go to my office. I'll explain, and then you can hit me or something, whatever makes you feel better."
Instead of backing up like Tony mostly expected, Steve crossed his arms and loomed. The impressively square jaw that Tony had spent more than a few weeks envying tightened with superhero-like determination. "I'm not going to hit you—what kind of man do you think I am? I just want answers."
"And you'll get them." The door slid open with a special little chord that Tony had programmed in to remind him even at his drunkest that he was at work. He took a slow step back to keep his balance but didn't get out of the doorway. "Let's just go to my office, and I'll tell you everything you want to know. Just..." Tony's voice caught embarrassingly. "Just give me a chance. Please. One shot."
Steve looked at Tony, then at the controls, and Tony knew, just knew that he was thinking about pushing Tony out of the elevator and pressing the close door button. "Tell me one thing, and I'll go with you. You owe me that much."
Tony could feel Mrs. Arbogast staring at his back and sent up a quiet prayer of thanks that he'd made all of his personal employees sign more confidentiality agreements than the Secret Service. "Anything."
"Why did you lie? Was it some sick joke?" Some of the heat left Steve's eyes, to be replaced by a suspiciously damp shine. Tony hadn't know it was possible to feel like so much of a heel, and he'd pretty much made it his adolescent life's work to be as much of a pain in the ass as possible. "Something to sit around and laughed about with your rich friends? Was I a game to you?"
"No!" Tony protested automatically, then winced. Claiming again that he didn't lie was tempting, but one look at Steve's face threw that idea screaming out the window. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, God help me. "I lied because I thought that if you knew the truth, you'd walk away and I'd never see you again, and I swear, Steve, that's all. The only other people who knew were Rhodey and Pepper, and I told them it was just the once."
For a second, he didn't think Steve would believe him. He held himself still and quiet, staring at Tony the way Pepper looked at strawberry cheesecake, wanting to believe that it would be good and knowing that it would land her in the hospital if she gave in. Finally, his head jerked in a curt nod, and Tony eased aside to let him through, still keeping his body between the elevator doors.
Mrs. Arbogast watched with special interest as Tony led Steve toward his office, walking backwards to keep him in sight. "Bambi, don't let anyone disturb us," Tony ordered, hoping that just once people would listen to him. Pepper had them all trained to do what was best for Tony, and damn what Tony thought was best for Tony. Which normally worked out pretty well, but not this time. "Anyone. I don't care if Queen Elizabeth, the President and the Pope all pop in for tea and a singalong, got it?"
"Of course, Mr. Stark," she chirped in her best placating the boss voice, and the little nugget of hope vanished. Maybe no one will interrupt.
Tony's office was exactly the opposite of what he'd planned on when he'd been a kid. For one, there was a distinct lack of dinosaurs (other than the one by the computer, but that had been a gag gift from Rhodey when he'd first taken the space over, and anyway a three inch tall plastic Brontosaurus barely counted) and way more paperwork than anticipated. Meaning, roughly, that there was paperwork. It was all polished steel and glass and shiny pieces of artwork that were supposed to be thought-provoking but were mostly things to throw the paperwork at. He pretty much hated it, but it was quiet and didn't have people with camera phones hiding behind the water cooler.
Steve took a seat on the black leather couch, hovering right on the edge while Tony poured himself a glass of courage from the cabinet. After a glance at Steve, he poured a second, figuring that if Steve didn't stay to drink it, Tony would need to, so it all worked out anyway.
It said something that Steve took the drink without protest, slugging back a mouthful. Tony took a seat opposite him on the simple but exquisitely expensive coffee table. The liquor did its work, rounding out Steve's shoulders and easing the anger from his frame. Unfortunately, what replaced it was a sort of kicked puppy hurt that Tony had no idea how to deal with.
"Okay," Steve said after a minute, cradling his brandy with both hands. "Want to tell me what this is all about?"
"No," Tony grimaced down at his brandy. Steve's eyes flashed back up at him and Tony held up a hand placatingly. "No, I don't want to tell you, but I will. Jesus, relax. I didn't bring you up here to dick around,, you know."
"How am I supposed to know that?" Steve's knees bumped Tony's as he leaned forward into Tony's space. "Everything I know about you is a lie."
"Whoa—whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a minute there. The only thing I lied about was my name and job. Everything else was honest."
"How do I—"
"Will you let me explain before you fly off the handle?" Tony snapped, and it seemed to penetrate Steve's anger. His eyes flashed wide, and he jerked back. "I'm not saying I don't deserve it—believe me, I know I do—but at least hear me out."
Steve was tense again, the liquor not able to stand up against his anger—his completely righteous and justified anger, don't forget that—at Tony. Leather squeaked as he slid back into the couch and drained down his brandy. "Talk."
Following orders had never been one of Tony's strong suits, but he swallowed back his objections. "Okay. Talking—talking now. Starting at the top." Always a good place to start, that was usually where Rhodey told him to start. Everything made more sense with the background anyway. "I was a dumb kid—dumber than your usual level of fratboy idiot, but what do you expect, I was seventeen—"
"Seventeen?" The empty glass dropped from Steve's hand, only a quick grab saving it from inevitable collision with the floor. "You were seventeen?"
Maybe starting at the beginning was a bad idea after all. "I said I was dumb, alright?" Probably the worst excuse in the world, but at least it was the truth. "And you didn't know, so don't go feeling guilty. I was young and stupid and I thought it was an easy way to make some cash when my parents cut me off."
Steve's mouth worked without making any noise. Slowly he lowered his face into his hands, clearly at a loss for words. It was actually better than Tony was expecting. At least he could talk through horrified silence.
"So I kept my last name to myself," Tony barreled on. "Not because of any forward thinking, but if my parents found out I was hooking, I'd have been dragged back to New York so fast my ass would have had rug burns. It wasn't bad at first, and then I met you, and it got better, and I..." I kind of fell a lot in love with you. "I liked you—like you, present tense, and I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you'd hate me."
"The call that night." Steve didn't pull his face from his hands, so his voice was muffled, strained with emotion. "Was that a set up? A way out so you didn't have to tell me?"
Something curled up in Tony's chest and sank its teeth in. "No. That was real." Since there was still brandy in his glass, Tony tossed it back, then closed his eyes and focused on the burn of it instead of the burn of loss. "My parents were in a car crash that night, and I had to go home to take care of the funeral. MIT agreed to let me finish my degrees from New York, so I just—I never went back."
