A DAY TO REMEMBER
Tony's cheek was bruised and swollen, but that didn't stop him from landing a solid uppercut to Rogers' chin. Surprisingly enough, Steve stumbled back, not just from Tony's punch, but from the shock. He hadn't expected Stark to recover so quickly, much less retaliate.
The Captain grunted as he regained his balance, eyes clenched shut before snapping his head forwards to drill his glare into Tony's disoriented eyes. Tony didn't want to admit it, but the Captain had done a number on him, it was a miracle he was still conscious. His left eye was already suffering loss of vision from the swelling of his cheek, his breath ragged and coming out in rapid successions as the adrenaline rushed through his veins, keeping his knees from giving out.
He didn't know what to do next, he didn't think he could take another step without fainting on the spot, humiliating himself in the process. A low groan rumbled past his slightly parted lips as a steady thump inside his head expanded and contracted his head, at least that's how it felt like. He lifted his hand to soothe his throbbing headache only to come in contact with a warm and dense liquid. Retracting his fingertips from his temple and towards his line of vision-which was poor due to only his right eye functioning-Tony saw red, literally. Blood trickled down his right side of his face, causing a tingling sensation on the surface of his skin, giving him the strange urge to scratch it off.
All whilst Tony examined himself and stood there regaining his wits, Steve watched his ministrations with a tight lipped and stoic expression.
For him, the adrenaline burst died down quickly once he noticed the damage he had caused Stark. He noticed the slight vibration of the billionaire's body as it hummed with exhaustion, fighting to stay awake. But most of all, he noticed the disoriented and glossy brown eyes disappearing behind fluttering lashes as he groaned out from what appeared to be the beginnings of a concussion.
It was then that he realized how pathetic and petty he had acted. He had intentionally attack one of his comrades with a full-strength punch. If he broke Tony's cheekbone it would be no surprise and judging from the rapid swelling and bruising, he had. All because Steve cared for Tony.
15 minutes earlier...
It was Memorial's Day and, as predicted, Tony had found it as the perfect excuse to throw a party...apparently to honor the soldiers who had served the country. But with his reputation of a playboy to uphold, Stark couldn't pass up the opportunity to invite gorgeous women to drink and dance with.
Steve didn't know what bothered him more: the fact that Stark never took anything seriously, not even such an important day, or that he had managed to somehow make this day about himself. Iron Man posters hung next to the American posters for the Navy, Army, Marines, National Coast Guards, etc. Never one to pass an opportunity to remind everyone of his grandiose or heroic persona, Stark even dedicated a slideshow to his accomplishments. Steve had walked out as soon as the slideshow appeared with the title, "Iron Man: The War Hero." War? What war? The one against the Aliens? That was a single battle, not war!
He had heard the laughter of the public as Stark said something indecipherable, Steve too far away to hear even with his super hearing abilities. This only managed to grate on his nerves even more, the thick vein on his temple twitching in anger. Picking up his pace, Steve finally came to a stop once he was on the roof, starring up at the navy heavens. Feeling a sting on his palms, he relaxed his grip, his nails no longer digging into his flesh.
Letting out a sigh, Steve slumped his shoulders down. He was tired of acting strong, like nothing affected him. As if 70 years of change were easy to cope with. But, he needed to be the leader, needed to put aside his inner turmoil to assemble the Avengers into a proper team. As stressful as his superhero job was, he would never trade it for anything. He signed up for this, he wants to protect humanity. Now so more than ever. The 21st century is a lot more eccentric and accepting than before, it's hard not to love it, despite the ugly industrial buildings (like Starks Tower).
Stark.
Just thinking of him makes him boil with anger. He acted so self-centered, inconsiderate, rude. He was just...just a paradox. How could someone who loves himself so much risk his life to save the world. It's not just risking his life, it's almost like Stark is eager to be the first to volunteer to sacrifice himself for the sake of the earth. He didn't even hesitate when he went through the portal with the nuke, fully knowing that he wouldn't come back.
Then again he had been the one to accuse Tony of being worthless and disposable. Maybe Tony actually believed him and thought that his life was worthless and only served for one purpose: to be the sacrificial lamb.
When Iron Man did come back through the portal at the last possible second, his dead weight twisting violently as it plummeted towards Earth, all he could do was stare helplessly-his heart's crumbling perfectly synchronized with his descent, quickly yet agonizingly slow in making its way down.
Metal colliding with the asphalt never sounded more sickening that it did when Hulk unceremoniously dropped Iron Man on the ground. Thor yanked the metal mask off and threw it god knows where, but that didn't matter because the black hole situated in Tony's chest, his peaceful expression, and the unnatural stillness of his body told Steve that death had finally claimed Tony's life. Steve tried to do something to restore that bright sapphire glow into the reactor, but he only fumbled cluelessly-not knowing how to fix it.
