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darsynia · 11 months

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Nearer, My God, To Thee | Stony | Ch. 1

STORY MASTERLIST | TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST NEXT

Written for ZaraMelMercury as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala

Summary: Steve Rogers appreciated his unexpected promotion to Fourth Officer-- until it became clear that it was more about being a novelty American-born officer of the White Star Line than it was about his skill at the job. After another frustrating shift attending to First Class, he was rescued by the devilishly handsome Tony Stark, a notoriously brilliant troublemaker annoyed by his own role as the most tempting eligible bachelor on the ship.

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 3,603 words // light D/s themes For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

Note: After years of being captivated by the wreck itself and the stories therein, I couldn't resist choosing a Titanic AU after seeing my giftee's request involving hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, and historical AU! Please note that this is not based on Jack & Rose from the film-- a Stony retelling of that already exists.

This is a fast burn, passionate romance between two people who happen to have met at one of the worst possible times. It's been pure joy to write, and I am so delighted to share it with you now!

Tags: @chickensarentcheap @linnadhiell @sobeautifullyobsessed

Excerpt:

“You look like you could bend metal, with a grip like that,” an amused voice said from behind him.

Steve released the rail, noting the stiffness in his hands. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said as he turned toward the speaker. The man was impeccably dressed, with facial hair that brought to mind a mythological satyr, but the most compelling thing about him was his eyes. Where every other inch of him spoke of elegance, class, and condescension, this gentleman’s eyes were warm and kind.

The man’s eyebrows lifted, and Steve realized he was staring. He stammered an apology using the only thing he could think of. In the handsome stranger’s breast pocket sat an elaborately embroidered handkerchief, the perfectly-even blue stitches standing out proudly in swirls and knots on the white cloth.

“Forgive me, your handkerchief has caught my--”

“Oh, this old thing?” The man’s accent was American, but he affected a British one for his interruption, patting at the distinctive object. “It’s my signature. I’m never without it. Tony Stark, prince of industry, at your visual service,” he said, dipping his head in a small bow. His lips were twisted in a clearly amused smile that suited his devilish look perfectly.

Chapter One: There let the way appear, steps unto heaven

Being a Fourth Officer on the Titanic was a point of pride for Steve Rogers, even though in practice he spent more time in First Class keeping the rich passengers happy than fulfilling his maritime duties. Lightoller had already pulled him aside to ‘freshen’ his serious expressions into friendlier ones. He’d been reminded that there were no other American-born officers at his level, and that he was doing the White Star Line a service by offering their wealthy American guests ‘the sound of home.’

Steve knew better than to object that his accent had nothing to do with his skill at his job, and neither did the small talk with the Rothschilds or Astors. He kept his uneasiness at bay by stepping out onto the First Class deck space, hoping the brisk air would help calm his mood.

As always, his excitement to see his childhood friend once he arrived in New York kept Steve going; saying goodbye to Bucky Barnes was one of the hardest things about moving to London from America. Their letters to each other came few and far between, particularly now, with Buck in the Army, and Steve at sea.

For a man of limited means, working his way up at White Star was one of the only ways he could get to see his friend again. The promotion to Fourth Officer had been a last-minute surprise, but as much as he hated being cynical, it seemed that it was driven more by a hope to placate passengers than anything useful.

Once a half hour had passed, he was still frustrated. As they had the day before, the passengers outdoors had been delighted to call him over to stand quietly in his uniform as they chatted to each other. It seemed that his duty time on the bridge every day was to be his only respite from the upper classes.

“You look like you could bend metal, with a grip like that,” an amused voice said from behind him.

“Forgive me, your handkerchief has caught my--”

“Sub-Lieutenant Steve Rogers, sir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Too late, Steve realized he used the convention of a regular introduction, not the more deferential one for men who were not equals. Before he could apologize, Stark waved him off.

“They’ve got you parading through here at every opportunity, it’s only natural you slip into a more familiar greeting. I won’t reveal your mistake if you don’t reveal mine.”

Steve was out of his element; Stark embodied a certain First Class playfulness without somehow grating on Steve’s nerves. Most of the others just gave Steve barely a glance, maybe a nod of recognition of his rank and then moved on, but not Stark.

The man in question lifted his head and sniffed in a full breath of the crisp sea air. He seemed disappointed. “You aren’t going to ask me what the mistake is, are you?”

“With respect, no sir. I am not.”

Stark’s sudden grin hit Steve in the gut in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “Good. I haven’t done it yet. I’ll let you know.”

A young woman walked over to Stark to engage him in conversation. She fully ignored Steve, which was more familiar ground. He stood politely with one hand on the railing, but to his shock, Stark reached back as though bracing himself-- except, he not quite. His hand, undoubtedly precisely placed, was now pinning Steve’s uniform cuff to the railing.

The move was so unhurried, so casually dismissive, that Steve would have been convinced it was exactly as it appeared, if it hadn’t been for Stark’s behavior in the following conversation.

The young woman was dreadfully dull, and his witting captor seemed to offload his annoyance in being stuck listening to her by feigning fascination. Every few minutes, the clever man’s hand slid further in Steve’s direction, taking Steve’s with it by necessity-- and every few minutes, the expression on Stark’s face grew more like a caricature of interest than it had before.

Tony Stark was practically embracing him by the time the young lady said something cutting and flounced off.

“That,” Stark sighed, “--was almost worth it.”

Without explaining what he meant, he stepped back and looked at Steve with a narrow-eyed speculation that made something tighten in Steve’s chest. The ache in his arm was gone in an instant.

“Am I right in assuming you’re tired of playing the toy soldier?”

The right thing to do would be to school his face to impassivity and espouse his duty, but the words died in Steve’s throat. He didn’t want to lie to Stark. Still, his loyalty was to his superiors, and--

Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t choke on the platitudes, man! I understand you perfectly.”

“My apologies,” Steve tried, but the other man shushed him.

“You’re here for my amusement second, and the pride of the Line first, I know. Speaking of the former-- did you know my father is an inveterate womanizer?”

All Steve could do was work to prevent his face from showing shock. This seemed enough for Stark, however.

“I am, of course, following in his esteemed footsteps, but for some reason, my dear papa finds that irritating. He deals with it by lobbing marriageable young women in my direction at every opportunity.” Stark turned to rest his forearms on the railing. “Perhaps we can be of assistance to each other.”

Steve thought about being asked to step into a conversation with any of the young, unmarried women of First Class. The resulting nausea prompted him to turn and face the sea as well, once again gripping the metal tightly.

“Precisely!” Stark said, nudging his elbow with his own. “That was unkind of me. My intention is to ask my father to intercede, state that I’m volatile--” He stopped, pulling out a pipe to absently shift between his fingers. “I am, of course --and ask for an escort, a goodwill gesture to protect the reputations of both passengers and ship. A respectable Sub-Lieutenant such as yourself would be a fine choice, even if you weren’t begging for death with every successive minute you spend in First Class.”

A whistle sounded before Steve could formulate his response. Stark slapped his empty hand on the railing decisively, tucking away the pipe.

“The womenfolk will spruce themselves up before luncheon, meaning I am free to speak with Major Butt about getting the President’s ear for our business. I have no intention of drawing you into my scheme if you’re unwilling, so what do you say?”

Steve took a moment to contemplate, and Stark’s patience during those seconds did a lot to recommend him. The man was certainly engaging, and the respite he was offering was too enticing to give up. “If by ‘scheme,’ you mean your intention to request myself as a personal escort, sir, I am willing.”

“Good man! I’ll speak with my father, then. Do us both a favor and appear exceedingly boring and unruffled by anything I say and do, eh? In public, I mean. In private, I’d expect you to treat me as an equal.”

Stark’s warm eyes and smile of approval sparked something in Steve’s chest, something not entirely made of pride. The ‘out of his element’ feeling returned, for a different reason, now-- but this he could do. Protect this fascinating man from the very things Steve himself was intimidated by? Absolutely. Spend more time together? Please. The chance to escape the strictures of toy soldierdom was a side benefit.

