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presidentrhodes · 5 years

Note

How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up."

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city.

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it."

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero.

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet.

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—"

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla." The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain."

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof.

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids.

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids.

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too.

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath.

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months.

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying."

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?"

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles.

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman."

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human.

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one."

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J."

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine.

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks.

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise.

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—"

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow.

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he’s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…"

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence.

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?"

"He really needs that psych eval."

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body.

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive.

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband."

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams.

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage.

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx.

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late.

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out.

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign.

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door.

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?"

Natasha kicks him under the table.

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?"

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date."

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again.

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team."

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim."

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures."

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today."

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?"

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium.

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity.

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it.

–FIN–

#james rhodes #tony stark #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #rhodeytony #avengers #mcu #fics #asks #rhea writes #theherothechampiontheinquisitor

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thepiecesofcait · 5 years

Note

For the asks; Combeferre, Feuilly, and Marius

Combeferre: What is the coolest random fact you know?There are so many unconnected tidbits of information in my brain, it is very hard to pinpoint just one, so I’m going to go with the most recent random fact I brought up in conversation:In Australia, we have these lizards called ‘Bobtails’ or ‘Sleepy Lizards’, and they give birth to live young! I knew that the platypus and echidna were both mammals that laid eggs, but I wasn’t aware that we had a reptile equivalent until a late-night Attenborough documentary a few years ago.I can’t even remember how this came up over coffee yesterday, but it was Relevant.

Feuilly: What is something that you’re proud of that you had to work hard to achieve?Super recently I managed to get through Inktober which was utterly exhausting (on top of working, volunteer stuff, and being a single parent to a very energetic 3yo) but I’m really happy to have survived it and actually ended up liking most of what I made. There’s like two prompts that I’m not psyched about what I turned out, but 2/31 ain't bad!I only picked up drawing again just before last years’ Inktober, so looking back at my skill level then compared to what I can draw now? Well, let’s say I’m super psyched to see what the next twelve months bring!

Marius: Do you speak more than 1 language? If so, which ones?I can understand a fair bit of German (I used to host couchsurfers, and must have had around 300 Germans stay with me over the 5-6 years that I did that.)I pick up speaking it quite quickly when I’m in the country. But then I come home to Australia and my speech goes straight out the window.

#Ask Cait #That Feuilly one was a struggle #Me? Take pride in my work? Unlikely.#Also unrelated but I miss Germany #It's been two years #take me back

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stickystarspectrumtroll-ocs · 5 years

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There are two OCs I have that I like very much but don’t include in my OC squad posts

They come from an online roleplay that nopony’s made any more posts or comments on in months now. I haven’t gotten to really do anything with them, but I find them very fascinating.

The roleplay is set in a school for superheroes and supervillains in training. One of my characters is a hero, the other’s a villain.

The hero character’s civilian name is Carol-Caitlyn Fletcher. Called C.C. for short.

She’s a generally cheerful and perky and optimistic person. She’s fairly enegertic, kinda goofy, kinda awkward, a little over-excitable, and super pumped for this whole superhero gig. She’s also really into art. Super good at drawing, carries her sketchbook and colored pencils with her everywhere. Also likes to sing. She’s good at that too.

Her powers include firing power blasts from her fists, and sprouting wings so she can fly, along with a unicorn horn that allows for telekinesis. They get a little hard for her to control when she’s excited or upset, and that’s been known to happen fairly often. Like, she’s super excited or super freaked out about something, and as she’s pacing the room chattering away about it, her unicorn horn appears and makes things just randomly float. Or she’s really mad at somepony and accidentally sends an energy blast through the wall or makes a dozen books float and then go zooming at the person she’s mad at.

But she does get pretty good at using her powers, and takes pretty naturally to being a superhero. I imagine her on her first time out there stopping crime, and every time after that, totally killing it out there and having tons of fun doing it. I picture her being the kind of superhero to cheerfully joke around and tease the bad guys as she’s apprehending them, and try to come up with oneliners on the go, commenting on each one to herself (”nah, that’s not it” or “hmm, I like it, but not quite” or “heyyy, that was pretty good! I gotta remember that one...”), and of course have the classic big-smile “I’m just happy to help” response to being thanked. Y’know.

Her superhero name is Mitochondria. (Because “powerhouse of the cell...” get it?...... I’ll... I’ll see myself out...)

Now, my villain character is named Jasper Lukas Von Rosenberg.

He has no superpowers, he’s the kind of villain who makes up for that with genius brains and dramatic flair.