Red-rimmed blue eyes peeked up from behind Steve's fingers. He looked stricken. "Tony, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It was a fair question." More liquor called from the cabinet, but judging from the way his eyes burned, another glass was going to turn Tony into a wreck. Very sexy, Stark, work that tragedy, baby. "So you know the rest. I ran into you, freaked out on a scale equivalent to an alien invasion, and here we are."
"I was worried about you." Tired. Steve sounded tired, which was a step up—or down, maybe, Tony wasn't really sure about emotional directions—from ready to walk out the door. "I thought you'd gotten caught up in some weird prostitution ring or—or maybe drugs or blackmail. It never occurred to you to just tell me the truth?"
"A lot of times." Looking downward, Tony fiddled with his glass. "I'd think, this is it, he's going to find out eventually, I should just spit it out. But..." But then Steve would smile or kiss him or drag Tony to a movie theater, and they'd neck in the back like horny teenagers, and Tony couldn't have risked losing even one more day of it, not even if it brought the whole world down around his ears. "I just couldn't."
Fidgety, nervous silence followed, both of them lost in their own thoughts. At least, Tony assumed Steve was thinking. He might have been mentally humming along to show tunes for all Tony could tell.
"Do you still want to leave?" Tony asked into the silence. "If you want to walk out, I won't stop you again." Pining would definitely be in order, and a date or ten with a Mr. Jack Daniels if Tony knew himself as well as he thought he did, but he wouldn't stop Steve from leaving.
"What happened to the money?" Steve didn't look at him. "Is there a piggy bank somewhere? Tips or cab fare?"
Tony blinked in confusion. "I donated it for you. There's a shelter—women's shelter, they help a lot of street walkers with nowhere else to go. I thought you might like that." Which was going to be trouble if Steve wanted a refund—the only cash Tony had on him was that first fifty that he hadn't been able to bring himself to let go of.
Steve looked up, surprise written across his face. "Really?"
"Yeah—I kept the receipts if you want them. There's enough that it might be worth putting on your taxes, get a deduction."
Slow blinks, and then Steve laughed and it was like the sun coming out again after doomsday. He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. "Now I know you're a businessman. Taxes. Jesus, Tony."
"Does that mean you're not going to leave?" Hope, ever a pain in the ass tease, bloomed in Tony's chest.
"Not if you don't want me to. Come here." He patted the couch, but what Tony crawled onto was his lap, knees snug on either side of Steve's hips, arms around his neck.
"I don't want you to," Tony promised, holding on tight in case of sudden changes of heart. He had lots of talent in clinging to things. If Steve wanted free, he was going to need a bandsaw. From up close, it was easier to see the ticks in Steve's expression, where an anxious frown wasn't quite smoothed out and the tension in his jaw hadn't really gone away. Tony touched their foreheads together, rubbing his thumb over the ridiculously strong line of Steve's jaw. "I really don't want you to."
Warm breath brushed over Tony's lips. "What do you want, then?"
"Thai," Tony answered promptly.
Steve blinked. "Thai?"
"Thai. And it's a funny thing..." Tony tried on a seductive smile, but he had a feeling it came out pathetic. Pathetic seemed to work on Steve, though, so he wasn't complaining. "My cook at home does the best Thai—I'm not sure what it's called, but there's duck involved, I think, and afterwards I've got a great system, and I know you like big band stuff, we could..." About halfway through that thought, Tony ran out of steam. After everything Steve had done for him, needed or not, dinner and some stupid music from the forties wasn't even coming close. "Would you come home with me? Please?"
"That—" One side of Steve's mouth lifted in a small smile. "You're not hiding any more secrets, are you? No superhero identity or anything?"
Tony reeled back. "Fuck, no," he sputtered. "Do I look like superhero material to you?"
"Super something." Grabbing Tony's tie, Steve hauled him back in. Their lips pressed together softly. When Steve pulled away, it was only an inch, at best. "As long as there's no other secrets, Thai sounds wonderful."
Knowing exactly when it was safe to press his luck with the same instinct that was mostly found in children and small, fuzzy creatures, Tony perked up. "Does that mean we can have office sex now? Make up office sex?"
"That depends." Steve grinned and wrapped Tony's tie around his hand again. "Got fifty dollars?"
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four
Author:
tsukinofaeriiBetas: 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
—previously undiscovered allergy to one of the ingredients in the shrimp cocktail—
Tony's concentration was entirely on bullshitting his way through an explanatory email when the coffee cup slammed down at his elbow. He jumped, almost falling backward in his chair as he tried to escape the attacking caffeine. It was in his least favorite mug, the one with the little chip on the edge and the handle that was just a tiny bit too small for comfort. Lovely manicured nails dug into the side, bending slightly from the pressure.
Following the arm up, Tony met Pepper's furious eyes with a sheepish smile. "Hi?"
"Explanation." Hair was falling into Pepper's eyes, falling loose from her usual neat coif, and he was almost positive that her makeup was the same as yesterday's, but touched up. Behind her, Rhodey had taken over the doorway, clearly playing a dual role as bodyguard and barricade. "Now."
He'd spent most of the morning trying to think of what to say, but staring into Pepper's face, all his delicately phrased words crumbled. "I was in the back room selling my body for fifty dollars, and then he took me home for more and I have a bite mark on my ass to prove it and I am so sorry."
Pepper's mouth hung open in shock. For a very real second, he thought she might throw hot coffee on him. "You—you skipped out—on—for—" The coffee shook with her hands, sloshing, and one of her nails cracked against the ceramic. "You said it was important!"
"It was, I swear—" Just in case, Tony rolled back away from the desk, so if Pepper did throw something, it wouldn't be at close range. "It was Steve! Rhodey, it was Steve, Steve Rogers, tell her that's important."
Rhodey, who'd been wisely silent, perked up. "Steve?" he asked, eyebrows knitted. "You mean—from college, Steve? Art student Steve?"
"Art student?" Pepper's grip on the coffee cup didn't ease as she turned her head to look at Rhodey, then back at Tony. "Are you saying that one of the people you prostituted yourself to at MIT found you last night? And for some reason you thought that having sex with him again was a good idea? I'm sorry, selling yourself to him again."
"It's not selling; it's a rental arrangement. And can you say that a little louder? I don't think Frank in Marketing heard you."