“I can, sir.”

Stark almost ruined things for both of them by reaching out and grasping Steve’s hand for a second. The facade of politeness on Stark’s face faded as quickly as the veneer of cold duty did on Steve’s. There was coalfire in that grip, enough to warm his entire body.

It was sheer luck that most of the passengers had already sought to move inside, and didn’t see them.

Steve was summoned by his superiors an hour before dinner.

“You’re to have priority for laundry, Rogers, as I’m certain you have but one dress uniform, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Howard Stark has requested to speak with you, something about his son and wanting a companion among the officers to keep him in line,” Murdock said. “Tell me now if you have any objections to get out of the way before I send you down to accept?”

That was loud and clear. “No objections, sir.”

“Good. Run and change into your best, then.” The First Officer made a face as he looked him head to toe. “I’ll do my best to find you some pieces to supplement with. If you’re to spend every waking moment with that upstart son of his, you’ll need them.”

The words ‘every waking moment’ fumbled Steve’s fingers on his buttons as he changed clothing in his cramped compartment. Thanks to his efforts in keeping quiet, his sleeping crewmates barely stirred, which was the most kindness he could offer given the lamplight he’d flooded the room with. He wondered if he’d be similarly able to filter out Tony Stark’s light in the days to come. The other man had been perceptive, and his provocative questions had sent Steve’s mind reeling even before he’d realized he was physically attracted.

He’d thought those feelings were behind him, in truth. Years working his way up in maritime commerce meant years surrounded by other men, and nothing had stirred. In a few brief moments, Tony Stark had brushed away the cobwebs, shining his bright smile into the darkest corners of Steve’s mind.

Steve looked down at himself, realizing he’d paused for contemplation at the very worst of times. Well, Stark had implied he would be a bad influence.

Once finished, Steve was painfully conscious of both his need to hurry and the desire to appear calm and unruffled. After all, a hurrying seaman on a ship such as this was liable to concern the passengers, and that was not at all appropriate.

He got to the designated suite of cabins and checked his pocket watch. He was right on time, which was a relief. Steve thumbed the empty place where the picture of his mother used to reside. It fell out in Southampton, and he wouldn’t be able to replace it until he was safely back in England.

Howard Stark turned out to be the back-slapping, gregarious sort. His son was nowhere to be seen, and Steve soon understood why-- Stark Sr. wanted to give him the third degree, asking about his childhood (he dearly missed Brooklyn), his hobbies (Steve kept his sketchbook double bagged at sea), even his love life (nonexistent and not looking). As the time passed, Steve’s legs hurt from holding himself so stiffly, and the thought occurred that Stark couldn’t possibly ask such invasive questions of the young women he sent after his son.

Then again, perhaps the younger Stark was right about his father’s view of women, and he wasn’t sending them over to share Tony’s mind, just his--

An internal door burst open, revealing Tony himself, a long metal tool of some sort in his hand. “Damned thing was locked! Imagine if I had to evacuate! You might have needed to look sideways at my mother to perpetuate the dynasty.”

Howard Stark’s demeanor closed off immediately, and his eyes rolled skyward at Tony’s impudence. “The dynasty is just fine, I’m planning to entrust it to this young man’s capable hands.”

The words may have been spoken with a clear intent to chastise, but with Howard’s back turned to his son, Steve was treated to the full glory of Tony’s reaction. His eyes widened in obvious delight, and one side of his mouth turned up, emphasizing his unique goatee in a way that felt decidedly naughty.

“I hope that means I’ve met with your approval, sir?” Steve said, his heart racing in his chest at the possible double meaning.

“Did you ask him about his hopes and dreams when he was a lad?” Tony asked, coming over to look Steve over as if he were a piece of merchandise. He was carrying the handkerchief that had caught Steve’s eye, and made sure to flick it in his direction a few times, much to his father’s annoyance.

“It’s for your own good, not that you know anything about such things,” Howard griped. “Well, young man, I see that you’re in your dress uniform. Since a different officer shared our table at dinner yesterday, it will be no unusual thing for you to appear there tonight.”

“Am I appropriately dressed? I haven’t shined my shoes since we disembarked, and I--”

Tony’s hand came down on his shoulder from behind as a brusque embrace. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! He’s worried about decorum. This will be fun.” The words were dismissive, but the reassuring squeeze at his shoulder before Tony moved away hinted that it was an act.

Dinner was simultaneously boring and exciting, depending on where Steve allowed his gaze. The scattered nature of seating at the table meant that Steve was across from Tony, who was only a seat away from his father. That left Tony able to make subtle faces behind his fork which Steve was obligated to remain composed in the face of. There was something so captivating about his impropriety, the kind of freedom that Steve could only dream of having.

He ignored the number of nightmares he'd had over the years that involved breaking protocol and reaping the consequences.

Howard’s interrogation made more sense now. An impressionable, fashionable young woman with the need to make a wealthy match would find it near-impossible to resist Tony Stark’s specific charms. The question was, did Howard have other concerns? Was Steve one of a long line of ‘reputation minders?’

“Sub-Lieutenant?”

Steve started in surprise, looking up to see the entire table’s faces arrayed toward him. He’d been staring down at his bowl for so long the shape was burned in for a few seconds. Tony’s expression was smug, as though he knew he was the cause of the woolgathering.

“My apologies,” Steve said, covering his discomfort by touching his lips with his napkin.

“Not at all!” one of the women at the table said kindly. “I confess I forget the question. Someone called out your name in concern you were fatigued, I believe?”

Thinking quickly, Steve decided to go for a kind of flattery. “I’m embarrassed to say I am not. I was caught up in memories of other lively conversations, which made me think of friends I haven’t seen for a long while.”

“I hadn’t considered that!” Mrs. Astor exclaimed. “It’s much harder to see them as often, when you’re away aboard ship, isn’t it?”

The unspoken sentiment that finances were the real impediment hung uncomfortably in the air for a few seconds, and Steve didn’t dare look over at Tony as he nodded.

“The prestige of this voyage should set you up nicely for years, I imagine,” Howard remarked, and the conversation passed to other things. Steve didn’t dare look over at Tony for the rest of the meal, but after a good ten minutes of this, he did notice more noises coming from the table across from him.

The impish man seemed to be baiting him. Steve’s instincts told him he’d be most rewarded by remaining stoic, just as Tony had instructed on the deck earlier that day. It was the first time he’d chosen to be cool and professional because it was exciting, rather than out of duty.

He only slipped up once, but the image of Tony Stark slouching petulantly in his chair, a golden fork in his fingers mid-strike against his plate for the fifth time in a row was well worth the split-second glance.

Unfortunately for the man in question, he was busy speaking to his father and missed it.

When the ladies and gentlemen broke to spend time in their respective after-dinner areas, Steve made his way over to the Stark men for instructions. Tony was already agitated when he got there.

“--tedious, and you know it. It’ll be better for business if I’m not there.”

“I don’t know how you could come to that conclusion,” Howard said drily.

“Just--” Tony broke off, dropping his gesturing hand to jitter at his side. Then he caught sight of Steve. “Just send me onto the deck to ‘think about’ my behavior at dinner and let Sub-Lieutenant Rogers explain all the maritime terms until my eyelids fall off. He’ll do it, look at him! He’s a statue carved by duty.”

The sharp look Tony shot his way certainly sliced through him, but it wasn’t duty that held the knife.

“Go on, then,” Howard said, lighting his pipe. “Keep him distracted from the ladies, would you, Rogers?” he added before turning to follow the group of esteemed men heading for the smoking room.

“I’m still not looking over at you,” Steve whispered to Tony. The act of even saying that sent his heart racing, and the two of them hadn’t even defined what it was that he was avoiding.

“You’re more nervous than a skittish thoroughbred!” Tony whispered at his back, as Steve led him out onto the promenade deck. There were few others out there, but he kept walking until they were standing at a railing the farthest from the door.

