A/N: I will write a one-shot for anyone who gets the SNL reference in here and can name the episode. But keep up the reviews guys, and I might have a little treat for you on my profile.
The alarms blared once, twice, three times before going silent. Captain America slammed his shoulder into the door just as the fatal click of the lock falling into place resounded about the chamber, and the lights flickered out. The only illumination in the room was the soft, harsh light of the emergency strip above the door, and Iron Man's chest-thing.
"Damn," he muttered, giving the door one final kick. The solid slab of metal compressed slightly, but didn't budge at all.
"You're not getting through that, Cap. I designed it to keep Hulk-level people or aliens or monsters or whatever out. Or in." He slid his faceplate up and frowned, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "This place never loses power," he whined.
Steve slid down to the floor, hitting the ground with a slight thud. It was just Steve and Tony. The others were in other training rooms; Bruce with Natasha, and Thor with Clint. This was going to be interesting.
"So… what's up?"
Steve scratched his head. His eyes weren't meeting Tony's like they usually did, as if he were hiding something.
"Can I… can I ask you for something?"
"Cappy, I thought we had this whole lube-sharing conversation already. I don't ever want to see red in it, ever again, okay?"
"That wasn't—no. Tony…"
"And that thing with the banana! By God, Steve, have you really no boundaries when it comes to shoving fruit up your—"
"Okay, okay, yeah, not going there."
Steve wrung his hands a couple of times, eyes darting the floor, mouth twitching. The very image of nervous perfection. "I'm uh, behind on rent."
Tony could do many things at once. Usually this included proving something previously thought unprovable, solving something unsolvable, and inventing the uninvented. Not to mention managing his social life (kind of) to the tee. But when Steve told him that he was behind on rent, he just kind of sat there with his mouth agape. The very image of dumb. Tony needed a glass of anything just so he could spit it out. Steve Rogers? Behind on rent? And asking Tony for money?
"Oh my God, Cap, you can't just ask me for money."
Steve turned very, very red.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I don't even know you that well and we got off to a bad start—I—"
Tony shuffled around, still on the floor and drew out his wallet, dug out his credit card, and handed it to Steve.
"You need a credit card. Take mine."
He rooted around in his pocket some more and drew out a bundle of hundred dollar bills, counting them out. "twenty… twenty-five… thirty …thirty-five … wait, there's some more… Here. Four thousand should get you through a month. Brooklyn's better than Manhattan, but still."
He smiled crookedly at Steve's stunned face, shaking the stash again. "Come on, take it. I'm made of money. You don't ask for money, Steve. You just take it. I don't care, honestly, I have so much I don't even know what to do with it."
Steve's mouth had become a perfect 'o'. A perfect 'o'.
"I—this—thanks?—but I can't take—I can't this money, Stark."
"Do me a favor. Take the damn money."
Tony shook it again and actually growled for good measure; Steve, backing off, graciously accepted the cash and the card with a slightly bowed (and intimidated) head.
"I don't know how to repay you, Tony, I honestly don't."
"Dinner and a movie."
The look was priceless. "Nah, just kidding. But seriously. Come to the Tower, we'll have a little Avengers get-together or something."
"Just us?"
"Yeah. And Stefon's best friend Joel… and most of the New York night scene," he quickly mumbled the last bit, hoping Steve wouldn't notice.
"Wait, wait, if most of New York's going to be there, I don't want to go."
Tony was basically on his knees, begging Steve.
"Come on," he whined, "you're always moping around your apartment or hanging around SHIELD or on the Helicarrier or walking around the block just have fun for once. Let loose a little."
An exasperated Steve sighed, a lock of straw-blonde hair dancing in his exhale. There was no possible way he could look any more like a Greek god. And then he rolled his eyes and stretched, and Tony's nose almost started bleeding from the sheer amount of hot that Steve was. Good thing he could pass off the libido sneaking into his pleas as immaturity.
"Fine, fine, just stop whining. I'll come. When is it?"
"Which day is good for you?"
"Wh—you had me agree to an event that you didn't even plan for?"
"Yeah. That's how I do things. People would do anything to be invited to my parties per se, not to mention the Avengers are going to be there. And here I am, coming to you in my knees, offering you money in order to get you to attend the most awesome person on Earth's block party. It's not a block party. Do you know what a block party is? I need to take you to one. By the way, I officially hold that title, it's recognized by thirty-three countries and the UN…" He knew he was rambling, but he didn't care. Just seeing the flustered Steve getting more and more flustered was enough.
"Friday. Next Friday is fine," Steve all but squeaked form the sheer amount of information overload that Tony forced into his brain. At this time, however, the lights flickered on, and the door swung open with an innocent and mocking click.
"Yay, thank you so much, you're going to have so much fun, and we'll like, try weed and crack and meth and all that good stuff! I'll send out the wedding invites!" He sounded like a teenage girl. Being in a room too long with a six-eleven magical Steve-Adonis did that to you. "Don't be late," he hollered to a stunned Steve as he skipped out of the room. He didn't even give a time to Steve.
Tony asked Pepper to send out invitations to his regular list the next day.
"No."
"But Pepper," he drawled/whined (he enjoyed whining), tugging on her sleeve. "Steve is coming, and I want to make this special!"
And by special, he meant acting as sober as possible and trying to get in his pants.
