Title: Carry Me Home
Author: ELLE
Pairings/Warnings: Tony/Bruce, implied Bruce/Clint, modern day AU, alcohol, recreational drug use, explicit language, sexually explicit situations, mild ooc
Notes: Because of the nature of this fic, this is potentially the most OOC thing I've ever written but it felt really good to write so I'm not going to apologize. ;-) Just be aware that I am aware.
I know it breaks your heart
Moved to the city in a broke down car
And four years, no calls
Now you're looking pretty in a hotel bar
And I can't stop...
– "Closer" by the Chainsmokers ft. Halsey
The setting sun descended over the mountains in the distance in a golden shock of brilliance streaming through the floor to ceiling window of the hotel but Tony just turned his face, unimpressed. The hotel was nice – they all were on Stark's dime – but he didn't like the view of the mountains because it reminded him too much of home. Not New York and his one bedroom loft overlooking a myriad of lights and sheet glass, no. His real home, Albuquerque, with his mom and the little three bedroom ranch outside the city. He would have to tell Pepper not to book him a mountain view room from now on.
Tony had been laying on the bedspread in his suit, staring at the breakfast nook with it's Keurig and it's homey little cups all lined up against the wall for what felt like hours but was realistically only ten minutes. He was exhausted – it was past midnight back in New York – but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. The clock read 10:15 and he figured the hotel bar was going to close soon so he'd better get up if he wanted a drink that he wouldn't have to expense.
So he stood and took off his jacket, throwing it over the chair, pulled off his tie and ran his fingers through his hair. He avoided the mirror when he went to wash his hands – there was no need to confirm he looked as haggard as he felt. It had been a long few weeks of endless travel and meetings as his father pushed more and more responsibility onto him and yeah, he was good at it – better at business than probably anything else – but sometimes he wondered if he hadn't made a mistake.
It wasn't really worth considering though, so he didn't. He just hopped the elevator down to the lobby and hoped the bar hadn't closed at ten.
He was in luck though, the hours posted outside claiming they were open for at least another forty minutes, and he was determined to make the most of it.
The restaurant section was closed, lights off, tables empty. But there were three kids – well, kids, they were probably about his age – on the far side of the bar, laughing obnoxiously at something the bartender said. Tony rolled his eyes and decided to sit as far away as possible from the people with nothing better to do than to hang out in a hotel bar on a Thursday night tandem flirting with the bartender. Or – bartenders? Tony got a glance at another as he came back from the far side of the counter, smiling and shaking his head at the ridiculous patrons, and for a minute Tony thought he looked like...
No – that was stupid. It was the exhaustion, the nostalgia of the mountains, of being so close to home, and it was fucking with his head. He blinked and looked again as he approached, needing to be sure, no matter how ridiculous an indulgence that was. There's no way it could be him.
But when he turned to face Tony with a glass in his hand, the other man stopped dead in his tracks, openly staring, and then there was no way he could deny that it was Bruce fucking Banner.
There was something about high school sweethearts, wasn't there? Tony always thought so. It was like – he could never quite shake Bruce from his bones. There would always be a piece of him that yearned to have him back, even though they would make a disastrous couple as adults, simply because they had so much fun as kids. Of course he would never willingly admit to that, never say the words out loud, but there was always a little part of him that hoped one day that they might see each other again.
And four years later, here he was. And he was gorgeous.
To be fair, Tony had always thought Bruce was gorgeous in a geeky way, all skinny and lanky and weird angles, almost ethereal. But gone were the big round glasses of his youth, replaced with sleek square ones, his hair grown out into a thick curly mop that fell over his face, a button up shirt with just enough undone to suggest a thick mat of hair on his chest with the sleeves rolled to the elbows tucked into tight pants that hugged his hips just right and damn – he had filled out. He wasn't broad, Bruce would never be broad, but he was... he was manly in a way Tony had never imagined he would be at nineteen and he was – he was hot. And Tony was so completely and utterly fucked.
Without thinking he took a seat at the other end of the bar as he had planned, unable to do anything but follow through because any other thought that tried to reach him was completely derailed. He should've turned around, should've walked away, should've gone to a bar down the street or checked out of this hotel or something, anything other than sitting down on that barstool, and yet that was what he did.
The other bartender – a woman with dark red hair swept up into pretty curls that Tony hardly noticed – gave Bruce a confused look as he stood there silently, seeming just as stupefied as Tony felt, and she stepped around him to get Tony's order.
