A/N: So, if you're keeping up with me as an author (first of all, thank you, and I love you), you may have noticed (or not) that my stony story hasn't updated in a few weeks. … Yeah. I'm rewriting that. Maybe. Either way, that particular fic will be deleted later on. Also, I love my beta more than I love anyone else, she is a god, and I do so hope you enjoy reading this. Bear with me, it'll get better soon.

The time was the late 1920s. The place was a parlor in a small town that went unnoticed. The theme was sin. The characters were six people that had way too much to lose.

Steven Rogers awoke to the dark bedroom in his lover's apartment. He squinted his eyes and put his forearm to his head, groaning. He felt the other man toss in his sleep at the noise.

"Steeebe," Tony Stark groaned, arching his back then rolling to his previous position. Steve smiled at the sound and slipped out of bed, kissing the brunette's forehead before he wandered into the small kitchen, wearing only a pair of white trunks.

Times weren't great, but Tony was rather well off. He inherited a boatload of money from his father when Howard passed, and the two went into business together, doing pretty good, if he did say so himself. To the outside, they were business partners making a smart move by splitting a place in a tough economy. To themselves, they were two men trapped, force to love in secret, due to the narrow world around them. Sometimes they got scared. They were terrified of being caught. Who knows what the people would do, after all. It surely wouldn't be positive.

Steve opened the ice box and sighed. What time was it? He glanced at the resting clock on the wall as he poured a mug of milk from its glass bottle- 6 am. He could always go for a morning run. No, but Nick wanted to see them in the shop at 8. There was no way he could wake Tony and run in one morning without being late.

He would cook breakfast instead. Flapjacks, maybe? Flapjacks. Flapjacks were always nice.

It was about 45 minutes later (after the flapjacks were on the table, the milk was poured, there was the barely acknowledged flower that was always there sitting in the corner, and a knife and fork resting beside both plates) when Tony trudged in groggily, wrapped in the thin blanket that was previously on their bed.

"Morning, sunshine," Steve smiled, pulling out a chair for Tony, then himself.

Stark just hummed, peering into the mug, making an unsatisfied face once he saw it wasn't coffee. "This is milk."

"It is."

"Why?"

"Well, we're out of coffee beans."

"Why?'

"You drank them all."

"Why?"

"You are unnaturally tired."

"Why?"

Steve smirked at his breakfast. "We both know the answer to that."

Tony let out a snicker and began to eat the meal his significant other prepared for him. "We do, don't we?"

"Mmm, yes, now eat. Fury wants our company today."

"Why?'

Rogers looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "I'm not doing this again. I don't know why, but," another glance at the clock, "we have a little over than an hour to get there."

"…W-"

"Tony."

"Okay, okay." He glanced up. "What other plans do we have today?"

Steve checked his mental list. "I have to go get coffee. Other than that, well, it's Sunday, so the shop's closed. We're free to do whatever."

"Good." The smirk that Tony sent across the table did not go unnoticed, as the blond picked at the last of his pancakes.

"I'm going to go get ready…" said Steve, standing up.

Stark caught a hold of the other's waist as he walked past him. "And leave me without the wonderful morning view?"

Steve smiled and bent down so that him and Tony were only a lip's distance apart. "Punishment. For not saying 'thank you'."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Rogers," the brunette growled, as he closed the distance between them, nipping at the other's bottom lip. Steve groaned and pulled away.

"Less than an hour," he reminded.

"Oh, come on," Tony whispered, "there's plenty of things we could do in less than an hour."

The blonde smirked and hummed. "Punishment," he chuckled before he pulled away, retreated to the bedroom, and shut the door.

"Plenty of more fun ways to punish me, too." Stark called behind him.

He heard the sound of muffled laughing.

Somewhere across town, another couple had only just begun to stir.

Natasha Romanov arched her back, yawning, wearing nothing but her blue Chinese silk robe. Her partner, Clint Barton, smirked, already awake to enjoy the show. "Good morning, beautiful," he said in a low voice.

She opened one eye, and smiled a tired smile. "Morning." Natasha slid out of the small bed and walked on the other side of the small apartment, opening the small refrigerator, and grabbing a small apple.

Small. That's the one word that described their living space perfectly. Small. One room (save for the cabinet sized bathroom in the corner). Of course, that wasn't uncommon. Times were getting rough around here, you'd take anything you could get with a smile. People were losing their jobs, pay was getting cut. It was like the world was starting to fall apart.

Clint watched Natasha walk back towards the bed, apple in hand, and stretched out an arm for her to crawl into. She did as such with a smirk, buried herself against his chest, and looked over at the clock on the wall. "It's almost seven."

"Yeah?"

"Fury wants us to come up today."

"Oh, does he?"

"Mm," she nodded against his chest, "in an hour."

"Well," Clint sighed, "I think we better start getting ready."

The two drew apart. Natasha gathered her clothes and started for the bathroom, bumping a hip against Clint as she passed him. He grabbed hold of her wrist, "Do you have to work tonight?"