He turned around and anchored himself with one hand on the metal, just as before. His heart sank to see the way his companion couldn’t stand still, his eyes darting about. Was he drunk?

“Forgive me, Mr. Stark, but were you serious about the equals thing?”

Stark clenched his jaw. “It’s Tony, and yes.”

Using his first name seemed like acknowledging that there was something unspoken, and Steve was ashamed to admit he wasn’t brave enough. He sidestepped the issue by not using any form of address at all. What he wanted to do was confront Tony about his behavior, which seemed the height of reckless disobedience, exactly the thing Howard wanted Steve to curtail. Was this some sort of game?

It wasn’t like him to risk his employer’s reputation with that kind of confrontation. “You didn’t have to do that.” Tony’s furrowed brow and possible inebriation led him to elaborate. “Compli-- Speak of me on such high terms.”

“Oh, it wasn’t just for you. I was starting to worry about whether your smile joints work. Angering my father was gravy.”

“I noticed,” Steve allowed, somewhat mollified. He looked down at his shoes. “You told me to remain impassive.”

He could hear Tony’s grin in his response. “So I did! You were magnificent.”

Did the railing just give under his hand? Because he felt he could only say something this outrageous after a clear moment of goodwill between them, Steve said, “Was that all to get a rise out of me, or your father? With respect, I don’t think I’m a good target for such things.”

Tony stepped closer, his expression sobering. After a few seconds of scrutiny, he nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate your candor. Both, I’ll admit. I see now why you might have found it uncomfortable, rather than the game it could have been.” He set his hand next to Steve’s on the railing, without touching. “Can I guess at something?”

Steve nodded.

“The situation made you feel responsible for me, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe that I was misusing my power over you? In creating culpability?”

The reluctance in Steve’s tone turned it gravelly. “Yes.”

“What if I told you I preferred it the other way? That I find it exhausting to always hold the power?”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest on hearing that. In fear, yes, but also some other motivator, one that hid in the shadows of his mind, sometimes warring with his sense of what was right, what was just.

“Rogers?”

His instincts told him what to say, but did he have the strength?

“I don’t mean to talk past you, do not trouble yourself. Just a gripe on the imbalance of--”

“My name is Steve,” he interrupted Tony. “Please use it.”

He shouldn’t, couldn’t demand, even though there was every indication that Tony wanted him to. The way Tony's whole body froze still for a second made Steve question himself, but then he turned around. The look of joy and relief on his face hit Steve as hard as their first physical touch had.

Next chapter...

Note: I couldn't resist having Tony reference Major Archibald Butt, a first-class passenger and confidante of President Taft. It was the loss of his friend that had Taft so infuriated at the conflicting reports and machinations by the Marconi company regarding the messages of rescued survivors directly after the sinking. I mention it here because not everyone might know of his existence, and that's quite a last name!

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robertdowneyjjr · 11 months

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your kiss is on my list

tony’s birthday gala 2023 // stevetony 4.1k words

The last thing Tony expected when Captain America was unfrozen and came back to life and had a verbal spat with Tony before teaming up to battle an army of aliens together, was for the super soldier to one day show up at the door to his workshop with a bouquet of sunflowers and ask him out on a date.

Teenage-Tony, who had two Cap posters (one in his dorm at MIT and one in his childhood bedroom), a stolen key to Howard’s room full of Cap memorabilia, and his own one-of-a-kind homemade Captain America almanac, would have been thrilled. Adult-Tony, who at the ripe old age of 43 is only now slowly trying to properly address his decades of internalized self-worth issues, thinks this is too good to be true.

featuring: getting together, age difference with older tony, domestic avengers, steve being wonderfully stubborn, and tony being an idiot

read the fic on ao3

#stevetony #stony #tonysbirthdaygala #tony's birthday gala #steve/tony #superhusbands #stony fic #kay writes things #first full fic in months can you believe

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purpleicedteas · 11 months

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The Dotted Line

written for @tonysbirthdaygala

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Rating: E

Squares:

@allcapsbingo - B5: AU Roommate @avengersbingo - AU Roommate

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply; Mentioned Howard Stark; Arranged Relationship; Alternate Universe - Hollywood; Top Tony Stark; Bottom Steve Rogers; Teasing; Praise Kink

Summary:

Film trailblazer Steve Rogers was in need of a relationship to cover up his embarrassingly non-existent love life.

Tony Stark needed a relationship to slow down the playboy rumors.

Enter a PR relationship contract.

LINK

#stony #stevextony #tonyxsteve #stevetony #tonysteve #steve x tony #tony x steve #steve rogers #tony stark #captain america #iron man #marvel #marvel fanfiction #stony fanfiction #tonysbirthdaygala

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nikayna · 11 months

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We’ve Come a Long Way Together

Explicit 18+

Tony Stark/Steve Rogers

For @purpleicedteas as part of @tonysbirthdaygala

Excerpt: “As Steve began counting back, Tony peppered in words of encouragement - good, you’re doing great, keep going - and as he did so, an unmistakable blush began to creep over the man’s ears, then his nose, then his cheeks. He couldn’t help but stare at it, fascinated by the seemingly human crack in the Captain America armor. Steve’s pulse was an erratic jump against Tony’s fingers, though slower and steadier than before. Steve counted back five, four, three, two, one, his voice trailing off, and he was almost heavy in Tony’s hands. “You did really well, Cap,” Tony said, and as he did so Steve gave a little gasp, a little intake of air that almost seemed like it was covering up a moan, and Tony’s brain record scratched.”

Read it here!

#marvel #mcu #ao3 fanfic #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #steve rogers #smut smut smut #happy belated bday tony #tonysbirthdaygala #purpleicedteas

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dizzyst4rs · 11 months

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ironstrange piece i did for the @tonysbirthdaygala gift exchange, for Mermaid_in_space on ao3! i don't draw these two often but i Do enjoy drawing them, so i was happy to get the opportunity to do so <3

#marvel #marvel fanart #ironstrange #ironstrange fanart #doctor strange #stephen strange #tony stark #iron man

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imperialstark · 11 months

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bad reputation

The world thinks they have Tony Stark all figured out. They're wrong. Or the one where all of the Avengers learn there's more to their resident man in a can than what he seems.

posting my @tonysbirthdaygala fic on here too for my boy's special day 🤧

genius

Tony Stark, Natalie decides, is a goddamn moron. Not that she expects much from the man who self-proclaimingly privatized world peace. World peace was a joke, and anyone who believed in the concept was an optimist at best and a fool at worst. In her world, there was no room for optimists or fools, and there was definitely no room for world peace. World peace would put her out of a job. But that's not why Tony Stark is a moron. It was much more complex than some misguided belief that the forces of good would prevail at the end of the day. No, Tony Stark was a moron because he had given up.

It wasn't easy for the average eye to see—Stark's closest friends weren't even aware of how far gone he was—but Natalie had been raised and finely tuned like the most delicate of instruments to see what lay beneath the surface. Stark hid his ineptitude well, mask upon mask, layer upon layer, bright, mossy undergrowth concealing a rotting corpse. But liars recognized liars. And Tony Stark was telling the biggest lie of all. He was dying, and instead of doing something about it, he had just…given up. Genius-level intellect (supposedly), damn near unlimited finances, and the latest technology the world had to offer, and he had just given up. To hell with it all.

To hell with his second chance at life and to hell with his privatized world peace.

When Natalie had received this mission, she hadn't outwardly complained. Complaints were counterproductive to her mission. For over two decades, most of her life, whatever had been set before her, she tackled with all the force and calculation of her namesake. She had curled her hair, donned her shortest skirt, and one photoshoot later, Natalie Rushman was born.

Natasha Romanoff did not complain. Natalie Rushman, however, was not beholden to the same rules.

"I'm going to eviscerate him."

Neither was Pepper Potts, apparently.

"Does he do this often?" Natalie asks lightly, fighting the urge to track Stark down and sedate him on live television. A PA should know nothing of sedatives and disarming maneuvers. That doesn't mean she isn't tempted as she watches Tony Stark force himself into the Monaco Historic Grand Prix.