Hunching back, Steve fought back tears as he fixed his gaze away from Tony's still form. The grief he felt was quickly being overridden by fury, his breath becoming agitated as he gnawed on the inside of his lip-attempting to remain calm. Suddenly, an angry roar erupted from the green beast. Almost a desperate cry as if telling Tony to "Quit fucking around and get up!" well at least that's how he felt like yelling. When he heard the sharp intake of air, Steve couldn't believe it, Tony had miraculously rebooted with the frightening screech of the giant. Subconsciously, he lent in closer, but he stopped himself before ravaging the playboy's mouth. He wanted to do nothing, but kiss him out of pure happiness and relief. An innocent gesture, surely a friendly one.
"What the hell? What just happened?" Tony asked, still breathless from the lack of oxygen in his system during those agonizing seconds.
"Please tell me nobody kissed me," Tony deadpanned with his usual sarcastic tone, deliberately glancing away from anyone, staring at nothing. But of course, not before taking a quick peek at Steve and quickly averting his eyes as Steve returned the gaze. Steve could look away and lean back, trying to withhold his guilt and rising blush.
"We won." Steve uttered, trying to qualm the sudden butterflies in his stomach. Tony was alive. It was clearly a victory like no other. Agent Coulson was already gone, they didn't need another casualty, specially not Tony: the soft-hearted, self-less billionaire, who plays well with others and very much so, given the way he aided each of them during the battle. Said man, stopped staring at Steve's parted pink lips in anticipation and finally closed his eyes in gratitude, reclining his head back as far as the suit would allow him to.
"Hooray! Hey! Hooray! Good job guys!" Tony tried to enthusiastically cheer, but obviously he was exhausted and so his tone lacked the energy to properly celebrate their triumph. Tony went on rambling like his usual cheery self, as if he hadn't died a few moments ago. And for that he was grateful, Tony lightened up the mood quickly with his charming antics, nevertheless; the need to avenge the philanthropist's death (even though he resuscitated) was still burning in his chest like molten lava waiting to erupt.
"Have you ever tried Shawarma?" Tony randomly commented, Steve couldn't help it then, a full blown grin split his face as he ducked his head letting out an amused noise, quickly shifting his adoring gaze back up at Tony's excited face. He really couldn't believe the sheer ridiculousness that was Tony Stark, returned from the dead and already making a cheeky remark. "There's a Shawarma joint a few blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I want to try it."
"We're not done, yet." Thor pipes in grimly, almost pouting. They still needed to capture Loki and maybe rough him up a little before turning him over to Thor. That maniac needed to pay for the destruction he caused, the lives he took...for the life he almost took.
"...and then shawarma after." Tony's husky voice cuts through Steve's thoughts. Snapping his eyes towards Tony, he noticed how nonchalant he appeared there sprawled immobile on the torn concrete road.
That's what pissed him off! Stark tried so hard to put up an act, like he is so strong and nothing can break him, but Steve knew he was the most vulnerable of them all. Of course, Tony would never admit it, much less discuss the demons that haunted him; however, one single look at his eyes told everything. Tony looked shocked, scared, and a little frantic as he cheerfully rambled on about going to that new place, shawam-sawhar...some weird place. Tony's nervous chatter an attempt to hide the growing panic he felt bubbling in his chest as he layed on his back, yet doing his best to in trying to focus his stare, momentarily failing as he spaced out as he looked up towards the sky, before finally settling his eyes on Thor insisting about the shawarma.
The overwhelming fear and trauma manifested itself in Tony's personal life as one night stands and endless sleepless nights drinking or working. That's the only way Tony learned how to cope, nobody had taught him otherwise. It explained his self-destructive alcoholic/workaholic behavior. Tony was never in touch with reality, for he was either always drunk or sober enough to work on his next invention. Always detached from everyone around him, preferring to submerge himself in his lab where he could freely distract himself or solve his problems, whether they be social or scientific ones. It was his form of therapy and that was okay, except sometimes Tony wouldn't come out of there for days.
A gruff snort escaped his mouth in what was supposed to be a humorous chuckle. Here he was pretending he knew Tony so well, after only working together on a single mission (and living with him for three months). He presumptuously thought that he was now an expert on all things Tony, when he had previously judged the genius based on articles the first time he met him. And now he thought he could help him deal with his stress? How could he fix Tony when he, himself, was so messed up to begin with? Sighing, Captain America nostalgically recalled his moments of courage and heroism in the 1940s, where everything was familiar and he felt in control. Those were simpler times. There was nothing simple about the 21st century, specifically the genius playboy who seemed to be a century ahead of everyone else when it came to technology. A futurist. They were exact opposites, polar opposites, yet they could coexist to some point. He only wondered how long it would last before they clashed again.