"Don't let his stare go to your head," she murmured in this alluring voice, causing Tony to snap to attention and actually look at her. "You're not that hot." She had a coy little smirk that was inviting him in on the joke but he was too shellshocked by Bruce standing less than ten feet away to form a coherent reply.
"He... I mean – we, just... Whiskey neat?" he managed out in an uncharacteristic fumble as the beefy blond from the other side of the bar called over "Earth to Bruce!" while the girl next to him giggled and Bruce blushed bright pink even in the dim lighting.
Tony knew the window was closing and if they didn't say anything to each other now then the awkwardness would make it nearly impossible but he couldn't think of anything to say and wasn't that Bruce's responsibility anyway? After all, Bruce had left him. What was he supposed to say?
Then Bruce turned away, saying something to the other patrons – something about him, based on the interested sideways glances in his direction – as the other bartender set his drink in front of him with a smile. In return he managed a half-hearted little thing that died quickly before burying his nose in the glass.
The instant the whiskey hit his lips he decided to leave as soon as he was done with this drink. It was too weird. Now the other patrons, who were clearly Bruce's friends, were whispering to themselves and Bruce had walked way back around the curve of the bar to where Tony could hardly see him, the other bartender following, ostensibly to check on him. It was awful. Humiliating. It was worse than anything he could've imagined.
He swallowed down half the drink, trying to block out what felt like a thousand eyes watching him and just get out of there. His fingers reached for the money clip in his front pocket when the pipped in smooth jazz crap suddenly changed and through the heckling of the girl across the bar claiming his boss would be pissed, Tony immediately recognized the song and began to grin.
"All the small things – true care truth brings."
Bruce had turned, walking slowly back towards him, a hesitant pull at the corner of his lip and in return Tony drummed his fingers on the cool lacquered wood counter with an unrestrained grin, remembering the feel of the warm rubber steering wheel of Bruce's old beat up Jeep under his fingers as he tapped on it, singing this song at the top of their lungs and cruising through Tucson on their way to Tijuana.
"I'll take one lift," Tom Delonge continued over the speakers.
"Your ride," Bruce sang, quiet but loud enough for Tony to hear him.
"Best trip," Tony replied emphatically and Bruce smiled for real then and fuck if Tony didn't think his heart could take it.
"It really was the best trip," Bruce murmured as he stopped a foot away and leaned his hip into the bar and what was Tony supposed to do other than agree with him?
He found himself beaming up at his ex, that visceral memory of the summer after graduation, the road trip sing alongs, the delirious feeling of freedom and happiness, the cheap tequila they could buy underage, and the shitty hotel room they holed up in for a week washing over him like the waves on the beach they had to walk ten minutes to get to and he couldn't help it – it made him feel even warmer than the next swallow of whiskey.
"Another?" Bruce asked and the other bartender slid by to hand him what she'd poured as Tony slid his glass to the edge of the bar.
Bruce twisted off the top of the bottle with the palm of his hand and even that seemed sexy as Blink 182 na-na-na'ed their way to the next verse.
"How – how are you?" Bruce asked, somewhat cautious as he poured the drink and recapped the bottle. "What are you doing in Denver?"
Tony's grin soured as he picked up the glass and tilted it in Bruce's direction. "Well I drink too much and that's an issue – but I'm okay." He swallowed and set it down, letting the bite ground him as he stared into the glass. "I've got a meeting tomorrow with – well, I guess I shouldn't say. I work for my dad, you know – and he's a stickler about shit like that." Then he looked back up at Bruce, his face drawn and contemplative as Tony talked. "What about you? Why are you in Denver? What happened to the University of New Mexico?"
Bruce laughed curtly and rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. "I dropped out freshman year. Moved to Boulder with this jackass and his friends and wasted entirely too much time there before I left and moved to the city. I got a job as a lab tech at U of D and I've been there almost a year now. Pay is shit – hence the night job – but they'll pay for your degree after a year if you stick with it so I'm going back in the spring."
"Good for you," Tony managed, trying to swallow down the hurt of that confession, and Bruce had to know, it had to be why he looked so chagrined.
Hadn't that been their plan? Run away together, to Sante Fe or Boulder or Provo, get shitty jobs and a bad flat and it wouldn't matter because at the end of the night they had each other? But then one day Bruce announced he was going to college, that they had to grow up, that it was a silly dream and Tony could come too, if he wanted, but that it didn't matter because he was perfectly okay going without him.