"Make me gray prematurely? Yes. Yes, he does."

Despite her promises of a thorough verbal (and maybe physical) lashing headed Tony's way, Pepper seems relatively resigned to Stark's antics. Natalie admires, hell is impressed by her calm in the moment.

Tony Stark was still a moron, but it was only a race. What was the worst that could happen?

She should have known to keep her mouth shut for not even a full minute after she settled into her own calm, impenetrable state, an arc of electricity severed a race car in two. When Natalie turns to consult with Pepper, she also finds her missing.

As she watches Pepper Potts hurdle through a race track to get to the supposed genius currently being tossed about like a ragdoll, she knows this will be one of the longest missions of her life.

Much of her tenure with Stark and Pepper continues in the same vein. Stark realizes the inevitability of his death, does something moronic, and Pepper screams. Rinse and repeat.

Almost as if to spite her, though, Natalie can't predict what Tony will do next, only the inevitable outcome. Tony's death and Pepper's fury. Natalie's sick of it. Sometimes she wants nothing more than to grab Stark by his shoulders and shake him until he gets his head straight. For the mission, of course. Natalie can count her failures on one hand and won't let Stark be one of them. But she's not Pepper Potts, arguably one of the few people on this planet who could get Tony Stark to listen to what she has to say. Natalie has to resort to different methods.

Stark doesn't notice her when she first enters his bedroom on what's possibly the last birthday of his life. She can't blame him. The dark puzzle work of poisoned veins in his chest would also keep her preoccupied. He makes quick work of the other buttons on his shirt when he notices her, and Natalie politely doesn't mention what she's seen. Stark quickly changes the subject, and he and her fall into a brand of banter that she's all too familiar with. Smirks, and doe eyes and innuendo. But Stark's heart isn't in it. Hasn't been in it since Natalie entered his life. He is everything and nothing like what she expected, so when he earnestly asks her what she would do during her last birthday party, she answers him truthfully.

"There's something about you," Tony mutters, the martini she made for him loosening his tongue. "I can't figure you out."

"I thought you were a genius," she says, teasing. Always teasing.

Tony snorts, blinks hard, the gin truly getting to him now. "Yeah, me too," he says. Her brows arch delicately, the only sign of her genuine surprise. This is the most subdued she's seen Stark, and she finds that…she hates it. Her heart, or what's left of it that's followed her into adulthood, twinges at the sight of him. At the purpling bruise on his cheek, the sweat beading at his temple, and the scars she knows lie beneath the glow of the arc reactor. She looks at Tony Stark and thinks something she hasn't thought since she was young, stupid, and full of hope.

This isn't fair.

It wasn't fair that Stark had this second chance at life, and it was being ripped away from him all in the same breath. Second chances were rare and more precious than any shining jewel she had ever seen.

"Well, at least you're honest with yourself," she blurts out, much to her chagrin. It's not at all what she wants to say, but this entire mission has been slightly out of her wheelhouse.

Stark just gives her this sad smile that doesn't meet his eyes. She's seen his real one, the one he gives to Pepper or JARVIS when he thinks no one is looking, brilliant enough to outshine their own sun. "One of us is," he says tiredly. "When are you going to be honest with me ?"

"You first," she says automatically. Like she's with someone she trusts. Like she's with Clint.

Deciding that Stark's already onto her and she's already said too much, she decides to take it one step further. She kisses Stark's cheek, not for the sake of the mission or her own pride, but because her rotten heart demands her to. "There will be more birthdays," she says firmly.

His lashes are long, she thinks absentmindedly, watching them flutter in surprise.

She nods at the door. "Now go enjoy this one."

billionaire

Tasha has a soft spot for Stark. Of course, she won't admit it, but despite popular belief, Clint's not stupid. Or blind. When you know someone for as long as he's known and fought beside Tasha, you start to realize things about them that they don't even realize themselves. Like the way her lips curl up ever so slightly whenever Stark cracks a joke. It's not a crush of that much, he's sure. But…she cares about him in her own way.

He's not jealous, far from it. Natasha's allowed to have other friends she refuses to admit are friends. It's just…he doesn't get it. Of their little team of misfits, no one, save for Thor, is as out of place as Tony Stark. Sure, Rogers is out of his time, and Banner is a lab experiment gone wrong, but they're real in a way that Stark and Thor aren't. Thor is quite literally the stuff of legends and Stark…Clint knows all about Stark. Everyone does.

Smart and easy on the eyes and filthy rich, all inherited from Howard Stark. Clint's not the type to hate someone based on something out of their control, but he can't deny the twinge of envy whenever he sees Stark in one of his little sports cars or a three-piece suit. Guys who wore suits like that generally rubbed Clint the wrong way.

Then Stark offers them a home. Rebuilds Stark Tower in their image. Clint doesn't just have a room to himself but an entire floor complete with an archery range.

Clint waits and waits for the catch, for Stark to go gotcha and rake them all over the coals, but it never comes. It drives him up the wall, waiting for the other foot to drop, so he does it himself. When the doubt and paranoia get to be too much, Clint finds himself requesting entry to Stark's lab, but as he storms into what is essentially Stark's sanctuary, the fire in him dies. Because Stark…Stark looks awful . Tony's hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, falling into bloodshot eyes. He's been crying or drinking or both . And maybe…maybe Tony inherited more than a fortune from Howard. Clint takes a tentative step closer to where Stark sits, or rather props himself up at a work table.

"JARVIS…what happened?"

"Ms. Potts called two days ago, Agent Barton."

There's emotion in JARVIS' voice, like he's worried about Tony.

And maybe Clint is too.

Tony's just watching him with those weepy eyes, holding onto a wrench of all things, like it's a stuffed animal.

"Hey," Clint says softly, hands up to show he's unarmed. He had learned that lesson at a young age. Every drunk was different, and you never knew what you would get. You always had to watch your six.

"Did he eat at all? Sleep?"

"Agent Barton, he hasn't had a bath ."

"Okay," Clint says. "Let's start there, huh?"

He should just call Rhodes and be done with it, but… he found Tony like this, and he won't leave him hungry and stinking like he's been living on the streets. A memory from a lifetime ago comes to him unbidden, rifling through the trash behind a McDonald's hoping, praying for a scrap of anything to eat. Wishing for hot water and a soft bed to lay in at the end of the night.

So he's not leaving Tony, not if he can help it. Riches be damned.

philanthropist

Tony Stark scares Bruce. But to be fair, a lot of things do. That shouldn't make Tony special, but it does . Tony Stark, with his ceaseless energy and reckless curiosity, scares the living hell out of Bruce. But he makes Bruce feel alive. He makes him feel like a man and not a monster. Like the cursed blood of Brian Banner doesn't run through his veins corrupting everything it touches.

"Brucie? You still with me?"

Tony's voice has a way of capturing his attention, unlike anything else. Save only for the massive gift Tony has just given him.

"Yeah, I am," Bruce says, thumbing the certificate in his hand: a deed, not just for a few acres, but an entire island . "I just…Tony…I can't accept this."

Tony scoffs like he's lending Bruce a pen and didn't purchase an entire swath of land in his name. "Why not?"

"I'm not a charity case," Bruce says without thinking and immediately regrets it when he sees how Tony freezes.

It would be amazing how quickly Tony retreats beyond his walls, shutters himself off from the world, if it weren't so sad.

Bruce has heard Natasha and Clint talk, has talked with them himself. And they can all agree on one thing. Tony Stark is a mask, just as much of a defense as those dark sunglasses of his that block out the world.

Bruce is no stranger to pain or repression, might as well consider himself an expert on it as much as he's an expert on gamma radiation. His expertise tells him something—or someone —made Tony this way.

"You're not…Bruce, you're not a charity case. I wouldn't—"

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, out of shock more than anything. Shock at the great Tony Stark, speechless and hunched like a shrinking violet. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just…Tony, I don't deserve this."

