Title: Bent
Author: ELLE
Pairings/Warnings: Tony Stark/Bruce Banner, major character death, euthanasia, explicit sexual situations, explicit language, angst, darkness, a bit of sap because I can't help myself
Author's Notes: I am what I personally would consider a casual Marvel fan. I've watched the movies and most of the animated series that were easily available to me but I haven't read the comics in depth or anything like that. There are most likely inaccuracies in this and that kills me but I totally never even intended to write this, it was supposed to end after the first chapter and just be a smutty one-shot for character development and here we are 15,000+ words later. I just hate not knowing a fandom in and out so I feel the need to post this warning as well as my sincere apologies for any mistakes.
Start bending me, it's never enough
As I feel all your pieces
Start bending me, keep bending me
Oh, until I'm completely broken in
Shouldn't be so complicated
Just touch me and then
Oh, just touch me again...
Bent – Matchbox 20
Custom tailored suits. Forty-year old single malt whiskey. International super models. Tony Stark could have anything he wanted any night of the week and yet there he was in that pissant little bar drinking shitty rum mixed with Coke that was stretched too thin in a faded grey hoodie and worn jeans waiting – always waiting. And Tony was not patient, not good at waiting. He went out and got what he wanted – except with him.
Maybe that was what kept him there, waiting – his inability to acquire him. Tony stared at the cigarette between his fingers. He'd hardly touched it, just liked to watch them burn. It was so slow. Nothing in his life was slow but the red glow had him transfixed – plus it stopped him from checking his phone. There wouldn't be a message left there anyway. He just had to wait.
The old, wrinkled bartender had long ago stopped looking at him with that skeptical haven't-I-seen-you-somewhere-before look Tony always got while incognito and just accepted his presence. If he knew that he was Tony Stark, he never shared the secret. For that, Tony was grateful. He was getting used to the place now. It wouldn't be easy to arrange a different location. Not one this convenient.
But still – he'd seen Tony get stood up enough times by now to have some amount of pity and he refilled his drink every half-hour without asking until midnight, when Tony would give up. He glanced at the clock, stuck onto mirrored paneling over the bar in some ridiculous aesthetic disaster. He had twenty minutes. Tony picked at the skin around his thumb as ash fell onto the polished wooden bar. Fucking stupid.
Just like always, the mental diatribe came. No one could reduce a man of his stature to this. It was pathetic. It was weak. What would his father say? He was better than this and this was the last time he'd sit here, shamed and alone, waiting for a man so far beneath him to come and do what? Make him feel better for a minute? Bullshit. He didn't need anyone else. He didn't need –
But then the bells hung over the door jangled, cutting off his thoughts, and he tried not to be too damn obvious about it. Christ. He was pathetic but he looked up and there he was and it didn't really matter any more.
Bruce was in a beat-up khaki blazer with some blue checkered button up, looking like the haphazard professor with a pocket protector or something and Tony tried to keep down the outright grin that wanted to force itself onto his face. What was he, fucking fifteen? Overeager and just dying to be noticed? Disgusting.
And Bruce didn't look thrilled either. Not that it mattered, Tony's mind quickly supplied, because he'd fix him up, he'd make him feel better, he'd – kill that line of thinking and stop being so damn stupid.
Though he tried like always to force his eyes back to the cigarette, Tony couldn't take his eyes off of him as he made his way to the bar, the small space suddenly seeming warm and intimate where it was crushing and lonely before. And when Bruce sat down beside him, there was already a glass of tonic water at his seat waiting for him. Tony noticed the little smile the bartender tried to hide but the man was fucking ancient and lost in his own world, not realizing how obvious he was being though he was standing as far from them as possible to give them some space.
Sure didn't boost his self-esteem but then – did it matter? Bruce was here, he came tonight. That was enough.
"They follow me fucking everywhere," Bruce muttered under his breath by way of greeting and Tony frowned, knowing who he was talking about, understanding his frustration.
Tony had his own share of paparazzi, but typically not the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent variety and never because of a lack of trust. For someone that spent so much time trying to maintain perfect control, it had to be frustrating as hell to be constantly questioned, constantly doubted. Not that Tony didn't get it, right? In the wrong mindset the man was a beast who, frankly, couldn't be stopped. But then...