But Tony didn't want to go to school and he didn't want to be strong armed into it so after a month moping around the house heartbroken he called up his dad and asked for a job. If Bruce wanted to be an adult then Tony could damn well out-adult him. And apparently he had, though he wasn't sure it was at all worth it.
"Aren't you going to introduce us?" the girl at the bar asked, sliding down several seats with blonde beefcake in tow and Tony tried not to cringe.
"Ah, yeah," Bruce stumbled – but Tony was glad he wasn't the only one feeling so off. "This is my ex, Tony. And Tony, this is Wanda, Thor, and – well – Clint."
Clint hadn't moved from his place at the far end of the bar and he just threw Tony a two fingered wave with a tight lipped frown and Tony had a feeling there was something there between him and Bruce and god – that hurt. Worse than it should have. He hadn't seen Bruce in over four years – certainly he was allowed to date whoever he wanted. But by the same coin, there was no reason for the cold shoulder, he was no threat to Clint... unless he was. But Tony didn't have long to puzzle it out because Wanda was in his face with questions.
"No, a real introduction," she insisted, wide eyes looking up at Tony. "What's your sign? Pisces? No, wait! Gemini!"
Thor – who the fuck named their kid Thor? even if they grew up to look the part? – laughed at the ridiculous question, this big booming thing. "She asks everyone this."
"Gemini is right," Tony confessed and her eyes lit up as she took a sip of beer.
"Ahhh, it makes sense then," she mused as if suddenly the answers to all the mysteries of the universe were placed before her.
Tony glanced towards Thor but he just shrugged as he swallowed back the rest of his own beer and set the bottle down on the bar a little too hard.
"What makes sense?" he asked as the other bartender swooped in from nowhere with a kill sign across her throat.
"Don't ask," she warned but it was too late, Wanda was already invested in the reply.
"You and Bruce," she sung with a knowing smile that immediately made Tony incredibly uncomfortable. "He's a Sagittarius. That's a lot of deep emotions. Scary. Can be hard to give into that, yeah? Easier to run away."
She was making a face at him like he was the one who ran, which kind of pissed him off, but he shrugged instead, unwilling to dive that deep into personal details about a relationship buried years ago just because some chick sitting next to him thought there was some truth to astrology.
So Tony just rolled his eyes and finished his glass, finally feeling the warmth of the liquor in his limbs. Bruce had returned from changing the radio back to smooth jazz and Tony tipped the glass towards him for another as Thor tried to change the topic and break the awkward tension Wanda left.
"So you knew our Bruce here in high school then?" he offered with a game smile. "I bet he was a total lady killer."
Bruce made a face as Tony sputtered a laugh, thinking back to how utterly intimidated Bruce was by girls back then, even despite his total lack of romantic interest.
"Hardly," Bruce muttered as he filled Tony's glass again.
"No – Bruce was much more that quiet, nerdy kid that sat in the back of the room alienating everyone and grumbling about all the idiotic shit kids said in class," Tony teased and Bruce gave him a look that went straight to his heart.
Fuck if he ever got over that pouty little glare.
"Except for you," Bruce accused, that hint of playful pissed-off-ness in his tone that Tony had always loved. "Because you never fucking shut up."
Tony shrugged and sipped his drink, grinning, feeling good again. "You liked it. You never told me to stop."
"Yeah, yeah, I did," Bruce relented, his face softening into a smile. "Eventually."
The other bartender bumped her hip into Bruce's as she walked by with a stack of clean glasses in her hands. "We got five minutes until last call." Bruce's face changed completely and he followed her back towards the other end of the bar, talking under his breath and Tony tried to pick up what they were saying until he was interrupted by Thor.
"Are you still in Albuquerque then?"
Tony couldn't help but feel irritated by this splendid vision of unnecessary civility and replied curtly that he was not and while he didn't really like rebuffing Bruce's friends, he also hoped he'd never see them again.
He answered some other innocuous questions from Wanda and Thor as he dangled the glass in his fingers, watching as Bruce turned from his coworker to talk quietly to Clint, their fingers touching on the bar, an unreasonable amount of jealousy crawling out from the pit of Tony's stomach, making him feel sick.
After a moment he managed to drag his eyes away and back to the glass, swallowing it quickly as he reached his fingers in his pocket for his clip, determined to get out of there. It was nice to see Bruce – or maybe it wasn't, he wasn't sure – but it was time to go.