He’s into all the classic villain shtick. Any day-to-day supervillain scheme you’ve heard of, like robbing museums or bank vaults or kidnapping somepony important or zapping people with ray guns that have all kinds of effects on them, plus having an evil lair full of machines and crocodile pits and stuff, and making dramatic entrances, giving villainous monologues, villain musical numbers even. Yes, he very much enjoys all of that. And in day-to-day life in school, he’ll be the one pulling fire alarms, starting food fights, pranking people, all that jazz..

The catch is he’s got no backstory or bigger plans motivating him for this. He doesn’t have a vendetta against anything or anyone in particular, and he doesn’t want to, like, take over the world or anything. Just things like this are good enough for him. He does it because to him, it’s all just fun. Heck, if he steals priceless artifacts from a museum or something, he's just gonna juggle them and play with them, and if he’s zapping people with a ray that turns them into cats, he just thinks it’s funny to see them turn into cats and see more people run and panic. He doesn’t even care if he loses, just as long as he gets to play the game again another day.

He’s not even a bad person, really. He’s got good manners and basic human decency. He’d attempt to comfort somepony he knew if he found them crying when they were going through some hard stuff in their life. He’d be fine temporarily teaming up with the good guys against some bigger enemy that’s out to destroy the world, then going back to his usual stuff once they’re beaten. He probably KNOWS he could very well just be a good guy full-time. He just figures, where’s the fun in that?

Oh, and his villain name is Count Jokester. (oh, how he loves the sound of “Count.”)

I imagine that over time C.C. and Jasper (as their civilian identities in school) occasionally talk to each other, bit by bit come to enjoy each other’s company more and more, and develop a sort of friendship. Of course they do have some...differences of beliefs in what’s morally acceptable for a person to do and what’s not, and what kinds of rules should be broken and what kinds they’d rather follow, with Jasper’s guidelines for these things being somewhat looser than C.C.’s. And they get into debates over that. But it’s still generally light and they respect each other’s choices.

I also imagine that as superhero and supervillain they get pitted against each other kind of a lot, but they both really enjoy their fights, and come to respect each other for being good at fighting and outsmarting each other and witty banter as well. So they’re kind of friends in that too. Frenemies. Kind of like Perry the Platypus and Dr. Doofenshmirtz in a way.

They’ll probably team up (along with some more of their classmates) against a bigger threat for a while at some point in the roleplay.

Also, at some point they probably figure out each other’s secret identities, and neither is too surprised really, given both of their super-selves look and act fairly similar to their civilian selves, and this knowledge doesn’t have much of an impact on their relationship.

Occasionally I like to imagine at least one of them starting to have a mild crush on the other eventually. But I don’t know if I’d actually write about that, partly because I like them a lot as friends/frenemies, and partly because I don’t know where I would really GO with it if any other kinds of feelings happened. The idea of them actually having a romantic relationship just doesn’t feel right to me somehow. And I’m too aroace to know how to write romance anyway.

I do kind of enjoy the idea of each of them eventually just starting to silently have the crushy-blushy thoughts a little and just...acknowledging internally that okay, MAYBE they like this person, but they’re not really interested in telling them or in actually having a relationship like that. Like, maybe they’re lithromantic? I dunno. I also enjoy how Jasper would definitely start to enjoy flirting a lot, so I can just picture him doing that all the time and C.C. just kind of rolling her eyes and smirking (or either making a snarky comeback or ignoring it if they’re in the middle of a fight). But, again, I don’t know if I’ll write this in because I also really like the idea of it just being 100% platonic.

I hope the person who created the roleplay I made these two characters for starts it up again so I can actually have a set place to play around with these two. I’m just itching to do something with them.

#information dump #superhero rp #c.c.#jasper #personal favorite

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 6 years

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I Got You (chapter 5)

I am honestly beyond grateful for everyone’s encouragement on the last chapter. I’ve been struggling to keep this story going, but your response definitely helped, and I am so thankful to you all 💕💕💕 I best express my gratitude with writing, so here’s another chapter for you, guys. Thank you!

Tagging: @jamesrhodey @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell @natty-ts70 @damnhiatus @pubzie @giulisetta

Links to chapter 1, chapter 4

Chapter 5

“You know, this is a pretty decent family restaurant,” James points out, watching with a mildly disapproving frown as Stark tears into a plain-looking cheeseburger, all but moaning with pleasure as though he were savoring a most exquisite gourmet meal. “You could have ordered some real food.”

“What’s wrong with cheeseburgers?” Starks looks almost offended.