Bruce's hand trembled on the glass, nails worn down from biting, eyes looking everywhere but at Tony. His nerves were shot. He was just a man, too, a simple man. A brilliant man, sure, but with simple desires, small things that no one could give him – not even a man like Tony who could move the world.
Tony shrugged, feeling an inescapable sorrow that he tried to shove into the deepest recesses of his heart where it belonged. "We'll just fuckin' kill 'em."
Bruce looked over at him to gauge his intent and their eyes met for a moment. The fact of the matter was, Tony was only partially joking – because he'd do damn near anything for Bruce. But he couldn't say that so he grinned instead and Bruce sighed out a little laugh, fingers extended for the cigarette.
It was Bruce's brand – although Tony was fairly certain he was just an enabler and that Bruce only smoked them within the confines of this little bar. Bruce didn't drink but Tony wasn't the kind of guy who didn't indulge vices and he couldn't let Bruce off without one. He deserved that. He deserved fucking something.
He held the half burnt-out cigarette like a relic, real careful, the tremor in his hand knocking ash off the end as he brought it to his lips. Tony already had the pack out, tapping another out for him in anticipation of his desire. Tension faded from Bruce's face as he drew in too fast and coughed a little. Something deep inside Tony hurt as he watched but he didn't let himself think about it.
"I don't know," Bruce said after a minute and Tony's jaw clenched shut, working hard, attempting patience but he knew what Bruce was going to say.
"I can't do this." Bruce turned his face away, unable to look at Tony, hurting him more than he'd ever know.
"I shouldn't have come." Bruce took another drag off the cigarette and blew out smoke across the bar in a long thin line.
"I just –" But Tony was done listening. He didn't let Bruce finish.
Instead, he grabbed at his dumbass, dorky-looking professor-style lapels with one hand and drug him into a kiss. There was the taste of the cigarette on his mouth but also some cheap mint mouthwash he must've used before he came and it was stupid but it turned Tony on. It was just so damn real. Bruce was the only thing in his life that was real and he was way too damn stubborn to let that go.
Of course Bruce resisted, he couldn't just accept anything spontaneous like that. Opposites might attract but they were like two positively charged particles, unable to meet, repelling each other. They wanted the same damn thing but Bruce had to fight him the whole way down.
"Fuck 'em," Tony growled against his lips as they closed, tired and angry and horny and a little drunk.
Bruce sighed and put a hand on his chest, separating them a few inches, trying to get him to drop it. But Tony was too fucking stubborn.
"You're human," Tony argued, voice getting unnecessarily loud in the empty bar. "You have free will. You have rights."
"No," Bruce replied, much more calmly. "I'm not. I don't."
Tony was angry and he didn't understand why Bruce wasn't angry too. How could he be so resigned to this fate? How could he just sit there and take it, let them dictate his life to him like this? If there was one thing Tony couldn't stand, it was complacency. Especially where he was involved.
"You are." Tony leaned forward and kissed his stiff lips again, like throwing himself up against a brick wall and sliding down but he didn't care – he had to try.
But Bruce was just as stubborn as he was, apparently, refusing to listen and Tony eyed him for a minute before he gave up and hunched over the bar, lighting another cigarette as Bruce smashed his out in the tray. He handed it over without looking at him.
"You are to me," he muttered and Bruce paused, his fingers resting on the cigarette and Tony could feel his eyes on him, studying him – but he couldn't look back at him.
It was too damn frustrating. Bruce might've been a monster but Tony was dead and he didn't let that stop him from getting what he wanted. Most of the time, anyway. Except, apparently, where Bruce was concerned. Not that that made it any less frustrating.
But the cigarette remained between his fingers and Bruce's hands were on either side of his face and they shook even worse than before but it didn't matter. Bruce was kissing him, his mouth hard and hot against his own, sending a sharp jolt of desire to his gut. And Tony kissed him back with equal fervor, nothing giving him more pleasure than Bruce giving up his hard won control to him.