"Frank in Marketing isn't the one we need to worry about!" Thank God, Pepper let the coffee go to yank on her hair some more. She dropped down into one of the visitors chairs, elbows coming down hard on the glass desktop. "I know you like playing chicken with the tabloids, but this is more than just dating Britney Spears, Tony. This is bad. When this Steve guy goes to the papers—"
"That's not going to happen—"
"Of course it's going to happen—"
"It's not." Tony didn't usually snap at Pepper—he thought of her more as a friend than an employee, but he wasn't going to sit there and be lectured on life choices he already knew he'd screwed up on. "He doesn't know who I am, and it's going to stay that way." Even if Steve did figure it out, he wasn't the kind of guy who'd take it to market. Which was naïve and from anyone else would just be dumb to believe, but Steve wasn't like that.
"So you're not going to see him again?" Rhodey crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.
Tony hesitated. It would have been the responsible thing to do. He'd gotten Steve's number, but he'd only told Steve his the one time. The chances of Steve remembering it weren't great. If he walked away, never looked back, Steve would probably still figure it out eventually, but Tony wouldn't have to be there to see it happen.
But Tony missed him. It had been nice to just roll around in the sheets and not worry about whether he was being used for the fame or gifts or a million dollar tabloid deal. It was sex. Paid sex, but money didn't really explain staying the night, or how Steve kissed him goodbye or any of the rest of it. And it was probably more than that to Steve, too, or he wouldn't have asked Tony to stay.
The money Steve had paid him burned a hole in his pocket—a five, five ones, two tens and a twenty, bills he'd been carrying for a decade, and wasn't that a trip?
"Tones." Rhodey's voice dragged him out of his thoughts. "You're not going to, right? Just walk away."
It was the responsible thing to do. "Yeah," Tony nodded, sinking back in his computer chair. "Yeah, I'm not going to see him again."
Steve's phone rang somewhere in the depths of his hip pocket while he struggled to pin back up a work in progress. Tucking the brush in his mouth, he kept his hand on the loose canvas to hold it while he fumbled in his jeans. A streak of red-orange—water-based, thank God—followed his thumb as he pressed the answer button. "Mmfg—Rogers."
"Hey, are you at home?" Tony's voice through a crackle of static. Behind him, a trunk horn blared and something splashed. "I was just calling to see if you've got some spare cash."
The paint brush fell out from between Steve's lips, and he nearly dropped the phone and the canvas both trying to catch it. "I—yeah, I've got money I can give you. When do you need it by—it's not that Pep person is it?" He balanced the phone between shoulder and ear to free up his hands. Very carefully he stretched out the canvas again and re-pinned it. Wet paint had smeared in places from the fall, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed. Acrylics weren't as bad as oils when it came to that. "That offer still stands, if you need to get away."
Tony didn't say anything at first. Enough time passed that Steve worried that he'd said something wrong. Then Tony let out a snicker that cascaded into open laughter.
"I don't need money, Steve. I was asking if you want to have sex," Tony explained between chuckles, his voice barely audible over the sound of traffic and bad weather. "But thanks for the thought all the same."
A flush of heat curled through Steve's stomach. It had only been a few days since he'd kissed Tony goodbye, but it felt like much longer. Easy, Rogers. Don't expect too much. Letting his hopes get the better of him had just hurt last time.
Loving Tony wasn't an easy habit to break, though. In ten years, he hadn't really managed it. "Yeah, I think I can spare some cash."
"Great." Tony's grin was audible, a bounce in his voice that made Steve smile automatically. "Buzz me in—it's pouring out here."
"So, you're Steve Rogers."
Steve looked over his shoulder, brush still lifted from its upstroke. Behind him, a tall black man stood waiting, hands shoved into his jean pockets. Military, or ex-military, Steve could tell just from the way he stood, a second away from saluting. Carefully, he put down his brush and turned from the wall, offering his hand for a shake. "Yes, I am. Can I help you?"
He looked Steve up and down before taking his hand in a firm grip. It wasn't too strong though, which was good to know. A lot of guys tried to macho it up when they saw how big Steve was, and he didn't want to get into some sort of contest with a stranger. "I think you can," the man said, letting go of Steve's hand. "I'm a friend of Tony's."
Tony. "A friend, or a 'friend'?" Steve tried to put verbal quotes around the word. His helpers were busy farther up the mural, filling in base colors, but he didn't want any gossip. They were new people for this project, and it didn't take much to get the grapevine going.
He snorted. "Just a friend. I was his roommate in college."
It took Steve a second of thought to remember the things Tony had told him. It wasn't much—Tony was understandably a private person, and Steve had never pried. "Rhodey, right? You were always texting to check on him."
Rhodey actually smiled. "Someone had to."
"I guess you could say that," Steve nodded, looking down at his feet nervously. He'd never met anyone from Tony's real life, and he didn't know what he'd expected, but a military man in pressed jeans hadn't been it. "So I guess this is where you tell me to stay away from him, right?"
"Unless you can give me a good reason not to."
People bustled around, hurrying to get the work done before the weekend was gone. None of them looked like they had any clue what was going on. Steve wondered if Rhodey was doing this for Tony, or for Pep, then wondered if it mattered. "I wish I could."
"That so?" Rhodey's eyebrows lifted and his arms crossed. All of a sudden he looked bigger, straight-spine military bearing lifting up, until it was clear that he was nearly Steve's height. "You know how much Tony's risking for you, right?"
For Tony, then. That came as a relief. If even Tony's best friend was on Pep's side, then Steve didn't have much hope. "I can guess. But that's Tony's decision to make, not yours, not mine."
Someone nearly jostled Rhodey from behind, but he stepped forward just in time to avoid being bumped. It brought him right up into Steve's face. "Tony doesn't have a history of making good decisions," he said, voice low. "Do him a favor and don't be another mistake."
Muscles tightened along Steve's back and his heart picked up. He didn't think Rhodey was there to threaten him, but he'd been bullied too much as a kid not to react. "I understand why you're doing this," he replied in the same tone, "but I'm not the mistake you need to worry about."
Dark eyes held his before Rhodey nodded and stepped back. "I'd like to believe you, but Tony's been messed up too many times by people that said they wouldn't. You get me?"
"If I hurt him, you can come back here and kick my ass." Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it over. "I'll have earned it."