"What, a peace of mind? Bruce, it's not about whether or not you deserve it. If I have the means to help someone I…" Tony trails off suddenly, face going red.

"I wanted to," Tony says after some deliberation. "If you can help someone and choose not to, you're a part of the problem."

Bruce thinks back on what he's read in Tony's file, his three months in captivity especially, and the great mural that makes up Tony Stark is a little more clear.

playboy

It's the night of the Maria Stark Foundation's annual fundraising gala. Steve fights the urge to tug at his tie for the umpteenth time in what feels like forever when he's probably only been in his tuxedo for two hours. Tony had invited Steve and their fellow teammates in the hopes of killing two birds with one stone, getting donations and boosting the public's opinion of them. Schmoozing and rubbing elbows with society's finest came with the territory, or at least that's what he tries to tell himself.

While not comfortable with it, Steve's heavily familiar with the press junket. Parading around like a good little circus clown for the entertainment of others; tonight is no different. Except it is . Steve's had to smile and shake the hands of a few of Manhattan's elite, but it's nothing compared to the attention Tony receiving.

Steve tried to treat it like a mission, settling into the familiarity of having a job to do for the greater good. Any donations made would go to the recovery efforts of New York City as a whole in the aftermath of any Avengers-level threats. Dragging an ancient socialite up and down the streets of Manhattan would not do them any favors.

Steve reminds himself of that as he watches a petite black-haired woman give Tony a dazzling smile. Frowning, he sips at his champagne, wishing, not for the first time, that it still affected him.

"Squeeze that glass any harder, and you'll be picking glass shards out of your hand," Natasha says, approaching the refreshment table Steve had called home for the past hour.

She looks as hauntingly beautiful and deadly as her namesake, her blood-red hair cascading in long staggered waves over her shoulder. Natasha had opted for her usual black, this time in the form of a velvet off-the-shoulder floor-length gown. Despite their protests, Tony had helped style the entire team, sparing no expense.

"You're helping me out," Tony had said, shrugging in that way Steve knew was him trying to act like he didn't care. "It's the least I can do."

Steve grunts in acknowledgment. "Maybe that would be an improvement."

Natasha rolls her eyes, subtly jabbing him in the side as she walks past him to claim a flute of champagne for her own. "Dom Pérignon is wasted on you," she sniffs delicately.

The black-haired woman's smile grows wide at something Tony says, and soon she's laughing, a bright, sparkling thing; As she laughs, her hand comes up to clutch at Tony's shoulder.

"Ah," Natasha says knowingly, her catlike eyes glinting when she catches sight of what has snared Steve's attention. "Now that makes more sense. And here I thought, you just had bad taste in champagne."

"Nat," Steve growls under his breath. "I know you didn't come here just to talk about wine."

"Okay, sue me," she says, finally dropping her pretenses. "You look like you're about to bite someone's head off and scare off potential donors while you're doing it."

Steve's teeth grit together. He downs the rest of the champagne in one fell swoop, setting the empty glass back onto the refreshment table with a bit too much force to be considered calm. The table merely groans over Steve's blow, a testament to its craftsmanship. The resulting rattle of the glasses draws a few gazes, one of them namely being Tony's. His dark eyes widen, a hint of worry creeping into them, darting back and forth between Steve and the black-haired woman before settling on her ultimately.

"Nice," Natasha says dryly.

"You don't understand," Steve bites out, uncaring of what he looks or sounds like to New York's richest.

"Enlighten me, then," Natasha says.

"Just…how can he stand it?" He finds himself saying. Natasha doesn't ask who; it's obvious who Steve's talking about. "They're throwing themselves at him."

Steve's never felt like this, not even the few times Pepper has flown in from Malibu, and Tony greets her with a kiss on the cheek. It's not like he can't handle himself if someone gets a little handsy. He doesn't know why it bothers him so much, other people touching Tony. But the sight of the black-haired woman whispering something in Tony's ear has Steve gnashing his teeth.

"You think he enjoys it?"

Ice creeps into Natasha's voice. She may try hiding it, but Steve knows she cares for Tony.

"No," he sighs, treading carefully. He reaches for another glass of champagne like it will do him any favors. "I don't."

"Then why are you so upset?"

"I don't know." Neither a lie, nor the truth, but somewhere in between.

"It means nothing, you know," Natasha says, and at Steve's apparent confusion, she nods in Tony's direction. "Tony's been doing this for as long as he's been legal. Probably before then. It's just another mission."

Steve thinks of Tony, young and just as handsome as he is now, surrounded by the same men and women who swoop around them like vultures, and his stomach turns . "That doesn't make it okay ."

"I didn't say it did," Natasha says quietly, and maybe her bond with Tony isn't that unfounded after all.

friend

Midgard, Thor is coming to find, is a strange land with even stranger people. Their clothes, food, and speech are foreign to him, yet nothing is more strange—and invigorating—than the band of warriors he has found himself a part of; The Avengers.

Fighting beside them is familiar, a dance he's danced for eons. They're all so different from one another, but differences are good. There was strength to be found in diversity.

That they were all (relatively) ordinary mortals was a wonder to behold. Hawkeye, armed with his bow, and skilled enough to rival even some of Asgard's greatest archers. The Captain, a leader in his own right that Thor had no qualms following into battle, a true shield-brother.

Not only was Banner brilliant in mind but also in strength, with the gentlest of souls to temper him. And the Widow…put him in the mind of Loki. Cunning and vicious when threatened…but softer at her core.

All of them fierce, capable warriors…and deeply broken people.

Tony Stark was perhaps the most broken of all. He knows little of Stark's life before he became the warrior Thor knows him as today, but one does not earn the title Merchant of Death leading a life of leisure.

In some ways, Tony also reminds him of Loki, and Thor finds himself watching him out of curiosity, caution, concern, or perhaps all three. What he sees is the stuff of legends, a great tale to be told for years to come. A golden prince stolen and betrayed, only to break the chains of captivity and arise, his crimson-gold armor his only strength. While not Thor's preferred weapon, he won't deny that Tony's armor is a marvel. Tony is a marvel, as evidenced by his fellow Avengers. They speak of things Thor does not quite understand, at least not yet. They speak of a Howard, Tiberius, and sunsets, although he doesn't see how sunsets relate to Tony Stark. All he knows is that they have come to care for Tony just as he has.

It's why when the 29th of May approaches, Natasha rallies them like the best of generals before a battle. They've faced all manner of gods and monsters. A feast, or something akin to it, is child's play. With the help of Tony's oldest friends, Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy, they secure pizzas from Tony's favorite pizza place in all of New York, his penthouse suite decorated with streamers and balloons in Tony's signature red and gold.

Steve bakes a Midgardian birthday cake that all of them have a hand in decorating. It's strange, using his hands to create rather than destroy, but he can't say he hates the warm feeling it leaves in his chest.

Steve guides a blindfolded Tony from his workshop on the fateful day, and the look on Tony's face will remain with Thor for the rest of his endless days.

"What…what is this?"

"Me saying, 'I told you so,'" Natasha says with a genuine smile. She holds the cake in her hands, a single candle burning.

Tony's smile outshines the flame.

#avengers #og 6 #tony stark #natasha romanoff #clint barton #steve rogers #bruce banner #thor odinson #marvel #mcu #my fic #imperialstark fic #team as family #domestic avengers

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endlesstwanted · 11 months

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The Spider Trap

I had the pleasure to work on this story for the @tonysbirthdaygala in honour of Tony’s birthday. It was my first time writing these pairings and I had so much fun. Enjoy :)

Read on Ao3!

Fandoms (MCU movies): The Avengers, Doctor Strange, Spider-Man, Guardians of the Galaxy

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Pairings: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Peter & Tony, Nebula & Tony

Tags: Post-IW divergence, Friendship, Family Fluff, Banter, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss

Summary: When facing Peter in one of too many nights where he sneaks back home late at night, Tony finds himself in a situation he can't escape from involving the true protagonist of the issue: Stephen Strange.