"Tony, stop being a child. I need to work."
She shot him a dirty look, and then went back to jabbing her tablet angrily. Tony glanced over her shoulder.
"You're not working, you're buying another pair of Louboutins."
"A girl has needs."
"A playboy has needs. Invites," he ordered.
"No."
"You'll get a raise."
She scoffed.
"I make enough money to feed a large country. I don't need a raise. And by the way, most of that goes to charity," she snapped.
"Pepper. Pepper Pepper Pepper Pepper—"
He did that when he: a) got bored and b) wanted something from Pepper. She shoved him off, and he steadily increased the volume, until an assistant poked his head into Pepper's office to make sure that everything was SFW. And then he saw Tony Stark, who flashed his most brilliant and intimidating smile, and the assistant (probably new) darted back behind closed doors. "Poor boy, probably doesn't even know that we indeed have had sex in this very office. Oh, the innocent days of never."
"You lost your virginity at fifteen."
"Oh, fighting beneath the belt, huh? I found a picture of your crush from high school. He looks like a debauched Mel Gibson from twenty years in the future."
Tony drew the picture from the depths of his sport coat, covered in red lipstick and hearts drawn in Sharpie, signed with Pepper's name and more 'XO's than he could count.
"Give that back!" Pepper made a wild grab for Tony, who cackled as he danced out of the way and out of the office. He tossed the picture behind him. Pepper would send the invitations.
After another pathetic attempt for Hammer mercenaries to break into an SI facility (seriously, how far did they think they were going to get with handguns and a single working smoke grenade) and a public announcement gleefully showing the press pictures of Hammer's affair (Tony's had many moments like these before, but everyone knew and no one was surprised), Tony had Happy drive him around New York, looking for somewhere to go. Of course, Hammer tried to sabotage the press conference, and it just played in Tony's savor. Actually, the thing was hinged on the attempt of Hammer to try to stop news of his tryst getting out. Not doing so would just make Tony look like a heartless bastard. Which he probably was.
Somehow, Tony found his way to Brooklyn.
"Happy, what the hell are we doing in Brooklyn?"
"You said 'Brooklyn.'"
"Why?"
"I don't know, I'm just your bodyguard and your chauffeur. Ask Bruce. He's a psychologist."
"This is why you're not my best friend."
"Then who else talks to you?"
"Steve."
"Steve hates you."
"Shut up, Happy. You're fired."
"Mhm. Might as well dump you in the side of the road."
"You're still fired."
"And you're still in the ditch of the road."
Tony shook his head in the back of the car, pouting pettishly.
"Hey, Steve, just wanted to make sure you were coming this Friday. Didn't think you actually said yes last time."
"Tony, are you really doing this? It's maybe—three in the morning."
Steve rubbed his eyes groggily, dark circles underneath and tousled hair.
"Eh, can't sleep. So, you comin'?"
Steve yawned.
"What time?"
"Ten. To whenever. Crash at my place after."
Tony was vaguely aware of the fact that Steve turned him into a teenage girl.
"I don't know…"
"But Steeeeeeeeeve…"
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Fine, fine, I'll come, happy? Just get out of here."
Tony's smile could light up New York.
"Pepper, talk to me, pudding-pop!"
"You say that again, I will break both of your hands and laugh while doing so."
"Aw, come on, sugar baby, I didn't mean to hurt you!"
"I will laugh, Tony, I will laugh with uncontrolled glee."
Tony chuckled, proud of the woman—no, force of nature—that he appointed CEO of SI.
"How's work coming?"
"You left an international peace meeting because you had a 'vision that would make you all look like shit-brained idiots.' I think Iraq has declared war on you."
"Oh, look how special I am. Getting all this attention. Aren't you proud?"
"You make my life living hell."
"Glad to hear it. And you have a pair of Louboutins waiting for you at your desk."
"And your invitations are sent. Most are attending. I think the ones you insulted in the near future have publicly denounced you."
"No skin off my ass."
"I know. Thank you for the Louboutins."
"Thank you for keeping my life running choppily."
"I quit."
"I lied. There are no Louboutins."
"Tables are set, people are waiting outside, we have everyone who needs to be here present, and we're ready to go."
Tony beckoned the rest of the Avengers over from their hiding place over by the wet bar. "I know you're in there, Clint."
Clint extricated himself from Tony's liquor cabinet.
"I was halfway through the bourbon, asshole."
"That's coming out of your paycheck. Sober up."
"You have a banana bag?"
"Infirmary is 4th floor."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "Not now. We have guests. Get your bag later."
"Then why'd you tell me to—"
"Shut up," Natasha hissed as she elbowed him in the ribs. She proceeded to straighten his tie and smooth out his hair and peck him a kiss on the cheek. "And, uh, Tony, why are we doing this?"
"I'm bored."
She stared. "Fury got on my ass for not being 'human' enough, so this is both a party and a Avengers meet 'n' greet thing."
The elevator whisked them downstairs at four hundred feet a second.
"Wait, wait," Bruce started as he held up his hands. "There's a party downstairs? You have a big building, Tony, but where are we going to go?"
Tony smirked.
"Did I ever say it was in the Stark Tower?"
"No… wait, you're hosting a block party? In midtown?"
"Yup. Look alive, kids," Tony grinned as the elevator slowed and the doors slid open.