"Good to see we're on the same page." Rhodey accepted the card without looking at it, slipping it immediately into his back pocket. He looked up at the mural, taking in the vines of flowers and sprays of sunshine winding through the whole thing. "Well, I won't keep you. Just remember what I said, and we'll be good." With a nod, he turned and walked away.
The curtains were drawn, leaving the entire penthouse in darkness. He'd dressed for camouflage, in a dark grey button-up and darker pants, holding his shoes in his hand to minimize squeaking. Keeping low, Tony leaned around the bend of the stairwell, glancing both directions and up before easing out of the shadows and into the open, making for the door at a fast trot.
He'd been down in the labs when he'd gotten Steve's text, and had been so excited that he'd burned himself leaning over a hot engine. The forming blister on his stomach didn't look like it would be that big, but every little movement tugged at it. Lab accidents usually netted him worse, but it was the first time he'd done something so dumb.
Not that near death by stupidity had stopped him from accepting immediately. He'd just had to do it while slathering burn ointment on his nipples.
JARVIS had been sworn to secrecy, using the override protocols Tony had put it precisely so he could sneak out of the house. Dummy wasn't artificially intelligent enough to tattle, but he'd been docked for repairs for the evening. That left only one being who could get in his way.
Tony reached the door and dashed toward the exit elevator, socked feet shuffling on the rug. Almost there, almost...
Just as he reached the door, the elevator dinged open.
"Going somewhere?" Pepper had her arms crossed and her briefcase at her feet, still dressed for the business dinner he'd sent her on.
Like a rabbit coming face to face with a wolf, Tony froze, a thousand panicked excuses tripping¬ through his head at once. "Pep—Pepper! I was just—going for a walk. In the rain." As soon as he said it, Tony knew exactly how stupid that answer was, but once started it was too late to back out. "I love the rain—don't you like the rain? It's so... wet and... wet."
"A walk, hm?" With what had to be a carefully practiced lack of melodrama, Pepper pulled out her phone and checked it. "Not dinner, then?"
Being the sterling intellect that he was, Tony immediately leaped upon the most important aspect of this. "Did you intercept my text messages?"
"Of course I did. How else am I supposed to keep up with your schedule when you never tell me things?" She didn't look away from her phone, pointedly scrolling through with her thumb. When her eyebrows lifted, Tony winced. "You might want to make sure you have a spotter for that one, you're not that flexible."
"Look, Pep, I can—"
"No, Tony. You don't need to." Sighing, Pepper clicked her phone off and slipped it in her purse. Then she picked up her briefcase and strode past. "Do what you want. I give up."
"What?" The amount of not processing that took up was equal to a blue screen of death. Tony pivoted to keep his eyes on Pepper's back. "Why? How? Who?"
"When and where come next." Still not looking at him, Pepper paused by her usual table and started sorting papers onto it. "Because if you've ignored both Rhodey and I over something so obviously risky, you're obviously not going to stop. Rather than having you sneak around behind my back, I'm just not going to argue. Be smart, be safe, and for God's sake don't let there be a sex tape."
"Sex in front of video cameras creeps Steve out."
"Thank God for little blessings." Pepper finished fanning out whatever it was she needed him to look at and finally turned. "Just keep it from hitting the papers and I won't say a word. Deal?"
Impulsively, Tony left the elevator and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. "Thanks, Pepper."
Gently, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged back, nails scratching the back of his neck lightly. "You're welcome. Now get going, you have a dinner engagement."
Cooking was not one of Steve's talents, as it turned out. He tried, and he could manage plain things if he followed the directions to the letter, usually. Finicky foods, or anything that took more than three pans to make were beyond him.
As it turned out, a surprising amount of food was finicky or took more than three pans. After filling the kitchen with smoke he had to throw out everything and order out. Luckily, there was a Italian place just a few streets away that would deliver.
Three weeks of meeting every few days had taken a toll on Steve's wallet, but not too badly. The illustrations he'd just finished had been a good deal, and Tony barely charged a pittance compared to what Steve suspected he could have asked for. If Tony hadn't been so stubbornly insistent on not needing help, Steve probably would have asked him to move in again and paid him a salary. Then Tony could call-block Pep, and Steve wouldn't have to listen to him scramble for excuses at least once a week.
Whoever Pep was, Steve didn't like him. Most of the calls sounded pleasant, but it was obvious that he had a firm hold on Tony's life. The calls were always full of appointments and schedules, demands to know where Tony was and who he was with. It was worrying, that someone should have so much control over Tony, but whenever Steve said so Tony just blew him off. He didn't see any problem with Pep threatening to put a GPS tracker on him, but for Steve, it had been the last straw. Tony obviously couldn't see how deep in it he was, but Steve could, and he wasn't going to let Tony get hurt just because he didn't want to cause a scene.
Hopefully, a nice dinner and something quiet would make for a good time to ask Tony to stay again. Even if Tony said no, Steve wasn't going to let up. He cared too much not to at least make sure the door was open if Tony ever wanted to use it.
Steve was just laying out the food on serving plates when someone knocked. Frowning, Steve went to open the door, using his elbow to trip the lock and jiggle it open while transferring the lasagna from its Styrofoam container. As soon as the door swung open, Tony pounced, pushing the lasagna out of the way. Steve's back hit the wall, elbow knocking painfully as Tony's mouth covered his. One of Tony's feet kicked off to the side, knocking into the door and pushing it closed.
The kiss dragged on, tongues sliding against one another, desperation sharp and palpable. Clever fingers tugged at Steve's shirt, pulling it out of his slacks. He let Tony have his way right up until his hands slid down to Steve's fly. Then he pulled away, head smacking against the wall.
"You didn't buzz in," he gasped, short of breath and already feeling overheated.
"Someone else was leaving, I just caught the door," Tony grinned, popping the button on Steve's pants.
"Dinner—we have dinner," Steve protested half-heartedly, tilting his hips away. His arms were starting to ache, but not half as much as his cock.
Tony reached around and took first the loaded container, then the half full serving tray. He only moved away from Steve's body enough to set them on a table. Then he blocked him back in, hands clenched in Steve's collar. "It can wait."
A twist of the hips was all Steve needed to flip their positions. His knee slid between Tony's thighs, pinning him in place against the wall. He nipped at Tony's lips, fingers flying over the buttons of his slate grey shirt. As soon as he had an opening, he spread it open, fingers running along the skin it revealed.