"I don't work Sundays, Mr. Barton," she sighed, not meeting his eyes.

"… You shouldn't work there at all." He knew he would regret the words the moment they escaped his lips, but he allowed them to pass anyway, holding his gaze on Natasha.

She snapped her head up, glaring at him. "Excuse me? One of us has to have a job, you know, and I'm sorry that it's not to your liking, but I think I'll take what I can get, so that we can continue to live this life of luxury." Natasha snatched away her arm and gestured to the almost bare room around them.

Clint ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "Well, 'Tash, no, I'm not too fond of having dozens of guys ogling you every night, okay?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "You're jealous." It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

Barton sucked his teeth and grabbed her forearm, rather tightly. "Oh, please."

The redhead shook her head and kicked his feet out from under him. "Grow up, Clint."

Clint stood up slowly. "Always the one to win."

The two prepared themselves in a tense silence. Natasha wore a black pencil leg dress, a tight cloche hat, and a face painted with make-up. Clint- a button down white shirt, black slacks, and a homburg hat.

"Come on," Barton said quietly, opening the door for the woman.

It was a violent, wonderful, storm of a relationship.

While they bickered and walked, another man was about to exit his apartment for the exact same reason.

"Thor, where are going," Loki Laufeyson inquired from the doorway as his brother walked down the hall of their building.

"Out," Thor Odinson replied, not bothering to turn around.

"Why should I trust that you're not going to … that place again?" Loki's voice dropped with a touch of authority, causing Thor to turn around slowly.

"Why should you care?"

"I'm your brother, it's my job t-"

"You're in no place to order me, Laufeyson" the blonde spat.

"Curious how you only think that when I'm trying to keep you out of trouble."

"What's curious is the fact that you cease to try and control me."

"You crave control."

"You need to stop," Thor raised a hand to emphasize his tone.

"You've brought this on yourself, Odinson, I'm merely trying to help," Loki mimicked his brother's previous tone with a grimace.

"Oh, did I, Mr. Police Officer? Tell me, how many laws did I break?"

Loki paused, "None."

"And how many people were hurt?"

"None."

"So tell me, why do you think I need a leash?"

The hallway was silent.

"You know why I don't want you there," Loki whispered, with a disgusted expression.

Thor pursed his lips. "I'm not going to the flapper club, Loki, I'm going to Fury's."

The other took a step back. "Right."

To which the blonde sighed and turned around. "That was once. You need to start thinking about how you view me, Loki, because it's driving me crazy."

The raven haired man stared after him as he walked away.

"You know good and well my views on you, brother," he whispered angrily once he was out of earshot.

Thor walked in an irritated fashion down the sidewalk. Loki was a cop, who caught him at a flapper joint. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have had cause for one to get in trouble, but Thor and his adopted brother had a very… complicated relationship.

They moved to the United States from Norway, hoping for a chance at a better life. They had it, until one day, a surprised kiss turned everything into mayhem. Now what did they have? Bitter conversations littered with the occasional romance.

It was sick. It was frowned upon. It wasn't right.

It was… distracting him from walking, as he almost ran into a telephone pole.

Our last story starts with a lonely man walking along the sidewalk behind Thor Odinson. Neither of them realized that they would be coming in contact only several minutes later, but that didn't really matter.

A lonely Bruce Banner stared at the cement below him, sighing.

Bruce lived alone, about five minutes from Fury's parlor. He worked as a doctor, treating everything from the common cold to cancer. Most of the time, he was merely walking them to death's door. He wouldn't allow himself to fall in love. He wouldn't allow himself to grow close to anyone. He had seen too many deaths in his time to do such. He hated himself for telling these people that it was all going to be okay, when more often than not, he knew it was an outright lie. He was nothing short of a monster lost trying to do a good thing. And as he nodded at the tall and bulky blonde man holding the door to Fury's parlor for him, he had no clue how much worse it was about to get.

Inside this parlor, there was a bar. The bar didn't sell alcohol, of course, that was all too illegal in that day and age. In this case, it was just a high rise table surrounded on one side by high rise stools. Smaller tables were lined up against the window next to the door, and a very few cola bottles were stacked inside the icebox behind the bar. They served food in that parlor. Food and drinks. Soup to hamburgers- everyone knew in that town that if you needed a quick bite in that town, you went to Fury's.

Six people were sitting around the restaurant, waiting for Nick to show himself.

Tony and Steve were in a corner, making conversation. Clint and Natasha were at the bar, filling the room with glares and smirks. Thor was walking in behind Bruce, both of which took their place standing inside the door, after a stiff acknowledging nod, with pursed lips.

"I'm just saying, Tony, if we widened the variety, we could bring in more business."

"If we widened the variety, we would have to buy more and w-"

"For Christ sakes, Natasha, will you lighten up, I was j-"

"I'm Russian, Clint, we don't lighten up."

"Ah, we could always fondue in the back while nobo-"

"T-Tony!"