But before he could say anything to anyone Clint was standing and dropping his hand on Thor's shoulder, saying it was time for them to go. He barely looked at Tony but the other two said friendly goodbyes before leaving and Tony watched them go until he realized that Bruce was standing right in front of him.
"How much do I owe you?" he asked as he flipped open a stack of twenties. "I guess I should go too."
"Do you want to get out of here and catch up?" Bruce asked and Tony blinked as he looked back up to meet his cautiously optimistic gaze. "Nat said she'd close up for me."
"I – uh." Tony was totally stunned, not expecting that at all, and although he was sure it was a terrible idea, he immediately agreed. "Sure."
He paid his bill and watched as Bruce finished up a few things before following him out into the cool, clear night. The lights flared on a Range Rover as Bruce unlocked the door and Tony tried to hide his surprise. Even if he was leasing it, there was no way he could afford that on a bartender's salary. Even leasing it he had to be paying out the ass. But he knew that was Bruce's dream car so he kept his mouth shut and climbed in the passenger seat.
Bruce cranked the car and turned down the radio, looking over at him, a sudden rush of nervous energy filling the space between them and Tony thought of so many times after school, sitting in his Jeep just like this and talking until the lot cleared out. It was Bruce. He shouldn't be nervous.
"Are you hungry or something?" Bruce asked just to break the silence. "We could go to..." He glanced at the clock. "Wendys?"
Tony tried to laugh, watching how the illuminated dash and the street lights cast shadows on his face. His lips were so full now, a soft stubble on his chin. He still looked like him, just... different. Better. Maybe it was just because it had been so long but Tony couldn't help but stare.
"I ate in the airport," Tony explained, trying to help him out but unable to think of anything to say.
Even the part of him that was still heartbroken, still angry about the way Bruce left, was silenced in his presence.
"What time is your meeting tomorrow?"
"Ten," Tony replied. "It's not – I don't want to say it's not a big deal, but I've been through worse."
They lapsed into silence as Tony wracked his brain for something to say. There might have been a time when Tony never shut up, but since moving to New York he found himself constantly suppressed by everyone around him. He didn't even know how to be himself any more with the man who arguably knew more about him than anyway, even despite the time apart. Bruce had seen more of him than he'd ever let anyone see since and now he didn't know how to let those barriers down.
"So – New York, huh?" Bruce finally offered and Tony ran his knuckles under his chin, a little embarrassed.
"Yeah. Didn't really know what else to do once, well – you know," he answered, not wanting to sound too accusatory.
"I knew you were in New York, you know," Bruce admitted, chewing on his bottom lip. "I called your house at Thanksgiving. I was pretty – I was fucked up. Lonely, you know? We were... Well. Your mom told me you were in New York and I was shocked. I asked when you'd be back." He laughed, but it was sad. "I thought she'd made you go see your dad for the holiday. When she said you lived there now, I couldn't believe it. She gave me your cell phone number but – I couldn't call." Bruce chuckled again and turned away. "I figured you probably didn't want to hear from me."
Tony was speechless – he couldn't believe there was anything Bruce could say that would shock him any more than just seeing Bruce himself. He knew he was in New York? He'd had his number for years and never called?
"You don't think I was lonely?" Tony finally replied, trying to keep his voice even, unable to believe he was even saying it but unable to stop. "Why do you think I moved to New York?"
Bruce turned back to face him, frowning. "I don't know. After how you fought with your mom over him? I felt like – I felt like maybe I didn't even know you."
"What was I supposed to do?" Tony asked, all those vile, hateful feelings sneaking back up through the cracks left in his heart. "I had nothing left here and no job prospects and every time I drove past fucking anywhere all I thought about was you – so I left. You should be proud. That's what you wanted, right?"
"Of course!" Bruce shot back, defensive, hunching his shoulders a little but managing to go on. "I'm happy for you! You succeeded, I failed, okay? I just... I underestimated how much I needed you. You – you made me feel like I could do anything. Without you... I couldn't cut it."
Tony bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop the onslaught of emotion he was feeling at that confession. He ran his hands down his face, feeling even more exhausted than before. Of course he had wanted to hear it – he'd want it to hear it from the moment Bruce said he was leaving. But damn – it hurt. It hurt a lot. What could they have been, if Bruce had only realized before...?