Unexpectedly, Tony hissed between his teeth and flinched back. Steve went still, horror cooling his ardor. He started yanking at Tony's shirt, lifting it up, all thoughts of sex gone.
"Steve, no," Tony protested, pushing at his shoulders. "It's fine, don't worry about it—"
Steve ignored him, peeling up Tony's shirt. When he saw the bright red burn across Tony's stomach, his jaw tightened. It looked like someone had touched him with the point of a hot iron, the edges well-defined and already starting to blister. He pressed his thumb along the healthy skin under the burn. "What happened?" Steve asked, distantly surprised by how hard his voice was.
Tony yanked his shirt out of Steve's hands and down, covering up the burn. "It was an accident, and it's fine. I get worse all the time."
Worse all the time. Anger and fear rose hot in Steve's throat. He made himself take a slow breath before his emotions got the better of him. Tony wouldn't tell him who did it, and it wouldn't do any good anyway. Even if he found this one, there'd be another, and another after that.
"You should put something on it," he finally forced out, looking up. "I'll finish setting out dinner."
"Steve, don't be like this." Tony had his lip between his teeth, but everything else was blank—a professional expression, like some banker or CEO giving out bad news. Steve hated it, hated how it shut him out, hated whatever had made Tony put it on. "It's fine, it doesn't need anything."
"For me? Please?" Steve's fingers curled in Tony's shirt, gripping tight to keep from clenching into fists. "There's stuff in the bathroom cabinet, it won't take you a minute."
At first, he thought Tony would argue, but after a few seconds of staring he sighed and leaned back against the wall. "Okay, okay, let me go and I'll do it. Not that I need to, but if it makes you happy."
Unknotting his hands was hard. Steve thought he'd break a finger before he managed to let go of Tony's shirt. A kiss sweetened the deal, though, and was enough to make the last little bit of cloth come free almost easily. Tony grinned too wide and kissed him again before slipping past Steve and vanishing into the bathroom.
Steve pressed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes, listening as Tony rummaged around in his cabinet.
Something had to change.
"I can't believe you're paying me to eat lunch with you," Tony griped, taking a poke at the remainder of his panini. Steve had insisted that for once, Tony would be getting sunshine and real food. The resultant argument had nearly led back into sex, but restraint was one of the virtues Steve cultivated. "You have the weirdest fetishes, Rogers."
"It's my money." That had become a stock phrase that got a lot of use. Steve used his fork to poke Tony's salad closer to him. "You look like you miss every other meal. Eat."
"I just forget to eat. I get busy, and it happens. I'm not starving." But Tony picked up his fork and took a bite anyway, looking at Steve for approval.
At exactly twelve forty-five, the alarm on Tony's phone beeped. He glanced at it and made a face before folding his napkin. "And I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Pep, and then I've got a one-thirty, and I'll never hear the end of it if I'm late."
Under the table, Steve bumped Tony with his ankle. One last try. "Are you sure?"
"I'll be fine. You worry more than my mother ever did." Tony squeezed Steve's hand and pocketed the fifty Steve still insisted on giving him, hoping he'd put it aside for a rainy day. "Give me a call; maybe we can do something tonight."
"Yeah." Steve squeezed back, then let Tony go. If they'd been back at his apartment, he would have given him a kiss, but he didn't want to cause a scene. He wasn't worried about himself, but if something happened and the police were called, he didn't know what might be on Tony's record. "I'll do that. You get going—I don't want you in trouble."
Tony grinned and gave him a wave. "Catch you later."
Steve waited until Tony was on the corner hailing a cab before throwing a wad of money down on the table and making for his bike. It was one of the smaller ones, made for speed and agility, which made it perfect for New York traffic. Within a couple of minutes, he had his helmet on and was on his way, six cars back from the cab Tony had climbed into.
Traffic started fairly smooth, but got thick as the cab headed straight for the office buildings and skyscrapers of downtown. Steve stayed in the middle lane, expecting the cab to turn at any second. It kept its course, and discharged Tony a half-hour later in front of one of the glass and steel masterpieces of the business district.
Parking was predictably terrible and one of the many reasons why Steve never took his bike downtown if he could help it. By the time he'd found a place to leave his bike where it wouldn't get run over or stolen, it was already a quarter to two, and Steve just had to hope that Pep and Tony hadn't left.
Inside the building was as starkly intimidating as the outside, but it was also familiar. The Maria Stark Foundation had its offices on a couple of the top floors, and the business arm of Stark Industries took up the ones above it. Steve studied the directory with bewilderment. Why would a pimp work out of an office building? Maybe it was an escort service? None of the listed businesses seemed like that, but there were enough generic names that Steve wouldn't have sworn to it.
Or maybe it was just a place to meet. One of Tony's clients could work there. Maybe even the one he'd been at the award ceremony for, or the one who burned him.
Without many other options, Steve took the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor—the Maria Stark Foundation. When he'd been there last, they'd been nice and helpful, and maybe they'd recognize a description of Tony. He was handsome enough that someone might remember seeing him, and it would be a lead.
Unlike when he'd been there last, the floor wasn't teeming with artists and contractors and businesspeople who were eager to get good works down on their resumes. There was only one person, actually—a petite redhead behind the main desk. Her suit looked like it walked off a runway, perfectly tailored in a crisp blue-green. Steve didn't have any experience with couture, but he had a feeling he was in its presence.
The redhead looked up from her tablet expectantly as Steve approached, smiling with that professional edge that no one ever actually meant. "Yes, can I help you?"
"I'm actually looking for someone. I know he's in the building, but I don't know which floor. I was wondering if you might be able to point me in the right direction?" Steve smiled hopefully, twiddling his thumbs with anxiety.
The woman laughed, posture relaxing subtly. "I think I can try. What's their name?"
"Um—Pep or Tony? I'm sorry, I don't know their last names." Her eyebrows went up, and Steve felt his heart drop. "Tony's about a few inches shorter than me. Kind of thin with dark hair, a goatee and blue eyes? Really good looking? And Pep's his—boss, I guess. I never met him... "The longer he talked, the more her face closed in, smile vanishing, jaw going tense.
Steve took a step back, shoulders drooping. She wasn't going to help, and probably thought he was an idiot for trying. "You know, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be wasting your time—"
"No, wait." Still not smiling, she leaned forward and locked her hands. "I think I know who you're looking for. What I don't know is why."