"Let me get the tab," Tony said with a chuckle, the words barely escaping Bruce's mouth.
There was a faint blush on Bruce's face as he pulled away, taking the newly lit cigarette from Tony so he could dig the wallet out of his back pocket and throw down some bills. Bruce smoothed his hair with unsteady fingers, cigarette dangling from his lips, and there was just something about him... Something unstated and sexy. Something Bruce didn't know about himself.
They headed out of the bar together, Tony pulling his hoodie tight and trying to ignore the sly smile the bartender gave him. It wasn't like he was some twenty-year-old kid about to get laid. Hell, they'd fucked enough times that this wasn't even particularly out of the ordinary, but he tried to quell his stupid grin as Bruce flicked ash into the night. Maybe he wasn't some dumb kid, but he was sure acting like one. Guess he couldn't blame the bartender for treating him that way, too.
The motel was only a couple blocks up the street and the blood in Tony's veins hummed in anticipation. He tried to be patient but the memory of Bruce's lips was seared on his own and he wanted to slam him up against the wall right here, devour him, make him understand what it meant to be human and make sure he never regretted it.
Tony paid the bored looking receptionist hiding behind her black and her book in cash. He liked her because she never looked up at them, just handed over the key. He wasn't under any illusion that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't watching them right at that moment, but hey, as long as no major news networks showed up, he'd mark their escapades down as a success. Couldn't escape everybody.
They knew the motel well and didn't need to be directed to room fourteen. It was so ridiculously subpar to what Tony was used to experiencing that it still made him laugh. But it was relatively clean and they only saw a roach a couple of times and that's all he cared about. Not like they were there for the scenery.
In another life, Tony would've offered him something better than the way he pushed him up against the door as he shut it, branding hot kisses across his neck. There would've been expensive champagne and canapés on his breath instead of cheap cigarettes and tonic water, a slow worship of his body with each button undone instead of the frantic removal of clothes, nearly tearing with impatience, rushed kisses stolen as each article fell to the floor.
His body was hot against Tony's and in that moment the nervous convulsions of his hands stopped as he buried them into the back pockets of Tony's pants, dragging him closer, closer than was physically feasible. Tony pushed down Bruce's slightly-too-big slacks until they fell around his ankles. He slid his hands underneath his boxers, feeling the smooth skin, running them back up his body, covering every inch he could as quickly as possible, wishing they had more time.
Was Bruce's the most perfect body he'd ever been with? No. At this point, Tony had slept with so many people, it was a blur – comparison didn't even matter. But once again, Bruce won out simply because he was real. Nothing was edited, there was no shame, no desire to be something else. Tony knew if he could live every moment of his life inside that body he would, without question.
He fell to his knees in front of Bruce, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. Tony grinned, watching Bruce's hands clench, his stomach muscles tightening reflexively in anticipation, vulnerable at being so exposed. Giving head was something Tony thoroughly enjoyed doing and Bruce was so damn appreciative...
Tony licked across his head and descended on him quickly – the sharp inhale, the fingers reaching for his hair, the tremor in his thighs intoxicating him, making him ache, making him want it more. Slowly he sucked, teasing him with his tongue, swallowing around his head, listening intently to all the little noises Bruce made as he palmed himself through his pants to ease the tension. As much as he wanted Bruce, what he wanted more was this – having him panting, wanting, feeling – reminding him what it meant to be real.
Tony got a second chance – he wasn't going to waste it. Neither should Bruce.
"Stop!" He gasped, his fingers twisting in his hair, pulling hard enough to make Tony pause and look up.
There was a blush all over Bruce's face and it was so much more appealing than the pallor he'd walked into the bar with. And Tony grinned as he stood, leaning in close so that their noses touched.
"You want me, baby?" His voice was a low, rough whisper, lips moving against Bruce's as his hand met his dick, stroking it to elicit a sudden moan.
"Tony!" Bruce shoved him, embarrassed by Tony's teasing but then Tony loved that, too.
Tony grabbed his wrist at the end of his push and in a scuffle they fell onto the bed. Bruce was smiling up at him as he crawled on top and he loved to see him smile like that. It made him want to kiss him forever. It was a cheesy thought, but then Tony had never claimed he wasn't cheesy. Tony like grand, flamboyant displays of everything – affection notwithstanding.