“Nothing,” James shrugs, shifting his attention back to his own plate with its piece of herb-roasted chicken seasoned to mouth-watering perfection. “I just figured that after getting our breakfast and lunch orders at drive-through windows you’d want something a bit more sophisticated than a meal that usually comes in a greasy paper bag with an optional toy for customers 12 and under.”

“I like cheeseburgers.” It’s Stark’s turn to shrug as he takes another hungry bite that drips grease and ketchup onto his chin. He reaches for a napkin, dabs it at his chin. “S’comfort food,” he manages around a mouthful, winking at James over the remainder of his sandwich.

James shakes his head, goes back to cutting up his food. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a junk food kind of guy. Given where you come from, I figured you’d have a more… sophisticated palate,” he says, snagging a piece of chicken with asparagus onto his fork and sending the combination into his mouth.

It’s good. It’s so fucking good and so welcome after the questionable-quality fast food Stark had forced on him earlier that he simply closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself enjoy the flavor, the texture and the aroma of actual, human food.

It’s why he doesn’t notice right away that something’s amiss. Not until he opens his eyes again and finds Stark looking back at him, his expression guarded, tense.

“Where I come from?” There’s an unpleasantly cold challenge in Stark’s tone, and James wonders what particular can of worms he inadvertently opened with this conversation, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.

“You’re Howard Stark’s son, aren’t you?” he asks, trying for nonchalant as he goes to cut himself another piece of the chicken. “Millionaire inventor? One of the biggest names in weapon manufacturing? I didn’t make the connection right away, but I just haven’t seen any Stark tech around in years. Our military contract had been picked up by Senator Hammer’s company after your father–”

“Passed out drunk while working on an arc reactor prototype and blew up the entire mansion?”

He frowns at the glacial callousness of Stark’s interruption, blinks uncertainly at the man. “I’m sorry,” he tries.

“Don’t be,” Stark waves him off with an ugly grimace of a smile. “Blowing himself up was the best thing he could have done with his life. Although,” he drops his unfinished cheeseburger onto the plate, leans back in the chair, dabbing the napkin at his lips, “I heard rumors that he may have had some help leaving this world.”

It’s so casual the way he says it, so matter-of-fact. It makes James’ skin crawl.

“You’re saying someone had him murdered?”

Stark crumples up the napkin, tosses it onto the plate. “Don’t know that for a fact,” he admits with a dispassionate shrug.

“But?” James prompts, intrigued despite himself.

Stark hums. “Howard was many things – stupid wasn’t one of them. Being drunk wasn’t new for him, but he knew his limits. He wouldn’t have gone down to his workshop if he was that hammered.” He chuckles unkindly. “Hammered. Now that’s a thought.”

James feels a cold unpleasant shiver trickle down his spine. “You’re not suggesting…”

“The good senator?” Stark’s smile is positively predatory now, and he seems pleased somehow by James’ deduction even if he shakes his head in the negative. “I’ve had the displeasure of observing Senator Hammer quite closely for ten very long and sadly irretrievable months of my life. He’s a vulgar little shit with no sense of morals or civility. But he doesn’t have enough brains or balls to pull off something like this.” He cocks his head, winks conspiratorially at James. “Now if we assume that he was not acting alone, and we combine his financial means and his unbridled enthusiasm for fattening up his own pockets with, say, Vice President Stane’s formidable ruthlessness and an unhealthy craving for power–”

“Stop!” James hisses, putting up his hand to shut the man up even as he glances furtively to the sides to make sure their conversation has not attracted any unwarranted attention. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? Accusing a high-ranking senator and the goddamn VP of conspiracy to murder?”

Stark watches him calmly, seemingly unperturbed by his agitation. “I’m not accusing them of anything, Sugar Plums,” he deflects easily, the sharp piercing gaze of his amber-brown eyes pinning James in place. “Don’t have enough facts for that. I’m merely pointing out that together those two individuals have both the appetite and the means for any sort of hostile takeover.” Stark’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Such as, for instance, the removal of an undesirable president.”

For a brief moment James forgets how to breathe. Just sits there, blinking owlishly at Stark, his heart stuttering like a scared animal inside his chest. “You...,” he chokes out, fingers tightening convulsively around the handle of his knife. “You’re insane. Do you even hear yourself?”

Stark snorts quietly, picks up his glass of water, leaving a ring of condensation on the wooden surface. “Relax, Platypus,” he responds easily and takes a long drawn out sip before setting the glass back down onto the table. “This is all purely hypothetical at this point.” The mask of feigned impassivity slips for a moment, his eyes flashing steel like the metal of a drawn sword. “Believe me,” he says, leaning forward into James’ space, and his voice, though quiet, has that same unmistakable edge of steel as well, “if I had any concrete proof that they had anything to do with that bomb that landed Happy in the hospital, they both would have been dead by now.” He waits a beat, lets the words sink in. Then pulls away, settling back in his chair, the already familiar plastic smile firmly in place. “Now, what was it you were saying about my… palate?”