Wordcount: 3,218

Excerpt:

Peter just shrugged. “If you're that concerned about not spending time together, come pick me up some day. Bring some take out and I'll tell you anything you want to know on the way back. You'll get to see Stephen and check that he's delighted to have us around.” “And that's exactly what I'm going to do,” Tony agreed, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. “Wait for me tomorrow evening.” “Alright dad,” Peter put his hand over Tony's. “Good night.”

#tony stark #nebula #peter parker #stephen strange #doctor strange #ironstrange #marvel fanfic

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tonysbirthdaygala · 5 months

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tonysbirthdaygala · 11 months

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Every day until May 29th, we will be revealing random works from Tony's Birthday Gala Exchange. These will be posted at 2pm ET each day.

Today's Reveals:

All Over Again, For You by koifee for Darsynia

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated T

A party Tony hosted goes entirely awry, and he goes to visit a certain magician for help fixing the mess he created.

Retired by Mermaid_in_space for XoniaRainforest

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated G

Tony is retired – officially. And he really enjoys it. He has two great (and very much magically gifted) lovers and loves to listen to Peter talking about university whenever the boy comes over for a visit. But when one of his lovers is in danger he needs to pick up the suit again.

#tonysbirthdaygala #tony stark #iron man #marvel #tony stark fanfiction #ironstrange #doctor strange #stephen strange #ironstrange fanfiction #ironfrost #ironfrost fanfiction #loki #loki laufeyson

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tonysbirthdaygala · 11 months

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Every day until May 29th, we will be revealing random works from Tony's Birthday Gala Exchange. These will be posted at 2pm ET each day.

Today's Reveals:

The Way To A Man's Heart (Is Through His Stomach) by patika69 for robertdowneyjjr

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated T

Twenty-something Tony Stark surprisingly meets Captain America, when the latter stumbles into Tony's place of work and passes out, which starts off a chain of weird meetings between the two. Oh, and Tony's got a crush on his customer named Steve. I'm sure you know where this is going.

[Fanart] Steve/Tony by koifee for dizzystars

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated G

Gift exchange fanart for Tony's Birthday Gala.

#tonysbirthdaygala #tony stark #iron man #marvel #tony stark fanfiction #stony #stevetony #steve x tony #tonysteve #tony x steve #tony stark fanart #stony fanfiction #stony fanart

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tonysbirthdaygala · 11 months

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Every day until May 29th, we will be revealing random works from Tony's Birthday Gala Exchange. These will be posted at 2pm ET each day.

Today's Reveals:

The Spider Trap by endlesstwanted for airas_story

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated G

Tony and Strange had known each other for barely two minutes before they went out to space and saved the universe, so of course Tony didn't have the time to think whether he liked the guy or not. Until he was tricked to find out.

You may stand upon me, (--But do not hide your face.) by llamallamaduck for Nikayna

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated T

After a lifetime of hiding in plain sight, Tony never expected that would change. Then, as these things do, life decided to prove that, as bad as you think it is, it can a whole lot worse in the blink of an eye.

What Tony expected was to live out his life as a useless, pampered layabout. What he got was a war, a ridiculously overpowered weapon and a team of feral mercenaries hired to protect him.

#tonysbirthdaygala #tony stark #iron man #marvel #tony stark fanfiction #ironstrange #stephen strange #ironstrange fanfiction #stuckony #stuckony fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier

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darsynia · 11 months

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Nearer, My God, To Thee | Stony Masterlist

TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST

Written for ZaraMelMercury as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 16,081 words // light D/s themes, sexual situations For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

This is a fast burn, passionate romance between two people who happen to have met at one of the worst possible times. It's been pure joy to write, and I am so delighted to share it with you now!

1: THERE LET THE WAY APPEAR, STEPS UNTO HEAVEN

2: ALL THAT THOU SENDEST ME, IN MERCY GIVEN

3: ANGELS TO BECKON ME

4: NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE; NEARER TO THEE

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tonysbirthdaygala · 11 months

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It's time for reveals!

Every day until May 29th, we will be revealing two random works from Tony's Birthday Gala Exchange. These will be posted at 2pm ET each day.

Today's Reveals:

Unexpected by YohKoBennington for koifee

No Archive Warnings Apply; Rated: T

Tony works at a coffee shop with Scott when the new employee arrives and things evolve into feelings Tony was not prepared for.

A bullet to mend our hearts by tonymystark for laiwrites

Graphic Depictions of Violence; Rated: T

Tony is stuck in a time loop; he keeps getting thrown back to their fight in the quinjet before the whole invasion. He finally figures out how to end the loop.

#tonysbirthdaygala #tony stark #iron man #marvel #tony stark fanfiction #stony #stevetony #steve x tony #tonysteve #tony x steve

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tonysbirthdaygala · 1 year

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10 DAYS UNTIL ASSIGNMENTS ARE DUE

A friendly reminder that assignments are due in ten days on May 10th at 11:59pm ET!! Please reach out if you have any questions.

Tony's anxiously awaiting your gifts!

#announcement #tonysbirthdaygala #tony stark

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darsynia · 11 months

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Nearer, My God, to Thee | Stony | Chapter 2

STORY MASTERLIST | TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST PREV | NEXT

Written for @zaramel as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala Summary: Steve Rogers appreciated his unexpected promotion to Fourth Officer-- until it became clear that it was more about being a novelty American-born officer of the White Star Line than it was about his skill at the job. After another frustrating shift attending to First Class, he was rescued by the devilishly handsome Tony Stark, a notoriously brilliant troublemaker annoyed by his own role as the most tempting eligible bachelor on the ship.

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 3,691 words // D/s themes For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

Tags: @chickensarentcheap @linnadhiell @sobeautifullyobsessed @ronearoundblindly

Excerpt: “Do --” Steve started, as soon as Tony had turned his heel.

He stopped. “Go on?” Class strictures were hard to overcome, so he remained faced away.

“Do you push to cause me to… react? Or is it just your way?”

“Define ‘react?’”

“With anger? Disapproval? A desire to correct you?” Steve whispered.

Tony allowed himself his own closed-eyed moment of happiness, out of the other man’s view. He was impatient, but it would hardly do to explain the draw this proper officer had for him. There was hardly anything proper about it.

“It is my way, but I--” he turned his body halfway but looked fully at Steve. “Some of it was meant to provoke, yes. I couldn’t help myself.”

The words were dangerous, but so was the flash of something he thought he saw in Steve’s eyes on hearing them.

“I don’t know if I can-- I don’t know how to give you what you want,” Steve said carefully.

“Do you want to tell me to stop?”

Tony held his breath.

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Sometimes.”

Chapter Two: All that thou sendest me, in mercy given

Tony could sense Steve’s reticence, and given what he hoped for, it wouldn’t do to scare him off. It was enough just knowing that he might be willing to see Tony as someone other than an all-powerful businessman who had to be in charge at all times. That was Howard’s purview, and Tony had enough of his father’s genes to recognize they were poisonous.

Mostly, he wanted to draw Steve out, to break through the professional demeanor to reach the man underneath. He’d gotten glimpses (and oh, that touch), but it was clear that Sub-Lieutenant Steve Rogers was the kind of man who took pride in his position, in doing the right thing.

He’d just have to show Steve that taking charge was the right thing to do, when it came to Tony.

To that end, he asked about every part of the ship he could, encouraging Steve to lead him to the next object of interest. It was a pleasure to make his companion’s cheeks burn by peppering in periodic inappropriate interpretations of his explanations. He had hoped that might prompt the use of his first name, but as the evening came to a close, he was still firmly Mr. Stark, and there was a charm to that. Tony knew he burned brightly, sometimes intimidatingly so, but something felt different about Steve. He was worth the patience, and no part of their time together had made Tony feel like he ought to self-dim.

“That’s about all, at this hour,” Steve said, putting away his pocketwatch. He ran his hand along the metal of a piece of equipment the two of them likely shouldn’t be near, the name of which had already escaped Tony. He’d been too busy watching Steve’s eyes, was too engrossed in admiring the movements of his hands as he spoke.