Tony rounded the corner and found the Captain staring solemnly at the sky, his form swaying slightly with the wind, or maybe it was actually himself who was slightly stumbling...he couldn't tell. He frowned and approached him. He should've left the gloomy soldier alone to drown in his own pity, but nooooo...he actually felt bad for the guy. It was Memorial's Day for pete's sake. Sighing, Stark took determined steps toward his teammate.
"Cap! What are you doing here sulking? You're missing the best part!" Tony cheerfully drawled as he placed a hand on the brooding man, who jolted at the contact.
Next thing Tony remembered was opening his eyes and staring at the stars above him, although they seemed to have doubled in quantity. Blinking his dizziness away, Tony used his elbows to sit up...how he fallen on the floor, was a mystery. Well, that is until he turned confused eyes towards Rogers and tried to voice his wonder. Trying to speak was a no-no, pain seared his jaw and left cheek. The disheveled hair of American Boy, coupled with his flaring nostrils was a dead give away to an angry soldier. What he had done to deserve such a violent reaction from the Captain was unknownst to Tony, but nonetheless, fury began to stir in his gut.
"What the hell?" A seething hiss passed between gritted teeth.
Ignoring the ache of his cheek and the sudden nausea he felt for jumping on his feet too quickly, Tony decided that payback was in order. He wasn't some punching bag that everyone could use to take out their suppressed anger nor a doll to be treated as nothing more than an object. He had enough of indifference and negligence in his childhood, he didn't need this as a grown man too.
But he held back, maybe Rogers had lashed out in instinct, but that was wishful thinking. Tony knew how much the Captain disliked him and the lack of response from the soldier only confirmed that the assault was intentional. They both glared at each other, but Tony could see something else in Steve's eyes, was that pity?
A snarl. A punch. And Tony felt some gratification from watching the Captain's head whip back, yet it didn't give him the satisfaction he was looking for, it only made his mood worsen. Well, at least his boxing hobby paid off, he could put up a decent fight-even if he was drunk-against the super soldier.
End Flashback:
A green-yellowish tint made up the core, reddish tint seeping outwards and ultimately to morph with the dark ugly violet welt marking Tony's skin. Steve couldn't stop the guilt eating away at his heart, no matter how hard he tried to justify his actions. Maybe Tony did deserve it, did have it coming, but Steve wasn't a malicious person by nature. It's just that he felt so angry at Tony and his lack of self-preservation, he hadn't even intended on punching him...but that obnoxiously fake peppy tone had undone him. Couldn't he have some self-worth? God damn him! It made Steve so angry and sad at the same time. Maybe if he hadn't been so angry, he would've hugged Tony instead.
Tony swayed unsteadily on his feet, trying to fix his gaze onto the sheepish man standing in front of him. All square shoulders and threatening aura replaced with a defeated form. That's all it took for Tony to deflate. Aside from being tired, he didn't want to dwell in the emotional rollercoaster that was Steve Rogers. Besides he had at least restored some of his dignity by retaliating.
"Geez, if you didn't want to go, you could've just said no," Tony muttered and tried to smirk, but he winced in the process. Right, swollen cheek. Got it.
"Stark I-" Steve began, but was cut off when Tony raised his hand, motioning for him to be silent.
"No, no. I get it! I practically heard Moonlight Sonata playing out here," Tony mocked. "I won't intrude during your...personal time again," so much sarcasm dripping from the statement with just the tiniest of hurt lacing Tony's tone-telling Steve that he had screwed up...again. "Now if you excuse me, I need to get back to my guests to break the bad news," Tony muttered as he slowly shook his head in mock disappointment. He began to walk towards the exit, brushing past Steve, flinching when Steve raised his hand-intending to grip the crook of Tony's elbow to stop him-but hesitating once he took notice of Stark's reaction.
Steve tightened his jaw, feeling slightly angry that Stark could mistrust and fear him so much. Then again, they were never on good terms and what he had just done moments ago worsened their relationship...or whatever they had. It certainly wasn't friendship.
Sensing that Steve wasn't going to probe any further, untensing his shoulders, Stark continued his stroll towards the door, wanting nothing more than to lay down to nurse his headache. Tomorrow was going to be hell. Not only will the hangover be bad, but coupled with the bruise and the concussion...lets just say he will need to be in lock down, curtains drawn, no visitors, no sounds. Just an ice pack, aspirins, and his thoughts...and Jarvis.
