Tick tock, Tony… four days to go before that door of opportunity slam shut, which was why the very stubbly, very grumpy and very sleep-deprived scientist found himself waking up yet another time in that blasted corner behind his bookcase. He yanked the jacket that was draped over his shoulders and sat up. Pins and needles attacked his extremities where they were squashed into the back of the couch rather mercilessly throughout his four hours catnap.
The pile of scrunched up paper on the floor was growing by the day and he still was nowhere close to writing a grant proposal convincing enough for those geezers know-it-all to sponsor the study. As the hour clock drew closer to his date line, his confidence wavered, not able to believe that he could shoehorn the miniaturised repulsor tech into a pacemaker and sell it to the NIH. On paper it was a grand concept, elegant and entirely novel. Surely on principle alone that was worth investigating? But it was still a bit mindboggling of a concept… and round and round the internal monologue went as he toiled over papers and coffee cups.
All these would've been way easier if he was capable of self-funding, but he wasn't born rich, so tough.
Tony stifled a yawn and crawled out of his den of despair. He reached for his wallet and walked out of his room, only to almost run into a poor undergraduate who was jogging down the corridor.
Undergrads in school? Was it Monday already?
Tony doubled back to his office and reached for the modest stash of toiletries he kept aside precisely for moments when he'd slaved over the weekend and forgot the week had rewound itself back to Monday. Moments like this. Undergraduates aside, social visits from anyone were just as unappreciated! Least of all the HOD himself who might just stroll in out of the blue and yap about some keystone conferences or another extraordinary Science paper, just accepted. He did that five times last semester. Well if he did it now, his funeral then because Tony was already entertaining the idea of gaping his cakehole wide and exhaled. As he bowed over a small sink near the cot of misery, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, his office door creaked open.
Monday, see? And the blues was walking in. Only it wasn't the balding unsightly man he liked to call "Boss". This was worse. Steve Rogers in the flesh. Tony spluttered over toothpaste and washed himself off as quickly as he could without splashing water all over the floor.
"Tony? Is this a bad time?" Steve hesitated, looking at the flustered scientist as he dabbed at his chin with a towel conjured from thin air.
"Nope, it's fine! It's cool. Here, let me put this somewhere else," Tony lifted a stack of papers from a wooden chair and placed it on top of a cabinet. "Have a seat. Coffee? Tea?"
"No, thanks. Just had breakfast."
"OK. I'm making myself a cup, if you don't mind."
Tony turned his back against his visitor and busied himself with boiling water and emptying a sachet of pre-mixed coffee powder into a mug he vaguely remembered washing the day before. He heard the crinkle of paper, an envelope being opened and Steve spoke plainly, "I think this will interest you."
Tony hummed into his steaming mug and took his seat opposite of Steve. He reached for the documents that Steve proffered and glanced at the headings, and promptly raised an eyebrow at Steve who merely nodded, urging him to read on. Tony finished the first page, and the next, and lowered the papers to his lap as his mind reeled in both excitement and wariness.
"An e-mail for this will suffice, but the fact that you're here handing this to me in person means –"
"– that it's not exactly open tender, but is only circulated within a specific group, yes."
"Then this is illegal," Tony said a bit too quickly. He slipped the papers back into the envelope, the words printed in bold on the front that said "GRANT CALLS" disappeared from view. The sum of money that was being offered was written somewhere on the second page and Tony almost salivated at the figures. Not fifteen minutes ago he was so desperate for a lifeline, any kind of lifeline, and when it finally presented itself, he turned his nose up and his head around. Stupid, stupid move.
"The DOD likes their secrecies. And before you say no, I assure you there is nothing illegal about it." Steve leaned forward, his forearm now resting on the table. "I can recommend you for consideration. As I've said before, the repulsor tech sounds promising. I'll admit it can be a bit too adventurous for their appetite. They do believe more in bullets and fires after all. But I know you can modify it into a more… straightforward offensive mechanism."
"You want me to weaponise the repulsor tech?"
"I'm not suggesting you to do anything at all. I'm here to offer you an opportunity. What you decide to do with it is up to you."
Tony stared blankly at Steve who was again, wearing that small smile of his. There was a hint of fondness this time, and he said, his voice light and friendly, "You know, I wasn't expecting you to be so against the idea of working around a system. You seem more like a screw-the-rules, bottom line kind of guy."
That, Tony couldn't answer. He was suddenly made aware of the fact that Steve, this upstanding military man before him, could be dating another male from a stripper club and he was going to keep that information in view in case he needed to use it as leverage. That was blackmailing, plain and straight. For that one ridiculous hour in the club, he had seriously considered using that moment of privacy against Steve to win favours in the future. Guilt, and most definitely shame, clawed at his heart and he swiftly averted his eyes to a textbook on his table.
"How would you know? You barely know me."
"The few others I offered the same deal to re-read the fine prints to see if there was a way to work around it." He chuckled before rising to his feet. "The playground is getting so congested that competition is vicious and everyone's just trying to survive."
Tony huffed at that. "The dark side does get alluring after a while."
"Well, you're doing OK."
Steve was already at the door when Tony managed to untangle his vocal cord and call out. He waved the envelope limply in the air. "I really don't deserve this."
"You keep that. We'll be looking forward to your proposal."
Steve's visit though brief left a bitter aftertaste that quelled Tony's ravenous appetite for breakfast. He drained his lukewarm cup of coffee and sat in his chair again. The scribbles on the notepad from yesterday still didn't look like it make much sense, but between completing that NIH proposal and taking up on Steve's offer, the choice was clear.
Tony went back to work, the envelope forgotten, hidden behind a tray of papers.