“That was engrossing and thorough,” Tony decided to say. As he’d hoped, Steve looked down at his shoes with a tiny smile. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me, Steve,” he added.

Steve’s eyes closed for a split second at the sound of his name. Inside, Tony exulted, but he kept his expression carefully friendly.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, pausing just slightly at the end, as though he’d thought about using Tony’s name and changed his mind.

“Will you join me for breakfast? You could glare at me disapprovingly if my eyes strayed from the food or you,” Tony suggested. “On my father’s behalf, of course.”

The pause between the two phrases had been short, but thick with promise, and Steve’s newly tense stance told him the innuendo had landed. After two minutes with no response, Tony decided to have mercy.

“Drop by if you choose to, then,” he said, offering Steve a crisp nod.

“Do --” Steve started, as soon as Tony had turned his heel.

He stopped. “Go on?” Class strictures were hard to overcome, so he remained faced away.

“Do you push to cause me to… react? Or is it just your way?”

“Define ‘react?’”

“With anger? Disapproval? A desire to correct you?” Steve whispered.

“It is my way, but I--” he turned his body halfway but looked fully at Steve. “Some of it was meant to provoke, yes. I couldn’t help myself.”

The words were dangerous, but so was the flash of something he thought he saw in Steve’s eyes on hearing them.

“I don’t know if I can-- I don’t know how to give you what you want,” Steve said carefully.

“Do you want to tell me to stop?”

Tony held his breath.

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Sometimes.”

“Have breakfast with me. In public. Afterwards, may I show you an invention we had constructed for us in London?”

Immediately, Tony worried he’d pushed too hard, enough to send the other man away, rather than on a recursive path. The air was cold enough for him to see Steve’s breath, and as he waited for a response, the quick breaths slowed to deeper, more measured ones. The idea that Steve had taken the time to calm himself before responding to Tony’s provocative invitation meant the world.

“I’d like that,” Steve finally said.

“Excellent. Bring your sketchbook, if you like.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Someone opened the door as Tony reached it, but rather than a White Star seaman, it was one of his father’s business contacts, pipe in hand. He didn’t wait around to see whether his father would soon follow. There was no way Tony wanted to appear anything but annoyed at his evening spent learning shipwrightery with Sub-Lieutenant Rogers.

The thought of using that made-up word to irritate his father the following day was a safe enough reason to smile, so Tony took that opportunity as he made his way back to the suite. Tomorrow, he hoped to capitalize on unguarded moments, times when he could catch sight of Steve’s private self. Steve had shown a passion for perspective during their walk about decks, hinting at the sketching hobby he’d eavesdropped to learn about.

It had been years since he’d sought out someone like this, rather than getting quick thrills that burned quickly and went out twice as fast. Tony felt rusty and rushed, but the long-extinguished hope in his chest that he could have everything he wanted (wealth, opportunity, discipline, and someone to share it with) without the stigma some of those desires brought… it was tantalizing.

A rich businessman could be close with someone respectable like Steve Rogers.

Tony behaved like an utter shit at breakfast.

As he’d hoped, people at nearby tables started regarding Steve with compassionate pity after the many times he’d stopped Tony from calling loudly and rudely to other tables. There was no polite way to tell the audience that the ladies in question weren’t at risk, indeed, that one of them actually needed Tony’s outrageous behavior to use as a weapon to call off her matchmaking mother. He wasn’t heartless, and he didn’t wish to hurt good, decent young ladies with his antics, after all.

At the same time, he had barely any inclination to marry, much less to a British chit with no respect for a fortune earned by hard work rather than intermarriage.

Tony sighed loudly and snuck a look at Steve’s face. He looked harried, certainly stressed, possibly upset, but it was hard to tell through the studied veneer of politeness. It was time to put him out of his misery.

“Please tell me you’re finished?”

“I can be,” Steve said in an even, measured voice that kindled a fire in Tony’s gut. That tone spoke of the effort in holding back. Fuck, he wished they were in the city, that they were farther along, that they weren’t in such a public place, trapped and on display.

“Good. Follow me,” Tony said, standing and dropping his crumpled napkin just as a wait-girl came by to take it. The white cloth immediately turned crimson at the edge that overhung the porcelain plate of strawberry tops.

“Pick that back up!” Steve hissed under his breath, clearly more scandalized than commanding-- but it was too late, the frightened woman hurried off with their plates piled so high Tony felt certain they’d tumble.

Steve’s red ears bore hint to his embarrassment, but the best way out was through. Tony jerked his head to indicate that Steve should follow and headed directly to his rooms, using all his willpower to avoid looking back to ensure Steve was behind him. Orpheus had nothing on him today.

Howard had already detailed his plans for the day, undoubtedly in hopes that his son would make an appearance. He would, if he were in good enough spirits. Tony stood back and gestured for Steve to walk through. There was precious little space, and the knowing look that earned him almost put paid to Tony’s composure.

“Where--” Steve began, but Tony swept past him into an inner room, thumbing the lock on so deftly it was clear his companion hadn’t noticed. If Steve wanted to leave, though, he was welcome to. Tony enjoyed power play, but not with the unwilling.

“Did you bring anything? I didn’t see a book,” he asked, throwing himself down on a wide settee.

Steve nodded shyly. “The pages are loose, after so much time. I brought a few.” He sat and explained them, so engrossed in his descriptions of the parts he hadn’t captured that he missed the effect his drawings had on Tony. They were superb, studies in facial structure and emotion on one smoothed-out page, a close-up of an intricate curtain pull with a glimpse of roiling sea just past the ship’s railing on another.

Tony couldn’t help but reach toward it, but Steve caught his hand. “That one’s done with charcoal. I had to lay it in these handkerchiefs to keep from smudging. I ran out of the treatment to fix it in place.”

“So you’re saying I’m not to touch?” Tony whispered. He knew he shouldn’t push, that it could be too soon, but--

Steve froze, then released a breath, the tension releasing everywhere, even the grip he had on Tony’s hand. “Don’t touch.”

Is there something you’d like me to touch instead? he wanted to ask.

Instead, Tony said, “I won’t.”

“Good.” Steve’s hand closed tighter on Tony, then he let go. “I must say, Stark-- I’m not used to being uncertain. Particularly not when I know someone wants me to be anything but.”

“You’re asking what I want?” Tony felt Steve’s gaze on him, but if he turned his head now, he’d be reckless, careless, and this was too important.

“I am.”

“I want to break through to you. I want--” Tony had to move, so he got up and started pacing. “Your uniform, your duty, it’s a corset. It enhances you, but it also constrains.” He stopped, let his hands fall to his sides. “I’d love to see you without it.”

Steve’s eyes widened, but he bit his lip, and Tony swore under his breath.

“Do you know, I wanted to say that, but days from now? I didn’t mean that so literally, not now, not yet. I wanted to say, open up? Show me who you are under those things.” He winced. “Did I--” he couldn’t ask the question, but it grew under his tongue, constricted his throat, seeped in like ice to stop his lungs. Did I ruin things with you?

Steve stood, his expression impossible to read. At first, he clasped his hands at his waist, but then he moved to put one hand in his pocket, the other rigid at his side. His drawings lay forgotten on the chair, one so close to the edge it could fall at the slightest breath of wind.

Was it the charcoal? If Tony moved too quickly, would it fall and smudge?

“Do you want to know me because of me? Or because you have plans that would require knowing more about whoever you’d happened to enlist?” Steve’s voice was quiet, but dignified.

“Does it help to know that your question cements my desire to know more about you in particular?”

The hand at Steve’s side relaxed. “Yes, actually,” he said, some warmth returning to his face. “You’re right. I haven’t been myself. I’m not-- Individuality is difficult, at sea. Many of the other officers are well born, with pampered childhoods. I’m still sailing toward my childhood, a childhood friend in particular, in New York. It took a long time to get the chance to go back there, and I won’t be able to stay.”