So he kissed him like he'd never get another chance, poured all his feeling into it because frankly, he didn't know if he ever would.
"Tony," Bruce said, separating their mouths for a minute, trying to look up at him but their faces were too close together, their noses side by side.
But Tony didn't want to look at him and he buried his face in his neck, biting at it, digging lube and a condom out of his back pocket. It was easier when this was just about sex. It wasn't, he could admit that, at least to himself anyway, when he was sitting there waiting for him in that fucking bar. Yeah, there was a whole fuck ton more to it than that but this was easier and he didn't want to hear Bruce say his name like that.
He slid his fingers into him, felt the familiar heat, the tightness, felt his own dick ache at what he was about to do. It was different with him, his insatiable need fulfilled, sure, but – there was something else. There was desire, there was want, there was longing for that familiarity, that comfort that only Bruce could provide for him and he wished he could do something more than bury himself in the other man's flesh and hide all his feelings inside his skin.
Bruce goaned as Tony mounted him, his head pressed back into the pillows. And then Tony looked up, watched his face – the way he bit his lip, the way he threw his head back, the way his fingers twisted in the pillowcase. The truth was, Tony was captivated by watching Bruce experience pleasure and he watched every little detail, every minute change in expression so carefully as he slid his thumb roughly over a nipple, ran his fingers down his ribcage to his abs, gripped his ass with his other hand and squeezed.
The jeans Tony didn't bother to take off cut into his legs but he hardly felt them. The motion of his hips was steady, rhythmic, matching time with the hand on Bruce's dick. He knew Bruce's biggest fear and he used everything at his disposal to ground the other man there, remind him of this moment. There was nothing he wouldn't do –
"Bruce," he sighed, leaning over him, a hand on the side of his face, thumb on his cheek, pressing into it a little hard and Bruce's eyes cracked open, that familiar glaze to them as they locked onto his.
"Tony!" Bruce gasped back, his hand reaching for Tony's, covering it, fingers intertwining as he pressed Tony's palm harder against his own cheek.
"I'm s–" There was a helpless little sob in the back of his throat and Tony could feel Bruce's thighs start to tremble.
And he kissed his knees as he sat back, as if he could kiss away that tremor, trying to keep his heart from breaking as he heard it, just before Bruce managed to cut himself off, before he could utter the full phrase, the phrase Bruce had tried not to say so many times. I'm scared.
He tried not to frown, tried to smile down at the man he cared so much about, tried to believe this was the right thing, that this was what he needed but he always doubted himself in this few seconds before he came. Was it worth it to make Bruce experience this fear...?
"Fuck, Tony, I –"
Bruce's ragged cry was all the warning Tony got before he was moaning that delicious moan that sent a shiver straight up Tony's spine and cum was spilling over his hand and Bruce's hand was clutching at the bedsheets as his body arched beneath him. The friction on his dick intensified to the point where Tony lost control of his pacing, helplessly pushing forward a few last times, desperate for his own release.
Tony fell forward, bracing himself on his hands as he came, heedless of the cum he smeared on the bedsheets, just staring down at the bliss written across Bruce's face. He swallowed hard, willing away the overwhelming wave of emotion he felt crashing through him along with his orgasm, trying instead to act cavalier as he pulled out and fell down on the bed next to him.
He watched as Bruce sighed and closed his eyes for a minute, his face falling to the side in the pillow, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the barest of grins. Tony suppressed the desire to stroke at his hair, brush a few curls from his forehead, press himself against his body and listen to his heart beating in his chest.
Instead, he went to the bathroom, rolled off the condom, washed his hands and ran a washcloth under the facet in the cracked sink basin. His chest felt too tight as he wiped at the sweat on his forehead, remembering the sound of Bruce's voice as he –
But he had a plane to catch in two hours taking him to a tech conference in Tokyo and he didn't have a lot of time so he zipped his jeans, stared at himself hard in the mirror for a minute, grounding himself. He looked like shit but he'd have time to sleep on the plane. Ran a hand over his face, knuckles brushing his goatee. Sleep. Ha.