James blinks rapidly, thrown completely off balance first by the wild accusations bordering on seditious and now by the dizzying change of topics. He needs time to think, to process everything that Stark just said. Because it can’t be right what he’s implying. It’s crazy. It’s the words of a madman. And yet… and yet…

“Um…,” he begins inarticulately, looking down at his poor unfinished chicken as though somehow hoping to find inspiration there for something meaningful to say when his mind is drawing a complete stunned blank.

“Hold that thought, Buttercup,” Stark interrupts him unexpectedly, and the subtle change in his tone, a slight but unmistakable strain of warning, draws James’ attention back to the man.

Stark’s whole demeanor has changed. He still sits sprawled against the back of his chair, looking for all the world like he’s relaxing over a meal and a friendly chat, but James can see a kind of battle-ready tension in him now, a cold wariness of a professional on the job.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, knowing instinctively that he needs to whisper this part.

Stark flicks a lightning quick glance somewhere past James’ shoulder, reaches once again for his water glass. “Seems like your secret admirer wasn’t quite happy with you leaving Washington so abruptly,” he murmurs into the glass.

“He’s here?” James straightens out in his seat, fighting the urge to look around. “Who is he?”

“It’s not the puppet master himself,” Stark shakes his head, setting the glass back down. “But I will bet good money that the merry little group that just sat down at the table behind us is not overly interested in today’s specials.”

James swallows tightly, rubs his suddenly sweaty palms. “How many?”

“Five that I can see. Probably more waiting outside.” Stark shifts forward a bit, casually leaning his elbows on the table, bringing him that much closer to where James is sitting. Smiles a wide artificial smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Listen to me very carefully,” he says, his voice so low that James has to strain to hear him even at this short a distance. “You’re gonna excuse yourself now and get up to go to the restroom – it’s in the back of that hallway behind me. The moment you step inside that hallway, you take the first door to your left – that’s the kitchen. You’re gonna go in and you’re gonna keep walking until you reach the back door. Don’t open it, just stay there and wait for me. Understood?”

Stark’s gaze bores into his, intense, burning, demanding, and James wants to object, wants to know what exactly is it that Stark plans to do while he makes his escape to the kitchen, wants to insist that he stay and help, but there’s a grim urgency in Stark’s expression that makes him hold his tongue. He nods once, mutely, and finds himself oddly comforted upon seeing something in Stark’s posture relax slightly at his assent. Decided now, he puts both hands on the table, takes a deep, steadying breath and pushes up, plastering on a painfully artificial smile of his own.

“I’ll be right back,” he hears himself say, holding Stark’s gaze for a brief moment before gesturing widely in the direction Stark had indicated to him earlier. “Just gotta use the little boys’ room.”

And he walks off, silently repeating to himself that Stark is a professional, that he can handle himself, that it’s his job…. And tries very hard to stop himself from turning back around when he hears the first telltale crash of splintering wood behind him.

#ironhusbands au #tony/rhodey #secret service au #special agent tony stark #president james rhodes #hurt/comfort #intrigue #my fic #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes

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rgbcn · 6 years

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If you are still up for the ff ask game: 4, 18, 36 ;)

Hey! Of course! Let me search the post, people normally never asks anything so I have it not located lol

*searching*

ok let’s go:

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

Genre... wow that’s difficult because I normally don’t think on how label my stories, I just think on an idea and go for it, but I guess in my case, romance with hints of humor? in case of tbbt or shamy is easy to go for these genres. And I guess is what I like to read as well, with a hint of mystery/drama as well, that is always welcomed. But if it makes me feel and laugh, I’m all for it. reader and writer (omg I never thought I will label myself as a writer!). Oh and smut, yeah, sorry I like smut, both writing it and reading it. that is not a genre but I’m in for it as well. LMAO

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I have, but not abandoned! I have ideas, I start outlining them, or daydreaming about them, and sometimes it takes me months to sit and write. or continue! sometimes is because I’m busy working or drawing, preparing rewards for patreon, doing a portrait or something I want to post on a date, or the giveaways, that I like to go on time as well. then at night I used to write more, but I started watching tbbt again before season 12 (I’m in season 9 already) so at night I’m not writing for now. OR reading! that’s why I’m so behind reading!! I’m sure I will be more active writing after finishing watching the seasons.