Steve scowled, displeased at Stark's nonchalant behavior, "So you're just going back looking like that."
Tony froze, of course he wasn't going back to the party. He had come back to surprise Steve with the special gift he designed himself for this day, this day solely dedicated to Steve Rogers (but of course everyone else had to think otherwise, he had a reputation to uphold as the big bad selfish billionare). Not wanting to engage in verbal combat where he could reveal his incredibly mushy and cheesy, albeit true intentions, Tony decided to ignore him and resume his retreat.
He hadn't even taken a step when he felt the world spin around him, light and darkness crashing into each other in a series of bright explosions followed by periods of ebony obscurity. Tony readjusted his eyes and noticed that Rogers had him cradled against his chest, his back securely reclined against the firm thorax of the Captain. How had that happened? Oh well, it was pretty damn comfortable and the world wasn't a rapid vortex of monochromatic colors anymore.
Against his better judgement, Tony relaxed and subtly snuggled closer to Steve. It felt too comfy for his exhausted body and mind. He guessed the adrenaline probably had finally worn off, thus his dizzy spell. Though, the incredible amount of alcohol he consumed could have also caused the same effect.
"Stark?" Steve murmured against the shell of Tony's ear. But the only response he got was a hum reverberating in Tony's chest-the slight vibration of the noise tingling over the Captain's skin due to their flushed position. The feeling was calming and a little too intimate for Steve.
Just when he was going to shove Stark away from him, Tony's body suddenly went slack. Steve reacted quickly by tightening his arms around Tony's waist, which was pretty damn narrow...in fact Tony was pretty small. Well, compared to him everyone must be tiny, except Thor...and Hulk, but they didn't count, they weren't 100% human. Despite Tony being 5'9", his frame was always lean albeit toned with remarkably firm buttocks-if the fleshy yet hard globes pressing into his pelvis was of any indication. Tony's lolling head managed to snap Steve out of his very strange and inappropriate thoughts only to realize that the male in his arms was still unconscious.
"Stark? Stark?" Panic slightly laced his voice as he tried to wake him up. Steve nudged the limp body in front of him, garnering no reaction except for a barely audible whimper muffled by Tony's closed lips. He would've missed it if he didn't have super-hearing abilities.
Steve, seeing that Stark was not going to wake up, resigned with a soft exhale. Feeling the guilt in his chest grow ten times more to the point where his throat knotted up from the intense feeling, Steve decided he could at least make up for his erratic behavior by taking care of Tony. Surely carrying a drunk, beaten up, and unconscious man was no spectacle, but apparently not everyone held the same sentiment.
"Uh, he fell down...you know, he was too drunk," Steve nervously explained to the various shocked, curious, suspicious, and amused eyes staring back at him as he passed through the living room to get to Tony's room. He shuffled quickly out of there when nobody seemed to respond. Steve let out a breath of relief, happy to be away from the prying eyes of the guests.
Setting Tony down onto his bed was an easy enough task, but getting an unresponsive body to cooperate with him in order to discard the uncomfortable formal suit, was not. Albeit a little harder, stripping Stark of his white button up shirt, slim form-hugging blazer, and black slacks only took one or two janks before the pesky garments were torn off Stark. He had no time to delicately undress him nor the patience, so the sound of thread seperating was a satisfying sound to Steve's ears. Leaving Tony in just a pair of navy blue boxers, sprawled out on the silky white sheets was strangely hypnotic. The moon's milky luster licked across the smooth expanse of Tony's skin, yet unable to match the luminance of the sapphire glow at the center of his chest set abalze in all its glorious splendor, illuminating Tony's angelic face...though, marred by the ugly welt on his left cheek.
Guilt racked Steve's body, severing the trance he was in. Noticing that he was now sitting on the bed, next to Tony, Steve scrambled off. He retreated to the couch on the far right, where he sat down, determined to watch over Tony. He didn't know when or how, but sleep succumbed him, the last image of dark raven locks mushed against a pillow, olive skin an alabaster hue under the lustrous moonlight, and creamy thighs partially covered by the tangled ocean of silk. It helped lull him to a peaceful sleep, a smile grazing his lips.
A/N: I know this chapter is short, but I didn't want to publish a 12,000 word chapter. People may lose interest and its hard to track where you are reading. Don't worry, this story will eventually lead to slash. The first chapters are heavily Tony-centric and his character analysis. I like to pace things and dissect the characters. This story is a little more simplistic in vocabulary, not wanting to overwhelm the readers.