He stopped backing up. "You know them? Can you tell me where they are? Please?" Was it some sort of conspiracy? A ring of illegal prostitution disguised as a charity? Whatever was going on, it paid better than he'd ever dreamed.
She nodded, eyes scanning up and down him, obviously noting the bike leathers and his less-than-designer jeans. "First, tell me why you want to see them."
"It's private."
"Then so is their location." She straightened up and reached for the phone, dialing a five-digit number. "I'll call security to escort you—"
Steve dashed for the desk, slamming his thumb down on the phone-lift. A glare that could have melted the polar caps skewered him, but Steve held firm. "Wait—please? Just tell me where I can find them. That's all I want."
She didn't pick her hand up from the dial pad. "Mr. Rogers, you're demanding to know the location of specific individuals whose whereabouts are sensitive and protected information. Unless you can give me something more, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Chills curled around Steve's chest, threatening a shortness of breath like the asthma attacks he still had occasionally. "I didn't tell you my name."
The secretary froze, closing her eyes with an acidic curse. "Alright, let's do this the hard way." Slowly, she put the phone back on the hook and leaned back in her chair. "I'm Pep—Pepper Potts.
"You're Tony's pimp?" The words blurted out before Steve's brain had a chance to work as a filter.
Her smile tinkled with ice. "No, but you're hardly the first person to call me that. I expected to see you weeks ago, Mr. Rogers. You're slow on the draw." She leaned forward, one of her fashionably chunky necklaces chiming as it knocked against the desktop. "If you want to see Tony, you have to go through me."
That was unexpected, Steve thought, a bit fuzzily. When he'd made his plans to confront Tony's manager, he'd pretty much expected to be arguing with someone built like a brick wall, maybe with tattoos and piercings, or a sleazy guy in a nice suit with other people to be muscle for him. An attractive woman sitting behind a desk hadn't even crossed his mind. "No—no, that's alright. I came to see you."
"Me?" Pepper's lips turned down into a sharp frown. "Whatever you want, you're not going to get it, so I advise you to leave. Walk away, remove Tony from your contacts list, and forget any of it ever happened."
"No." Planting his hands on the smooth black desk, Steve met her eyes. "I need you to let Tony go."
She actually laughed in shock, covering her mouth politely. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Steve forced himself to take slow, even breaths. Anxiety twisted in his stomach, threatening his lunch. Confrontation didn't come naturally to him. He could hold his own, but he'd always tried the peaceful way first. Deliberately walking into the office of someone who could be dangerous was just plain nerve-wracking. "If he owes you money or something, I'll pay it. If it's something else, I'll take care of it. But I want you to leave him alone."
The hard, aggressive line of her mouth faded. "You really don't know, do you?" she asked softly, tilting her head to the side. "I thought for sure you—God damn it, Tony, why do you always leave the hard parts to me?"
"What?" Steve asked, bewildered by her sudden about-face.
"Why are you doing this?" Everything about her demeanor had changed. If he hadn't seen it, Steve never would have known she was anything but a concerned friend. "Just—tell me. Is it the thrill of the illicit? Because he's good in bed? Or do you just want him for yourself?"
"I—" A blush rose in Steve's cheeks. He licked his lips, not sure how much to say. Just because she wasn't what he'd expected didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. But there wouldn't be any use in lying. "I love him, and I want him to be safe. That's all."
"And if he doesn't love you?" Pepper's voice stayed steady. "Mr. Rogers, Tony is in high demand. If I—" Her lips twitched. "If I let him go, he could do anything he wants. Be with whoever he wants. What if that's not you?"
Just the thought made Steve's heart break a little. From the start he'd known that whatever reason Tony had for being with him, it wasn't because he cared the way Steve did. Or, apparently, for the money, unless Pepper was keeping it all for things like Manolo Blahniks and ritzy offices. "As long as he's happy and safe. That's all that matters. If he's happy with you, then—" Steve swallowed back a taste of acid in the back of his throat. "Then that's fine. I'll go away. But I need to know first."
For a second, she stared at him, and Steve had a feeling he was being sized up, weighed, and judged. Eventually, Pepper pushed to her feet—standing, she was taller than he thought, but then she stepped out from behind the desk and he saw her shoes. Five extra inches would make almost anyone tall. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
Curious and completely lost, Steve followed her back into the maze of offices and glass-enclosed boardrooms that made up the building. Everyone they passed was dressed like her—expensively—and the longer they walked, the more out of place Steve felt. He'd thought he was doing good being able to afford a decent apartment in a safe neighborhood, but even the man carting around a tray of coffee to different offices had a Gucci watch.
Pepper took him all the way to the southwest side of the building, where an elegant boardroom took up the entire corner. Thick glass windows lined the hall, the blinds raised so passing people could see everything that happened. An older woman in a suit was giving a presentation, but Steve barely glanced at the charts. His attention locked on the man at the very end of the table, heels kicked up and playing with his phone.
Tony had switched out of his t-shirt and jeans and into a business suit and tie. Surrounded by other people dressed just like him, he looked perfectly at home, a fish cozy in his fishtank. He also looked ridiculously young; the next oldest person in the room could have been his father, and there wasn't a single other person without gray hair. Every few seconds, Tony would glance up at the display, then back down at whatever he was doing on his phone, only giving it half of his attention.
"That's Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries and chair of the Maria Stark Foundation," Pepper said behind him in a gentle, soothing tone. "One of the richest men in the world and supposedly the fourth smartest. I'm not his pimp, I'm his personal assistant."
"I didn't know." Steve's hand touched the cool glass, leaving a streak behind. Dimly, he thought he should have been angry or hurt, but there wasn't anything to feel, just a slow, seeping nausea building in his stomach. I really didn't know anything about him. "I—he didn't tell me, I just assumed..."
"I know. Tony can be—" Pepper made a frustrated sound, and Steve nodded, understanding exactly what she meant to say. "But he means well. He wouldn't have intended to hurt you."
"Why are you telling me this? Aren't I a liability?" Steve turned toward Pepper, elbow bumping the glass on accident. It hadn't sounded loud to Steve, but Tony's head lifted, expression going from boredom to a rictus of horror. His mouth framed a word, inaudible but obvious.
Steve.
Legs went to work before Steve's head mind even finished cursing. Turning, he bolted down the hall.