"I spent so much time looking for a replacement you," Bruce continued, trying to lighten the severity between them with a laugh. "I thought if I moved with this guy to Boulder, things would get better. He was charismatic but God was he an ass. He was so terrible to me and finally I realized that I wasn't going to find another you, and that maybe I had to be that for myself. So when he was at work I slashed his tires, put a hole in the wall of his rental, took his mattress and all his good pans, and left."
Suddenly they were both laughing, really laughing – hard. It was so ridiculous. They were here, together, again, and it was over between them, this was it, it was over and it didn't matter and why rehash the past? He loved Bruce, he loved Bruce and he would always love Bruce, and he loved the way he made him feel and it was better to be laughing.
"You stole his mattress?" Tony asked, breathless, as he wiped at his eyes and Bruce was nodding with his fist pressed against his mouth, trying to calm himself down enough to answer.
"I was so angry!" he replied and Tony always knew he had a violent streak but he never really saw it for himself. "I don't know – it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
"Remind me to never piss you off," Tony teased and Bruce smiled, genuine and truly happy.
"You could never make me that mad," he replied softly and Tony cocked a grin.
"Don't test me," he warned but Bruce was still smiling and Tony loved every second of it.
"The maddest I ever got at you was when you blew me off to go hang out with that chick – what was her name? Maddie or something?"
"Ah yes, because us sneaky bisexuals just can't control ourselves?" Tony jabbed, wanting to reach out and touch his side the way he might have years ago, make him laugh – but he didn't.
Instead, Bruce just rolled his eyes. "That wasn't where I was going with that."
They lapsed into silence but it was comfortable now and Tony leaned back in the seat, grinning over at him. It was strange – but then maybe it wasn't. There was something about high school sweethearts, wasn't there? Bruce knew things about him he would never tell anyone – all the secrets of his heart, whispered in his ear across the seat of a car, when he was young and stupid and didn't know the threat in sharing them.
"So where'd you meet Clint?" Tony asked finally, still managing to smile, though it was harder now, even though he didn't want it to be.
"Oh jeez, Clint?" Bruce drew his hand down his mouth and looked forward out the windshield, leaning into the wheel. "Through Wanda. We're not... I don't know. You kinda ruined it for me."
Tony hated the way his heart leapt but fuck – he wasn't much better and it was just so damn good to hear it from the one person he wanted to hear it from most. His romantic life, if it could even be called that, was just an endless series of one night stands and it was because there was no one like Bruce. There was no one like Bruce.
"You know – you kinda ruined it for me, too."
Bruce turned to look back at him, letting his hand fall away from his mouth, and it was like in that instant they were eighteen again. There was nothing they could say with their lips that wasn't better communicated with their eyes and he knew Bruce couldn't believe it, couldn't believe he was ever worth that much to Tony, and that he needed to hear that as much as Tony did.
And it was like – he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop. It was the liquor or the car or the way Bruce looked, pouty and open and begging to be kissed, or maybe it was just Bruce himself, but he couldn't stop.
Tony kissed him the way he should've kissed him the last time they kissed, before he knew it was over, before he knew it was the last time. His hands were cradling Bruce's face and his face was pressed so hard to his he could barely breathe and all he could focus on was how warm Bruce was and how much he missed the taste of him and the way he smelled and the way his lips felt against his.
But then Bruce's hand was on his chest, solid, forcing him back and he hated it but he knew Bruce was right, this was a mistake, it was going to only hurt them both and he –
"I meant to ask but," Bruce started, breathless, only separated by a few inches, Tony terrified he was going to dig into his sordid love life. "What the fuck is with the ridiculous beard?"
Tony was dumbfounded and couldn't do anything but answer truthfully. "I thought it made me look older."
Bruce was laughing at him and Tony was uncertain but trying to laugh too it was just – did Bruce like being kissed or...?
"I'm going to get beard burn."
Tony couldn't believe that was Bruce's complaint and he laughed, incredulous.
"I can kiss you more gently," Tony offered with an accommodating grin but Bruce just pulled him closer, closing the distance he'd created between them.
"I don't care," Bruce answered against his lips as he reinitiated the kiss, kissing Tony just as hard as Tony had kissed him.