Currently I have 2 stories I started writing and a lot of ideas I want to write or draw in a comic.

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

I already did on patreon, muahaha, but I’m sure you don’t remember because I just talk a lot in my posts and it’s normal you missed it. Here we go, a little hint:

One of them is related to my shamy/lenny star wars cosplay, and the rough sketch I private posted when I had the idea. (I know, that was month ago! but I started writing it!!)

Another of them is an idea my boyfriend gave me (yes my boyfriend texts me sheldon’s ways to say something that happened to him and gives me ideas for my drawings and fanfictions. He also reads them, smut included. I love him). So he had a fire drill at work, and imagined a situation for Sheldon in similar situation, and he told me and I started my own version. But I’m still not sure how to wrap it to be funny and coherent with the current seasons, I can go and say it’s season 5, but I like to be more on the current time.

That’s all I have started, and then I have more ideas in my head. A one shot about cosplaying as well, also something related with earlier shamy for a one shot as well, and a shamy AU multichapter fantasy genre LOL. I’m not sure If I will be able to write this. But Ideas? I have a lot! How I can plug my brain into a computer? *help*

Thanks for asking, that was fun!!!!! @platypus-quacks-too

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toras-muse-cabinet · 5 years

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Mint drags her brother by his wrist towards where she had already arranged to meet with the Mobians who had posted an ad looking for a Speed player for their Extreme Gear team. She wasn’t dumb she made sure the meeting was in a nice public cafe and was bringing her Big Brother along but she was really excited, a real Extreme Gear team!! And they needed a player of her exact skill set!! This could be her chance to get famous!

Sorrel stumbles after his excited sister a small fond smile on his beak. He didn’t quite catch what had made her so excited in the first place, what with her talking almost as fast as she runs, but he did catch something about first time meeting and going to a public place for safety. He was very proud of his sister showing at least a tiny bit of maturity even if it was pretty basic.

Mint takes a seat that can be seen from the street, Sorrel taking the seat next to her while they wait for this mysterious meet up.

“So.. Now that you are calmer, what happened?”

“These guys are looking for someone to be the Speed Player in their Extreme Gear team! I could become famous Sorrel! Maybe even more famous than Sonic~”

Sorrel chuckles at the excited chatter from his sister as she quickly dissolves to talking much faster than anyone can listen. He gives a tiny frown at the idea of her rushing off to join some Extreme Gear team... that race system seems kind of brutal and lawless... He doesn’t really see the appeal in it but... He focuses on his sister’s practically shining face.. It would make her really happy huh? Sorrel smiles softly resolving to support her best he can.

Just as Sorrel comes to his resolution a Kangaroo mobian and Sugar Glider mobian take up the remaining two seats at their little table. Sorrel gives them a quick look over, deciding immediately the Sugar Glider is relatively harmless. The kangaroo on the other hand... this one could be dangerous. He had on knee high boots, they looked to be steel toed from the shape, as well as a Camo vest. This guy meant business and Sorrel wasn’t sure yet if that business was something he would trust his sister to.

Mint quickly bounces to her feet shaking first the Kangaroo’s hands then the Sugar Glider happily announcing “Hello! I’m Mint and this is my brother Sorrel! You need a Speed player right?!”

The kangaroo looks a little shocked at the chipper greeting, given how cold the girl had been on the phone “Yea... I’m Kicks.”

The Sugar Glider smiles gently, sweet as her namesake “N I’m Honey~”

They both glance to Sorrel expecting him to greet them but he’s still analyzing the situation, a small frown on his face. Mint sees this and makes a face but presses on with the topic at hand “I have a lot of notes about my running speed! I’m ranked one in my school back home, though I rank at 9 here it’s only because I’ve not been here long! I’ve never used extreme gear before but I’m a really quick learner so I can figure out Extreme Gear super fast I swear!”

Kicks listens patiently, considering what she has to say “N why should we pick you ova any otha candidates? What do ya got that no one else does?”

Mint freezes at the question frowning, she’s never really had to stop and think about it. Outside of races just being fast was unique enough, What did she have that was unique other than her speed? Her tail taps against the chair while she thinks, not enough to make a loud sound just enough to make a soft ‘paf paf’. Finally she speaks again “Well.. I guess I’m pretty unique in that I can maintain my speed when going through water. Not many can claim that feat~”

Kicks smirks seeming amused by this response, but Honey pipes up curious about this “Wait.. really? Why would you even practice that?”