Tony was certain that if he provided Sub-Lieutenant Steve Rogers the funds to spend a lifetime in New York, he’d be politely and firmly rebuffed.

“What will you tell your friend when you get there? Something you couldn’t put in a letter.”

Steve thought about his question for a moment, drawing up his free hand to rub at the back of his neck. The action created a tiny eddy of air that shifted the drawing further toward danger.

Tony knew just how that felt.

“I’d tell him growing into a man without him wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I did it as best I could. I’d ask him to hug me with all his power, and I’d offer to do the same, to see how much stronger we’ve gotten.” Steve’s smile was wistful, full of a yearning Tony completely recognized. “I’d tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t do what I promised.”

“What was that?” Tony asked, risking a slow, unhurried step toward him.

“I said I’d swim home, no matter how long it took. I thought about sketching someone at the pool, someone that looked enough like me, so I could give it to Bucky and say, ‘this was the best I could do, swimming your way with a ship underneath to keep me from washing away.’”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Thank you,” Steve said graciously. “Is that what you want? A good friend?”

Oh, he was clever in his decorum, this man. Tony ached to skip ahead, but that drawing was too precious to smudge. What he had in mind worked best with trust, and trust was best built with friendship, so there was an easy answer.

“I’d be honored by that, Steve.”

“Is it friendship, to watch another man you’d like to respect act so poorly in public?” Steve asked dubiously. “You said you wanted someone else to hold the power, but at breakfast, everyone in the room had to make choices based on what you were doing, myself most of all.” The regret in his eyes made their blue even more compelling. “I’m not comfortable with that.”

Tony blinked. Steve was right, of course, but he hadn’t realized his own reach, not until just now. He felt even more drawn in; Steve’s backbone, the thing that kept him upright-- it wasn’t built out of wealth or status, but honesty.

One thing was certain. Laying himself bare for this man would require emotional nakedness, too.

He moved decisively, reaching out in a swift gesture to lay a steadying hand on Steve’s upper arm. As Tony opened his mouth to speak, though, a movement caught his eye, and he lunged to stop the drifting sketch page from sliding across the floor.

“Sorry. Symbolic, that,” he said sheepishly, holding it out for Steve.

“Thank you for seeing the value in it.”

Tony couldn’t stop the heartfelt smile that curved his lips into a smile. “I was going to say, I’ve been rushing, you’re right. This morning… Sea crossings are short enough in terms of building rapport, but that’s not quite it, either.” He ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to look at Steve directly. “I like you, Steve. I set a bonfire, because if you were going to work to put it out, I’d join you, rather than burning alongside.”

Steve’s eyes shone with what looked like interest, but his brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite under--”

“If you were going to be driven away, I wanted to know immediately, before the disappointment became unbearable,” Tony interrupted.

“Oh.”

The relief in Steve’s smile intensified the bonfire in Tony’s chest. This time, it was Steve who took the forward step, and his expression solidified into determination.

“All right then, can you show me?”

Tony surged toward him, certain he’d burn to ash if he ignored a request like that. Steve’s lips under his were startled but soft, his hands resting at Tony’s elbows, perhaps in fear that Tony had toppled forward by accident instead of by design-- but he wasn’t pulling back or shoving away, at least.

Then Steve leaned into the kiss, sliding his hand from Tony’s arm to the center of his chest to press there, warmly. He had a few seconds to think to himself that his fire metaphor was wrong, wrong, Steve was a lightning storm, a swirling wind, but then Steve moved his other hand to band it across Tony’s back, and all the rest of his thoughts were blown off course.

Minutes later, when Tony reluctantly pulled his fingers free of Steve’s hair and Steve’s desperate grip of his lapel loosened, Steve said, “How did you know I would let you do that?”

Tony allowed himself the indulgence of running the backs of his fingers across Steve’s cheek before he stepped away toward a mirror to correct his clothing back to something presentable.

“If you could have seen the look on your own face when I spoke of the bonfire, of rushing, you wouldn’t question yourself,” he said. Nodding at his reflection and turning around, Tony spread his hands wide, an acknowledgement of the lavishness of their surroundings. “We could worry about propriety, we could question the law and our own safety even here, in this most private and privileged space-- or we could take joy in the ease with which we found each other. I know which I’d rather do.”

He walked over and started to smooth out Steve’s uniform jacket, studiously avoiding looking at his face. There had been an internal struggle writ across his expression, and Tony recognized its source, knew there was no rushing the acceptance vs. fear that every man felt at a moment like this. There was something beautifully intimate about the way, yet again, Tony could see that Steve’s breaths were evening out, calming, reasoning, relaxing. Finally, Steve rested a gentle hand on Tony’s, brushing his thumb across his knuckles.

Tony didn’t hide the shiver that action sent through him, and Steve’s resulting squeeze felt like a warm welcome.

“Can I confess something?”

“You certainly can,” Tony said, stepping back and lifting his chin imperiously. “I should warn you, I’ve been dragged to enough Catholic confession that I might get creative, depending on what it is.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Steve said. “My ‘show me’ was about the power thing, how you said you wanted not to be the person with the responsibility of power. It felt like you were speaking of something private, and--”

It was Tony’s turn to respond with a single, “Oh.”

“I’m still glad you took the chance to-- I just still want to know, you see,” Steve hurried to say.

“I did think you were asking me to show you why I burned, or some other such fanciful notion,” Tony winced. “But, yes, your question.” He gestured for them to sit down again. “As you say, what I’m looking for has to do with power, but that’s a… surface description. It’s really about a give and take-- like your drawings. If you make a mistake on the page, you can’t take it back completely. You have to adjust the drawing around it, even if you didn’t want that, perhaps particularly if the change would ordinarily make you unhappy. The act of fixing it makes you more satisfied with the result, in a way that doing it perfectly the first time wouldn’t. Do you follow?”

“I follow the analogy, not sure I understand how it applies.”

Tony told himself that this was the moment, the make or break, but at least his earlier mistake had led to a leap forward in understanding. “You saw my behavior at lunch. Your instinct was to question me, express disappointment, yes?”

Steve nodded.

“Well, if my actions at breakfast smudged past the line, how would you work to adjust it? Would you look to correct me? If that were mixed with pleasure, what would that look like?”

Tony hadn’t meant to use the word pleasure, but he’d been rushing impetuously toward this goal ever since he’d laid eyes on Steve, and there was no taking it back now. He looked at the floor, not wanting to further pressure by watching hungrily for a response-- and that was when he saw Steve’s grip on the edge of the settee.

“Presuming we were… already comfortable with each other?” Steve whispered. Tony now considered ‘not looking at Steve’s expression’ as a punishment he’d earned, so all he did was nod and continue to watch the other man’s hand in fascination. The grip intensified, and Steve said, “I’d probably be more rough. I might expect you to-- oh.”

Tony couldn’t resist anymore. He looked up at Steve, whose eyes were wide, cheeks tinged pink, but everything he saw displayed there showed interest, curiosity.

“Are you chewing through the possibilities, Sub-Lieutenant?”

Steve’s chest moved with the force of his quick breaths, and there was passion in his “Yes.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Tony grinned.

“We don’t have to… start there, do we?”

“No, not at all. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to finding out what makes you happy, before I figure out what makes you frustrated. Or angry.”

“Stark-- Err, I mean--”

Tony reached up to stop his lips with a thumb. Steve’s hand immediately flew over to circle his wrist, making Tony very grateful that they were seated, because that grip might as well have been on his cock-- or even more dangerously, his heart. He’d only been blessed to experience a partnership such as he was describing once or twice in the past, and the stigma of it had eventually swept away everything else. A bond formed at sea, though, between a man of means and a man of duty?

“Were you going to say something?” Steve said, his lips moving under Tony’s thumb. It was as much of a sensual caress as a deliberate one.

“I was building castles for you in my mind, I confess,” Tony said, drawing his hand back and twisting it, so he could squeeze Steve’s before moving it away fully. “Save my name, if you would. Make it special.”

“I like that. I will,” Steve said. The approval in his eyes was a caress all its own.

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