It was too much. Bruce's arms around his shoulders, Bruce's tongue in his mouth, Bruce's hands in his hair, Bruce was everywhere and it was too much. He wanted to slide into his lap, press their hips together, grind into him like they did every other day of the week, hidden off a side street by his house, pressed so tight against each other the friction was unbearable, sweat slicking their faces and cumming in their boxers and laughing and kissing floaty post-orgasm kisses until Bruce dropped him off at home. It was so pure and so innocent and so perfect and he wanted that back. He wanted Bruce like that.
But they were adults now, weren't they? And it wasn't long before Bruce was putting the car in reverse and they were heading back to his place as Tony learned across the seat, nipping at his ear and sucking at his neck and listening to him pant and moan and grit his teeth. Tony knew all the memories he had of them would be irrevocably changed now but – he couldn't stop. He wanted it. It felt too good and it felt so right and he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Bruce's apartment was only a few minutes away and in the dark it looked gorgeous – an old brick facade with climbing ivy – but they parked in the back and climbed up through the rear entrance. Tony grabbed his hand in the hall as he lead the way, needing to touch him, and Bruce squeezed it, dragging him forward and up the stairs.
He didn't even bother to flip the light as he shut the door behind them, pushing Tony up against it, pressing his whole body up against Tony's. His hands were on Bruce's back, pulling his shirt from his slacks, slipping his fingers below his waistband, feeling the dip in the small of his back that lead to his ass and wanting more.
It was so much more intense than when they were kids. Tony couldn't tell if it was just the time apart or what that time had done to them but Bruce was clinging in a way he'd never been before, pulling at the buttons on Tony's shirt, his mouth roving across his neck, his jaw, his lips, his hips pressed so hard into Tony's it almost hurt.
"Come on, Bruce," Tony groaned, holding Bruce's hips still as he ground his own against him and Bruce sucked at his earlobe. "Been four years. Want you. Can't stand it."
Bruce shivered as he pulled Tony from the door, across the living area, and into the bedroom.
A streetlight shone down through the window and ran a solid stripe across the bed. Tony pulled Bruce's hips to his by the belt loops as Bruce managed the last few buttons of his shirt, peeling him out of it with a kiss. Tony returned the gesture, deftly slipping the buttons where Bruce fumbled, having done this enough times to be a pro.
He pushed the shirt down Bruce's shoulders exposing an unexpected tattoo on his left shoulder of a compass with the beach beneath it and the mountains behind it and without saying anything at all he knew the beach was Tijuana and the mountains were home.
Tony drug his teeth over it as the shirt fell to the floor without a word and Tony pulled out Bruce's undershirt and Bruce unbuckled Tony's belt and before long they were naked and falling into bed together. It felt better than Tony could've ever imagined. Bruce was so warm and so hard and he was fleshy and nervous but more confident of his body than he was at eighteen and when he put his hands on Tony's hips to press him closer he bucked into Bruce's, hard.
They had never had penetrative sex before. Mostly they had dry humping and hasty handjobs and a few blowjobs in Tony's bedroom when his mom messaged him she'd be late and asked whether he wanted her to pick up dinner. The one time they tried was in that shitty hotel after showering off sand, their skin bright pink from the sun, and they were so anxious and inexperienced it ended up an embarrassing failure they never really talked about again. But since then Tony had been fucked by men and women and now, in this moment, he wanted that from Bruce. He needed it.
"Bruce, Bruce, Bruce," Tony whispered, tongue against his lips, laying side by side with legs entwined, unable to get enough of the feeling of their skin side by side again. "Please. Please."
Bruce seemed to understand and the hand that was between their hips slid lower and Tony bit his lip, eyes locked with Bruce's as he touched him and fuck. It was stupid, it shouldn't have meant anything, but it did. There was something about high school sweethearts, wasn't there? His heart was pounding in his chest and his legs were trembling and it felt like the first time all over again but better, maybe, because he wasn't scared – he just wanted it so much.
For a moment Bruce drew away for supplies and Tony lay on his back, watching through half closed eyes, waiting, dick hard against his stomach as Bruce slid on a condom. And Bruce moved over him like the night across the valley, a comforting shade, and Tony wrapped his arms around his shoulders, welcoming that familiar darkness.
When Bruce finally entered him Tony's fingers dug into Bruce's back, his mouth pressed against Bruce's tattoo as he moaned, his eyes welling with long restrained tears because it was like no time had passed at all. It was like coming home.
Bruce paused a minute, waiting for Tony to lay back again, lips flirting with a hesitant smile, an expression Tony knew well for Bruce was always certain that any moment of happiness he had would be destroyed shortly thereafter.