Mint smiles bouncing “The best place to practice in the village is the park, and there’s a swimming pond across the middle so instead of weaving the woods around the pond I started diving in and swimming across it during the hot months! I can swim the whole thing in one breath and leap back out to keep running~”

Honey tilts her head curiously “But.. doesn’t the wet feet make it hard to keep running?”

Mint shakes her head lifting her foot to draw Honey’s attention to it “My claws help me keep a grip on the ground.”

Honey looks at the claws and turns to Kicks excited “Kicks she’s like.. the best candidate so far?!”

Kicks huffs a little scratching his head “’cept the part where she’s neva used extreme gear.”

Honey rolls her eyes “It’s not like it’s hard to pick up! If you can balance on a skateboard you can balance on an extreme gear board! Besides she clearly can learn on her feet and that’s the most important thing for a racer!”

Sorrel tilts his head slightly listening to the pair argue, eyes narrowing when they mention how dangerous the races can get and that Honey’s almost broken an arm during practice on several occasions. They seem to agree Mint is the best candidate and offer her the position right then. Sorrel stands abruptly causing his chair to screech horribly against the concrete.

Kicks whips to look at Sorrel standing up suddenly as well, knocking the chair over in the process, already on the defense thinking Sorrel is about to pick a fight.

“This all sounds very dangerous and stupid. How can I be sure you won’t hurt my baby sister in all of this?” Sorrel hisses, annoyed at the possibility his sister might be dragged off into some reckless racing ring.

Mint hops off her seat grabbing Sorrel’s arm whining “Sorrel nooo!! I really wanna join their team! Please~”

Kicks scoffs at the idea of Mint getting hurt “Ya listening bird brain? Honey said almost got hurt. I’d neva let them get hurt unda my watch.”

Sorrel’s eyes narrow at the name calling sizing the other up before another pleading whine from his sister seems to calm him a tad.

“Fine. But I swear to god if Mint gets hurt on your watch, whatever hurt her is getting kicked into next year and then you will be kicked into the next century.”

Kicks rolls his eyes stepping closer holding out a hand, treating the other’s words like they are hot air. No one can out kick a kangaroo as far as he’s concerned, “Deal.”

Sorrel steps closer as well grabbing Kicks hand, digging his thumb spur into the other’s hand “Good.” He hisses quietly enough that Mint doesn’t hear “Break that deal the next time you feel my spurs they will be venomous”

Before Kicks can even process the threat Sorrel is letting go of his hand and has turned to leave “Come on Mint, s almost time for your shift with the post office. You’ll need to let them know about all this racing business too.”

The pair of Platypus siblings walk away from the Kangaroo and Sugar Glider with nothing more than an excited wave from Mint.

#Pen and Ink Drabbles #Speeding Platypus #lilaclady #Green Thumb #flowerwhisperer #Flying Sweets #gentlebreeze #Yellow Terror #kickingkangaroo #((Can't really be called a drabble at 1218 words but...

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presidentrhodes · 5 years

Text

Title: Executive Privilege Rating: Explicit / Smut / PWP, as in do not read this if you’re under 18. Pairing: James Rhodes/Tony Stark Summary: Tony needs to see President Rhodes. It’s a matter of national security. @van-dyne wanted President Rhodes and Tony having sex at the Oval Office. @robertdowneyjjr promised me a good URL in return if I wrote some and she very helpfully beta-ed this so that it isn’t complete garbage.

There is no plot and I refuse to apologise for that lol.

Tony’s been on the American intelligence community’s radar since he hacked the Pentagon’s internal systems on a dare at 15, forcing them to finally implement a Stark Industries software upgrade. Pleased with his efforts, his father, Howard, bought him a nice vacation in Lyon.

When Stark Industries won the contract to become Uncle Sam’s official weapons’ supplier, under Tony’s leadership, the CIA installed a backdoor on his computer—the incompetent underhandedness reeked of a young, fresh-out-of-college analyst who thought they struck gold by bugging Tony Stark. He let J.A.R.V.I.S humour them for almost a year before the intelligence community’s best and brightest figured out all of the information they had been gleaning from his systems were false.

“You know, Honeybear,” Tony said, a little breathless from the constant, unforgiving assault on his senses. “This isn’t how I imagined reacquainting myself with your buddies at the CIA.” His voice cracked and whatever else he planned to say dissolve into a lewd moan.

Bent double over a polished mahogany desk, its hard edges digging into his pliant hips, Tony’s hands searched for purchase, something to grab hold of and anchor himself against the wanton, breathtaking pleasure lighting up his nerve endings, his face pressed flat on the empty tabletop. His 900-dollar designer shirt was bunched up over his chest, his sweat-drenched skin flushed red, and the branded dress pants pooled in a heap around his ankles; Tony’s usually immaculate hair fell into total disarray as taut muscles spasmed with every hard grind—he looked wrecked, a sharp contrast to the sense of order permeating the empty, oval room.