"I'm only offering a suggestion."

"That's… no, we can't do th-"

"Barton, I will slice your throat open with a-"

"ALRIGHT."

The last voice came from a tall man with an eye patch standing in the doorway to the kitchen- Fury. Behind him were the two parlor employees, Maria and Phil.

"That's enough," Nick said, walking behind the bar.

"Are we all supposed to be here, Bull's-eye," Tony piped up from the corner.

Nick sent him a glare. "Yes, Stark, all of you are supposed to be here." Authority dripped from his voice. "Now, you all got something in common; you got something to hide. You got something the world could take you down for, and I know that something about each of you."

The group seemed to look to the ground in an almost ashamed unison.

"Now," Fury continued, "most of you are in need of some money." Tony snorted in the corner. "Most of you."

"What are you getting at, Nick?" Natasha sighed.

The man looked around. "Follow me." He headed into the kitchen, Maria and Phil stepping out of the way so that they could be at the back of the group. The nine of them made their way through the kitchen, curiosity peaked.

He led them to a door tucked away in the corner. Behind the door was a staircase to the basement (every well respected parlor had one).

Their jaws dropped at the cases of liquor stacked in the large room. Alcohol of every kind; Vodka, wine, brandy, everything you could think of. Everything that was highly illegal. Besides the booze, everything was otherwise bare.

"Fury," Bruce ventured cautiously, "what is it you brought us here for?"

The room was quiet, and Nick nodded towards Maria, who was standing with Phil on the bottom stair, to take over.

"The boss wants you to assist him in alcohol smuggling."

The room was silent. Then there was Tony.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"On the contrary," Phil piped up, smiling, "he's very much well in his mental capacity. Mr. Fury takes under the consideration of getting caught, but the reaping the benefits outweigh everything else."

"Excuse me, but I think the big cheese here can speak for himself," Clint frowned, turning back towards Fury.

"And here I thought they were doing a wonderful job," Nick smirked. "Every bottle we sell in five dollars in your pocket. You'll have constant insurance that all your little… secrets be kept exactly that; secrets. You'll have money, power, and a job without having to work." He eyed Clint.

"That sounds luxurious, Fury, but what is it you want us to do," Thor asked in a low voice.

"I want you to transport the alcohol to and from here. I want you to sell it where you can," glances to Natasha and Tony, "I want you to bring in business. I want you to run this place when we're not around. Most of all, I want you to make sure we're not caught." His good eye settled on Thor. "Odinson's brother, here, s'a cop. Tells him everything, and he'll tell us."

"And what if we don't want to do this," Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Then I'll have your little secret plastered everywhere from here to China."

"So, basically, this is blackmail," Natasha's voice rose.

"Only until you realize it's something you want to do- which you will."

There was a pause in the room.

"Glad to see we all agree," Nick grinned.

"Yeah, well, we didn't have much of a choice in that matter did we," Tony snorted.

"You'll need these, then," Phil pulled at the lid of a crate next to the door and took out six flasks, tossing them at each of their new business partners.

"And these," Nick opened his overcoat to reveal six small handguns, "Especially you, Ms. Romanov, with the line of business you're in."

It was then that Thor recognized her as the lovely redheaded woman from the flapper club. Loki would have had a fit. She must have gotten dozens of men like him a day, so surely she didn't think anything of him.

Natasha smirked as he handed her the gun, "this would be pistol number two."

They all accepted their firearms, some with reluctance (Steve, Bruce), some with excitement (Natasha, Clint, Thor), some with disgust (Tony).

"What's a matter, Mr. Stark, you don't like guns," Maria said in an almost taunting voice.

"I'm not fond of the damage they can do, thanks," he spat.

Fury cleared his throat to get their attention, "Your flask is filled with brandy, your gun is filled with rounds, and you're all officially criminals. Congratulations. Come back tomorrow for your, ah," he smirked, "assignments."

He left them alone in the room, Phil and Maria smiling before following shortly behind. The group looked around at each other, wondering what it was they were all hiding.

Tony smiled at the pretty redheaded dame in the corner before striding over. "Tony Stark, charmed I'm sure," he smirked, as he kissed the back of her hand.

"Natasha Romanov," she hissed, before taking said hand and using it to claw the side of his face, "pleasure."

Tony chuckled as he pressed his hands to the flesh wounds. "Interesting."

Thor cleared his throat before giving a small, pathetic wave. "Thor Odinson. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around."

"Bruce Banner," the shaggy haired brunette spoke up after him, awkwardly nodding his head.

"Clint Barton." The man with the sandy hair glared at Tony as he wrapped an arm protectively around Natasha's waist.

"Steve Rogers," the other blond smiled, nodding politely.

The group was quiet, yet again.

"So…" Tony's voice broke through, "anyone want to swap secrets?"

A/N: I'd like to point out that bit of role reversal between the main characters and Loki. Because Loki is a cop. And they're breaking the law. Ha. Haha. Ha. … Ha.