"It's okay, it's okay," Tony assured him quietly, gaining control of his own emotions so that he could reassure Bruce, the way he always had. "You feel amazing."
Bruce laughed a little, flush face caught in the beam of the streetlight, but then he started to move and Tony couldn't think about anything other than Bruce's eyes and the way he moved and the way he felt buried deep inside of him.
It was hot in the room, there was no central air if the box in the window was any indication, but Tony didn't care. Sweat slicked their bodies, Tony's hands sliding down his back as he tried to hold on. Bruce's hands were balled in the sheets, already damp, tugging at them as he fought to maintain a steady pace even though Tony could tell he didn't want to. So Tony encouraged him, dragging his face down into a heated kiss, teeth pulling at his bottom lip as he drew away to whisper –
"Harder, babe," he said against his lips. "Fuck – fuck me hard."
Bruce's lips trembled as he managed one more sloppy kiss before sitting up on his knees, anchoring his hands in Tony's hips, and holding him steady before speeding into him. Tony groaned and clung to the bed sheets. There were sparks behind his eyes as Bruce slid against his prostate and he grabbed himself, jerking himself off as Bruce began to lose all control over his rhythm.
Tony shouted Bruce's name when he came, harder than he had in months, cum shooting up across his chest, feeling his body lock down around Bruce as he rode out the high of such an intense orgasm. Bruce fell apart completely as he came moments later, whining this desperate, needy thing, nails biting into Tony's hips, his whole body shaking as he collapsed on Tony's chest.
They lay there for a long time, not saying anything. Tony's muscles were still too tense and Bruce couldn't pull out and the room was dense with the smell of sex and latex and sweat but he didn't care. He stroked his fingers through Bruce's damp hair, listening to him try to hide how he whimpered. But Tony didn't care. If he could've cried now, he would've. He had no idea how to deal with the strength of his emotions. He felt like his entire chest was going to cave in under the weight of them.
But while he quietly fell apart beneath a pile of existential crisis – if he felt this good now when he hadn't felt anything even approaching this in the past four years, why should he leave? didn't he owe it to himself to try to make this work? was that even possible with what amounted to a one night stand? going backwards never helped anyone, right? – Bruce was finally able to slip out and he moved away to the bathroom as Tony stared at the ceiling, trying to shut his brain off and relax.
There was nothing he could do. He lived in New York now and Bruce lived in Denver and hell, Bruce practically had a boyfriend that was probably a hell of a lot better than he ever would be. Yes he loved Bruce but love wasn't enough. Wasn't he the one thinking earlier what a trainwreck their relationship would be as adults? They were both so stubborn and jaded and shit – it wasn't like Bruce hadn't left him before, but...
Bruce returned with a washcloth. It was warm and he wiped down Tony's chest with it and Tony looked up at him, carefully avoiding his eyes in favor of studying his chest, and he hated how in that moment Bruce felt like everything he'd ever wanted.
He leaned down and kissed Tony again, soft and slow, savoring the moment. And it was only a moment and he didn't say anything as he walked away but Tony could still feel his lips against his as he left the room.
Although Bruce came back shortly, he didn't come back to bed. Instead, he threw the window open, cool air rushing into the tiny room. Tony heard the crack of a lighter and Bruce leaned out the window, the telling smell of weed floating back to him after a moment. He watched Bruce smoking, following the new curves of his body, imprinting them on his mind.
He set his watch to vibrate in a couple hours, planning to sneak out and uber his way back to the hotel, get a shower, hopefully some more sleep, and maybe never come back to Denver again. But right now all he wanted was to fall asleep watching Bruce smoke, pretending that this was their apartment, that he could wake up every morning lying next him, and wondering if it would still feel like this a week later, a month later, a year...
Tony hadn't realized how close he was to falling asleep until Bruce flopped into bed beside him, throwing his arm across Tony's stomach and curling up against his side like Tijuana was yesterday and he had never left. It was stupid, it was irrational, but as Tony closed his eyes and turned his head to press his lips against Bruce's forehead, he never wanted this to stop.
So before he closed his eyes he turned off his alarm. His meeting wasn't until ten, he didn't have to sneak out, he could allow himself to wake up in Bruce's arms. And maybe – if he was lucky, if Bruce still wanted him – he'd ask Pepper to move his return flight to Sunday.