As soon as Tony saw Steve, the bottom dropped out of his world. He scrambled to his feet, nearly leaping over his chair. Pepper barely missed being run over as he threw open the door, just in time to see Steve's back vanish around a corner.
Distantly, Tony was grateful that Pepper and Rhodey insisted he get in gym time. For an asthmatic, Steve was fast. It was everything Tony could do to keep him in sight. People shouted and careened into walls as he shoved past them, barreling through any obstacle that happened to get between him and Steve. Someone too quick on their feet for their own good flashed a picture.
This is going to be in the Enquirer tomorrow.
He was still a good two hundred feet back when Steve darted past the receptionist's desk at full tilt, diving at the elevator and pounding at the buttons. It dinged open cheerfully, and Steve scrambled in, slapping at the controls.
He's getting away he's getting away he's getting away—
Putting on a burst of speed he didn't know he had in him, Tony surged past the desk and threw himself forward, sliding into the elevator just as it closed. Muscles screamed in pain, and his shoulder knocked painfully against the floor. Tony forced himself to get to his feet, pulling his access card and swiping it through the security panel. Buttons flashed red as the override sunk in, the elevator jolting as it switched from down to up.
"We—" Tony panted, sagging against the wall, "—are going to talk."
"What's there to talk about?" Steve demanded, and it really, really wasn't fair that he barely sounded winded. Asthmatic, sure. "You lied to me."
"I didn't lie, I just didn't correct you!" There were handrails along the walls of the elevator. Tony used them to haul himself upright. If he were going to defend the last remaining scraps of his honor, he'd rather not do it while shredding the last remaining scraps of his dignity. "I never told you my last name!"
"You let me think you were a hooker!" Steve had figured out something was up. He kept thumbing the button for the ground floor, which the elevator dutifully ignored. When Tony used his override, it only had two stops, and Tony's office was the closest.
"Technically, I am—I took the money, didn't I?" The constant button-pressing was getting on Tony's nerves. He edged himself in front of the panel, so Steve had a choice between giving up and pressing Tony's belly button. "Look, let's go to my office. I'll explain, and then you can hit me or something, whatever makes you feel better."
Instead of backing up like Tony mostly expected, Steve crossed his arms and loomed. The impressively square jaw that Tony had spent more than a few weeks envying tightened with superhero-like determination. "I'm not going to hit you—what kind of man do you think I am? I just want answers."
"And you'll get them." The door slid open with a special little chord that Tony had programmed in to remind him even at his drunkest that he was at work. He took a slow step back to keep his balance but didn't get out of the doorway. "Let's just go to my office, and I'll tell you everything you want to know. Just..." Tony's voice caught embarrassingly. "Just give me a chance. Please. One shot."
Steve looked at Tony, then at the controls, and Tony knew, just knew that he was thinking about pushing Tony out of the elevator and pressing the close door button. "Tell me one thing, and I'll go with you. You owe me that much."
Tony could feel Mrs. Arbogast staring at his back and sent up a quiet prayer of thanks that he'd made all of his personal employees sign more confidentiality agreements than the Secret Service. "Anything."
"Why did you lie? Was it some sick joke?" Some of the heat left Steve's eyes, to be replaced by a suspiciously damp shine. Tony hadn't know it was possible to feel like so much of a heel, and he'd pretty much made it his adolescent life's work to be as much of a pain in the ass as possible. "Something to sit around and laughed about with your rich friends? Was I a game to you?"
"No!" Tony protested automatically, then winced. Claiming again that he didn't lie was tempting, but one look at Steve's face threw that idea screaming out the window. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, God help me. "I lied because I thought that if you knew the truth, you'd walk away and I'd never see you again, and I swear, Steve, that's all. The only other people who knew were Rhodey and Pepper, and I told them it was just the once."
For a second, he didn't think Steve would believe him. He held himself still and quiet, staring at Tony the way Pepper looked at strawberry cheesecake, wanting to believe that it would be good and knowing that it would land her in the hospital if she gave in. Finally, his head jerked in a curt nod, and Tony eased aside to let him through, still keeping his body between the elevator doors.
Mrs. Arbogast watched with special interest as Tony led Steve toward his office, walking backwards to keep him in sight. "Bambi, don't let anyone disturb us," Tony ordered, hoping that just once people would listen to him. Pepper had them all trained to do what was best for Tony, and damn what Tony thought was best for Tony. Which normally worked out pretty well, but not this time. "Anyone. I don't care if Queen Elizabeth, the President and the Pope all pop in for tea and a singalong, got it?"
"Of course, Mr. Stark," she chirped in her best placating the boss voice, and the little nugget of hope vanished. Maybe no one will interrupt.
Tony's office was exactly the opposite of what he'd planned on when he'd been a kid. For one, there was a distinct lack of dinosaurs (other than the one by the computer, but that had been a gag gift from Rhodey when he'd first taken the space over, and anyway a three inch tall plastic Brontosaurus barely counted) and way more paperwork than anticipated. Meaning, roughly, that there was paperwork. It was all polished steel and glass and shiny pieces of artwork that were supposed to be thought-provoking but were mostly things to throw the paperwork at. He pretty much hated it, but it was quiet and didn't have people with camera phones hiding behind the water cooler.
Steve took a seat on the black leather couch, hovering right on the edge while Tony poured himself a glass of courage from the cabinet. After a glance at Steve, he poured a second, figuring that if Steve didn't stay to drink it, Tony would need to, so it all worked out anyway.
It said something that Steve took the drink without protest, slugging back a mouthful. Tony took a seat opposite him on the simple but exquisitely expensive coffee table. The liquor did its work, rounding out Steve's shoulders and easing the anger from his frame. Unfortunately, what replaced it was a sort of kicked puppy hurt that Tony had no idea how to deal with.
"Okay," Steve said after a minute, cradling his brandy with both hands. "Want to tell me what this is all about?"
"No," Tony grimaced down at his brandy. Steve's eyes flashed back up at him and Tony held up a hand placatingly. "No, I don't want to tell you, but I will. Jesus, relax. I didn't bring you up here to dick around,, you know."
"How am I supposed to know that?" Steve's knees bumped Tony's as he leaned forward into Tony's space. "Everything I know about you is a lie."
"Whoa—whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a minute there. The only thing I lied about was my name and job. Everything else was honest."