***

Like most things in life, Tony didn’t mean to fly out to D.C. on a whim and intrude upon the White House and insist to the administration staff that he needed to see President Rhodes, even if the latter was in the middle of an important diplomatic briefing ahead of a state visit to Australia. “It’s a matter of national security,” Tony explained to the Harvard-educated, stuffy Chief of Staff, whose irritable expression told him everything he needed to know about how Rhodey’s entourage felt about him. No doubt, his best friend must’ve sat through a dozen security briefings with the CIA and the Secret Service, each one of them urging him to reconsider his friendship with an eccentric billionaire and part-time superhero.

To state his case more emphatically, Tony flashed a salacious smile that forced Mr Chief of Staff to exit the waiting room. Within ten minutes, he was ushered into the Oval Office, where Rhodey waited for him with a closed-off, annoyed look. “We’ll resume the meeting at 4, sir,” Mr Chief said, shutting the door behind Tony.

Before Tony opened his mouth, Rhodey held up a hand; the predatory hunger in his eyes did most of the talking. “Strip,” came the curt, firm order.

A small, logical part of Tony tried to object because even he knew the dangers of them both getting caught with their pants down by the beefy, expressionless secret service guys standing outside. But the rest of him, teeming with untamed, unfulfilled chaotic energy, had a mind of its own. He untucked his shirt and undid his buckle when Rhodey beckoned him closer until Tony stood directly in front of his best friend, who leaned back in a large leather chair.

“Kneel,” Rhodey said, unusually reticent, but his eyes and the tent in his pants betrayed his arousal. “Well, don’t just wait for an invitation. Go on, do what you came here to do.”

Tony tried to protest, but Rhodey cut him off.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I’m lucky Mr Millman’s professors at Tufts drilled into him the art of discretion, otherwise, we’d have quite the scandal on hand.”

Huh. So, Mr Chief of Staff wasn’t an uptight Ivy, but, still, the dirty looks were obnoxious, Tony reflected.

He smacked his lips and reached for Rhodey’s zippers. It’s been months since he went down on his best friend, his boyfriend, because the commute between the Avengers headquarters and the White House turned out to be too much of an inconvenience for a quick fuck. He relished running his tongue over Rhodey’s erection, tasting the saltiness around the slit before a pair of hands pushed his head down with gentle firmness. Tony felt the bulbous tip graze the back of his throat, salivating at the idea of tasting his lover after months of quick tugs in the shower or before bed. Taking Rhodey’s erection deeper, he swallowed around the length, earning a well-deserved sharp intake of breath and a keening sob.

“Fuck, Tones…”

That’s the plan, Mr President, Tony thought, giving in to the ravenous desire to taste every inch of Rhodey’s cock, from shaft to the tip.

***

As far as rough fucks went, this had to be the hottest one, Tony thought. Mostly, because the idea of a bunch of burly men bursting in through the closed door, guns drawn, thinking the most powerful man in the country was in trouble, only to find him buried balls deep in Tony’s ass, made him tremble.

"Not that I have any complaints here because, damn, honeybear, this dick is just as good as I remember from..." Tony's words dissolved into a long, drawn-out moan as the thick, large cock drilled into his ass, hard, relentless, and with an express purpose of reducing him into a sobbing, incoherent mess. He was halfway there, the forceful pounding and the constant assault on his prostate leaving his skin, feverish, and his paper-thin resolve, crumbling. His own erection rubbed and glided against the smooth, polished wood, the constant friction keeping him in a state of perpetual ecstasy. "Please, Rhodey. I need...need—"

Above him, Rhodey growled and leaned over Tony’s back, biting down on his shoulder, pulling a loud, agonized wail from him. “What? Use your words, Tones. If you can’t, then I’m going to stop fucking you right now and leave you like this and ask Secret Service to escort you out, you. Insufferable. Infuriating. Cocktease.” Rhodey punctuated each word with a thrust that pushed Tony further up the desk, making his toes curl, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Tony let out a string of expletive-filled screams because, really, fuck the Secret Service outside, fuck the stuffy advisers Rhodey sent away to lunch early, and definitely fuck Mr Non-Harvard for daring to try and deny him face time with his Platypus. “Mr President, please. Please, sir, I need you. I need your cock, sir, been craving it for so long. Just, please, please give it to me, I’ll do anything you want, sir, anything, but please don’t stop. Fuck me harder, Mr President—oh god, yes, yes, like that, oh fuck…” Tony’s voice broke, so did his brain, leaving him a drooling, panting mess on the desk.