He looked back at Bruce in the mirror, wiping at his stomach with the sheets, digging in Tony's hoodie pockets for the cigarettes and his lighter. And he watched as he dangled the cigarette in his lips, lit it, blew out the first puff of smoke. Tony didn't know why that seemed so damn sexy when he did it.
Tony waited until he'd settled back on the bed before he walked in, grabbing his undershirt and sliding it on. He knew what he had to say, what he had to ask to get the weight off his chest, but the answer...
"Is this... Is this okay?" he finally asked, standing at the end of the bed, staring at the foot of it, embarrassed by his stumble.
Bruce glanced at him and then stared at the cigarette. The was still a tremor in his hand, but it was only a slight tick, barely perceptible except Tony was looking for it.
"There's a moment, where it feels like everything is going to fall apart," he said, not looking up. "But instead, it all just disappears and I'm... free."
He buried as much of his face as he could in his hand as he brought the cigarette back to his lips, clearly embarrassed, but Tony swelled with pride, happily accepting that answer. He crawled up between Bruce's legs and lay his head down on his naked chest, staring up at him with dark eyes as he capitulated to his earlier wish and listened to the thumping of Bruce's heart.
Bruce returned his stare with a little hesitation, but soon he couldn't help but smile at Tony's big, puppy-dog eyes. Worked on Pepper all the time. He ran his fingers through Tony's hair, Tony practically preening at the affection. God, he was pathetic – but he couldn't be bothered to care.
"Come with me to Tokyo," he asked suddenly, feeling foolish and hopeful. "It's the trade conference for –"
But Bruce was laughing and shaking his head. "Thirteen hours on a plane?"
"Yeah, but it's my personal jet." There was particularly plaintive note in his voice that horrified him but he couldn't help it. He just wanted Bruce to be there, with him. He didn't want to leave.
"Tony, I – I can't."
He hated the way Bruce's face dropped into a frown so he turned his eyes away and nuzzled against his chest for a minute, focusing on the feeling of him breathing instead, the smell of his skin, his sweat, the warmth of his body against his cheek.
Part of him wanted to say "one day" or maybe even "please" – but the rest of him didn't want to make Bruce feel guilty so he kept his mouth shut. It was rare, but he didn't want to ruin this moment with words. He didn't need so many words with Bruce.
Maybe that was why...
"You should go," Bruce finally said as he snuffed the cigarette out in the tray on the nightstand.
Tony knew it was true, knew he couldn't argue Bruce but then he didn't want to go. He didn't know the next time they'd be in the same city together and it seemed like he'd just gotten there and Tony just wanted... more than this.
Maybe he should have been asking himself if this was okay, not Bruce. Was this helping him? Or was it only making things worse?
He climbed reluctantly off of the other man, standing to get his hoodie. His phone was flashing some bullshit warning about only having an hour to meet his pilot and he slid the notification away. If his pilot wanted to remain on the Stark Industry payroll, his pilot would wait.
Tony didn't say goodbye. Goodbye was a word with too much weight, too much implication, and besides – "bye" was never "good."
Instead, he said "I'll be back" as he handed Bruce the package of cigarettes. He paused a minute, contemplated kissing him one last time, but maybe that was too cliche. This wasn't one of his elaborately created fantasies – this was a mediocre hotel room in a shit side of town and he wasn't a hero in this story, even if he wanted to be. Even though he tried he couldn't delude himself into thinking he was actually helping Bruce, actually doing something good for him, but still he –
Ah fuck it.
Tony placed a hand on the back of his neck as he leaned down and pressed their lips together, one final searing kiss that took Bruce's breath away. He was Tony fucking Stark – he was supposed to be memorable. And at that moment – he wanted Bruce to remember.
He pressed his forehead hard against Bruce's, his palm cupping his face, looking him straight in the eyes and he said –
"I'll see you again."
Bruce's breath hitched and Tony knew he knew what he meant and he turned away before it could get to be too much, before it was too hard to leave. Because once he was back out in the cold, dark night, he truly wished he hadn't.