"How do I—"
"Will you let me explain before you fly off the handle?" Tony snapped, and it seemed to penetrate Steve's anger. His eyes flashed wide, and he jerked back. "I'm not saying I don't deserve it—believe me, I know I do—but at least hear me out."
Steve was tense again, the liquor not able to stand up against his anger—his completely righteous and justified anger, don't forget that—at Tony. Leather squeaked as he slid back into the couch and drained down his brandy. "Talk."
Following orders had never been one of Tony's strong suits, but he swallowed back his objections. "Okay. Talking—talking now. Starting at the top." Always a good place to start, that was usually where Rhodey told him to start. Everything made more sense with the background anyway. "I was a dumb kid—dumber than your usual level of fratboy idiot, but what do you expect, I was seventeen—"
"Seventeen?" The empty glass dropped from Steve's hand, only a quick grab saving it from inevitable collision with the floor. "You were seventeen?"
Maybe starting at the beginning was a bad idea after all. "I said I was dumb, alright?" Probably the worst excuse in the world, but at least it was the truth. "And you didn't know, so don't go feeling guilty. I was young and stupid and I thought it was an easy way to make some cash when my parents cut me off."
Steve's mouth worked without making any noise. Slowly he lowered his face into his hands, clearly at a loss for words. It was actually better than Tony was expecting. At least he could talk through horrified silence.
"So I kept my last name to myself," Tony barreled on. "Not because of any forward thinking, but if my parents found out I was hooking, I'd have been dragged back to New York so fast my ass would have had rug burns. It wasn't bad at first, and then I met you, and it got better, and I..." I kind of fell a lot in love with you. "I liked you—like you, present tense, and I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you'd hate me."
"The call that night." Steve didn't pull his face from his hands, so his voice was muffled, strained with emotion. "Was that a set up? A way out so you didn't have to tell me?"
Something curled up in Tony's chest and sank its teeth in. "No. That was real." Since there was still brandy in his glass, Tony tossed it back, then closed his eyes and focused on the burn of it instead of the burn of loss. "My parents were in a car crash that night, and I had to go home to take care of the funeral. MIT agreed to let me finish my degrees from New York, so I just—I never went back."
Red-rimmed blue eyes peeked up from behind Steve's fingers. He looked stricken. "Tony, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It was a fair question." More liquor called from the cabinet, but judging from the way his eyes burned, another glass was going to turn Tony into a wreck. Very sexy, Stark, work that tragedy, baby. "So you know the rest. I ran into you, freaked out on a scale equivalent to an alien invasion, and here we are."
"I was worried about you." Tired. Steve sounded tired, which was a step up—or down, maybe, Tony wasn't really sure about emotional directions—from ready to walk out the door. "I thought you'd gotten caught up in some weird prostitution ring or—or maybe drugs or blackmail. It never occurred to you to just tell me the truth?"
"A lot of times." Looking downward, Tony fiddled with his glass. "I'd think, this is it, he's going to find out eventually, I should just spit it out. But..." But then Steve would smile or kiss him or drag Tony to a movie theater, and they'd neck in the back like horny teenagers, and Tony couldn't have risked losing even one more day of it, not even if it brought the whole world down around his ears. "I just couldn't."
Fidgety, nervous silence followed, both of them lost in their own thoughts. At least, Tony assumed Steve was thinking. He might have been mentally humming along to show tunes for all Tony could tell.
"Do you still want to leave?" Tony asked into the silence. "If you want to walk out, I won't stop you again." Pining would definitely be in order, and a date or ten with a Mr. Jack Daniels if Tony knew himself as well as he thought he did, but he wouldn't stop Steve from leaving.
"What happened to the money?" Steve didn't look at him. "Is there a piggy bank somewhere? Tips or cab fare?"
Tony blinked in confusion. "I donated it for you. There's a shelter—women's shelter, they help a lot of street walkers with nowhere else to go. I thought you might like that." Which was going to be trouble if Steve wanted a refund—the only cash Tony had on him was that first fifty that he hadn't been able to bring himself to let go of.
Steve looked up, surprise written across his face. "Really?"
"Yeah—I kept the receipts if you want them. There's enough that it might be worth putting on your taxes, get a deduction."
Slow blinks, and then Steve laughed and it was like the sun coming out again after doomsday. He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. "Now I know you're a businessman. Taxes. Jesus, Tony."
"Does that mean you're not going to leave?" Hope, ever a pain in the ass tease, bloomed in Tony's chest.
"Not if you don't want me to. Come here." He patted the couch, but what Tony crawled onto was his lap, knees snug on either side of Steve's hips, arms around his neck.
"I don't want you to," Tony promised, holding on tight in case of sudden changes of heart. He had lots of talent in clinging to things. If Steve wanted free, he was going to need a bandsaw. From up close, it was easier to see the ticks in Steve's expression, where an anxious frown wasn't quite smoothed out and the tension in his jaw hadn't really gone away. Tony touched their foreheads together, rubbing his thumb over the ridiculously strong line of Steve's jaw. "I really don't want you to."
Warm breath brushed over Tony's lips. "What do you want, then?"
"Thai," Tony answered promptly.
Steve blinked. "Thai?"
"Thai. And it's a funny thing..." Tony tried on a seductive smile, but he had a feeling it came out pathetic. Pathetic seemed to work on Steve, though, so he wasn't complaining. "My cook at home does the best Thai—I'm not sure what it's called, but there's duck involved, I think, and afterwards I've got a great system, and I know you like big band stuff, we could..." About halfway through that thought, Tony ran out of steam. After everything Steve had done for him, needed or not, dinner and some stupid music from the forties wasn't even coming close. "Would you come home with me? Please?"
"That—" One side of Steve's mouth lifted in a small smile. "You're not hiding any more secrets, are you? No superhero identity or anything?"
Tony reeled back. "Fuck, no," he sputtered. "Do I look like superhero material to you?"
"Super something." Grabbing Tony's tie, Steve hauled him back in. Their lips pressed together softly. When Steve pulled away, it was only an inch, at best. "As long as there's no other secrets, Thai sounds wonderful."
Knowing exactly when it was safe to press his luck with the same instinct that was mostly found in children and small, fuzzy creatures, Tony perked up. "Does that mean we can have office sex now? Make up office sex?"
"That depends." Steve grinned and wrapped Tony's tie around his hand again. "Got fifty dollars?"
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four