One of Rhodey’s hands snaked around Tony’s hips, the other held his neck down in place; he set an almost inhuman pace, in the way he plunged into Tony’s tight, warm channel, withdrawing till only the tip remained buried before ramming in again and again and again—in his desperation to be fucked, Tony had insisted they make do with spit because the idea of waiting any longer in their search for lube sounded ludicrous to the inventor.

The pain and discomfort had eventually given way to a bone-deep satisfaction of feeling Rhodey’s cock inside him, after months of longing for it; and, Tony wasn’t about to admit out loud that he had spent a good part of the journey from New York in his jet with three lubed fingers up his ass as he prepared to be ravished by his Platypus.

Tony trembled. He felt Rhodey press his forehead into his back as the consuming, heart-pounding smack of skin-on-skin left him gasping for air. Drops of sweat fell on the wooden surface and Tony couldn’t tell if they were his, or Rhodey’s, but he noticed the tell-tale signs of his boyfriend’s fading composure—Rhodey’s moves turned frantic, delirious, as his dry, calloused fingers squeezed Tony’s cheeks.

“You’re getting more daring, baby,” Rhodey said, nipping at Tony’s earlobe. “Dropping in unexpectedly like that, being so damn mouthy with my staff, flirting with me at work. Is this what you’ve been hoping for? You wanted to get fucked in the Oval Office, darling?” His hand slipped down from Tony’s hips and gripped his leaking cock, drawing a debauched moan from Tony. “Well, answer me.”

Tony whimpered and nodded.

“Unbelievable,” Rhodey said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “What would people say? What would the team say when they find out how needy you become when I put my cock inside you?” Rhodey tightened his hold over Tony’s throbbing erection, the pre-come leaking onto his hand making the glide easier. “Go on, you know what to do. Get yourself off.”

In his eagerness, Tony didn’t need to be told twice as his hips moved on their own, pushing into the tight hold of Rhodey’s hand and then pulling back to impale himself on the stiff cock buried in his ass. He set a quick, punishing rhythm, rocking back and forth until his muscles tensed up and pushed him over the edge. Tony came with a shout, coating the polished wood with his semen while some of it spilt on Rhodey’s hand.

“Good boy,” Rhodey said, kissing his temple and held up his soiled hand up. Without being told, Tony licked his fingers clean and said in a gruff but satiated voice, “Thank you, Mr President. Thank you, sir.”

“My turn.” Rhodey held Tony down and plunged into him, repeatedly, assailing his boyfriend’s oversensitive body, drawing soft whimpers. He lasted only a few moments longer, muttering into Tony’s ears just how good he felt under him, around him, until Rhodey stilled his hips, spilling inside Tony with a needy, drawn-out moan. “Fuck, baby. I love you,” he groaned, nuzzling into Tony’s neck.

They stayed idle, boneless, leaning over the desk and not trusting their legs to keep them upright. With some reluctance, Rhodey pulled out and they cleaned up in silence—the small, self-satisfied smirk on Tony’s face morphed into a frown as he felt the dampness spread inside his pants. “Well, all of that’s gonna come out and make a mess. You owe me a new pair of boxers, Platypus.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, crashing his lips against Tony’s; he wrapped the other man into a firm embrace and said, “I missed you.”

Tony’s grinned. “I missed you, too, Mr President. I love it when you give me good dick and show me my place, sir. I’ll let you get back to your presidential stuff.” He moved to leave when Rhodey caught his wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mr Stark? I didn’t dismiss you. No, you will not leave the premises, I have plans for you this evening.”

Tony’s eyes darkened—well, fuck, it must be his birthday.

“Ask for Brad outside. He’s hard to miss; think Rogers, but somehow beefier. He’ll escort you to my residence, where you’re going to wait until I’m done with my day. You will not touch yourself, you won’t relieve yourself, and you are going to prepare yourself for me. Do you understand?”

Tony nodded and straightened up. With his chest puffed out, he said in a semi-serious tone, “Sir, it’s my patriotic duty to be of service to you.”

“Oh fuck off, Tones,” Rhodey said, biting back the peal of laughter that threatened to erupt as he watched Tony give a full salute and limp out of the room. The Secret Service was about to have a field day with the White House’s nuisance #1.

#tony stark #james rhodes #ironhusbands #rhodeytony #tonyrhodey #ironhusbands au #mcu #rhea writes

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