By seven Tony's stomach started rumbling that it actually kind of hurt, like little knives slicing through him. Still not as bad, he reasoned, if he poured his entire focus onto his half-finished proposal he would be able to ignore anything else. But it was indeed time for dinner, and he was eager for a break, so he pushed away the book he was perusing and grabbed his wallet and car keys.
He drove past Kent Street. Had a hankering for a nice shepherd pie and his usual go juice, the blackest he could get. There was a nice homely café at the end of the street that served the best of just that. Tony was positively restraining himself from going over the speed limit just thinking about a warm, proper meal when he unavoidably drove past the stripper club he'd had the misfortune of visiting that fateful night. His neck tensed, his grip on the steering wheel tightened and he purposely kept his gaze steeled on the road ahead.
That still didn't stop him from noticing the golden headed, tall and handsome Steve Rogers jostling his way through the club's door. He appeared distressed; the bouncers were holding him off, likely refusing him entry. Tony drove on. Wasn't his circus any more.
The next two days came and went in a flurry. Tony hadn't gone home. He'd chosen to camp out in his office trying to perfect the proposal. There were take-out boxes in the wastebasket and paper cups with coffee dregs at the bottom on top of every piece of furniture he owned. Writing had always been hard, but never this hard, and never for such a peculiar reason. Every now and then he found his mind flittering to a certain military man, and when he checked the time and realised he'd spent fifteen minutes in idleness he'd reigned his thoughts in, only to lose them again a moment later.
Tony couldn't even put a finger on why Steve commanded such an effect on him. The closest to an answer was how intriguing he found the entire mess was; an upstanding soldier with a blossoming career getting all tied down to a missing stripper, male by the way. But this wasn't the 40's. Nobody as much as looked at men whoring themselves out or even men fucking men. Tony wasn't going to judge, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with the idea. Still, what the heck, spying around people's bedroom had never really a favourite past time. So if he didn't care for the drama, then why the morbid fascination with Steve? Or maybe Tony found it perplexing that someone could fall so hard for a no-name that he kept pounding on his door. Hell at this point any excuse was as good as others.
Tony had never loved people like that before. Not Mom, definitely not Dad. And there was no one else.
He popped a couple of antacids and swallowed them with the help of coffee. Before he knew it, he was already striding towards the parking bay, his car keys in his hands.
This time he parked his car one block away from the club and covered the rest of the distance on foot. The bouncers weren't as intimidating; he smiled at them woodenly and waved as he pushed himself through and let the loud music wash over him. At least that hadn't changed. He made a beeline for the bar, took a solitary seat at the farthest corner where he could basically see everything that was going on, but remained somewhat concealed himself.
He nursed his drink in silence, his eyes watchful when someone slapped his shoulders so hard he almost toppled off his stool.
"Hey babe, just can't stay away, can ya?"
"Oh God," Tony's heart squeezed as he subconsciously edged away from the man. That night hit him in full blow in the back of his head and he almost took off on the basis of self-preservation.
"Not quite there yet, but if you say so."
"Stay away." He held a hand out in warning and manoeuvred a stool to stand purposely between them. The leering man was all teeth. "Look, I'm not looking for trouble, OK? Just swinging by."
"That's too bad, 'cause Bucky came back and he's with Steve in the back room. Got your attention now, don't I?"
Tony's bewildered look said it all. What was even more stupefying was how little it took to persuade him to go to the back room. As soon as the door closed behind them and there was only Tony and that man inside, what he felt wasn't anger at being tricked again or disappointment at not seeing Steve or Bucky as promised, but fear unadulterated. The man advanced on him and Tony found his body cocked for a fight-or-flight. Stupid, stupid move.
"Would you stop looking like I'm about to pounce and rape you each time we're alone?"
Tony said nothing, adrenaline pumping in his ears. His eyes darted to the baseball bat leaning against the wall. The man seemed to follow that, so he threw his hands up in the air.
"I don't mean you harm, all right. Is it my face or something? I don't always do bad things for kicks, you know."
Tony swallowed. If he got a clear shot at the door he was going to make a break for it.
Heavy sets of footsteps shuffled outside of the room and before he could decide whether to throttle the man or not, he was already grabbed by the arms and bodily shoved into a ridiculously large, metal cupboard that wasn't exactly meant to hold two full-grown adults.
"Shut up."
A callous hand clasped over Tony's mouth. They both kept as still as they could despite the sheer uncomfortableness of being in close quarters, spare clothes hangers jostling the side of their heads. The door eventually swung open and Steve walked through it with an equally tall man Tony didn't recognise hot on his heels. The tension in the atmosphere was almost unbearable as Steve slammed the door shut, effectively blocking out the chaos from the dance floor.
"All right. Privacy, like you asked," Steve growled. He gestured largely at the room as his eyes followed the man who had taken to pacing the expense of the room. "Your turn, Bucky. Explain."
Tony, trying very hard to ignore an itch that was building on his nose, managed to arrange his left leg in a less bone-breaking angle and not squeak. The other man whose chest was flushed against his back, also straining in the tight space was almost not breathing. The man called Bucky turned to face Steve and shove his hands in his pockets. After what felt like eons of hesitation, Tony heard him say quietly, "We're done here, Steve. We can't keep doing this."
"Doing what? Meet up in secret? Keep our affairs behind locked doors?"
Bucky gave out a short laughter, hollow and bitter. Steve pressed on heatedly, "Because I've said it in the beginning. I'm ready to go public with this. Us!"
"I'm not ashamed of the nature of our relationship! I'm sorry, Steve, but some cool down time will be good for us both."
"Why? What is broken here? We can fix it together!"
Through the narrow vents of the cupboard Tony could see Bucky take tentative steps towards Steve, closing the distance between them. There was an obvious droop to his shoulders, like remorse weighing crushingly upon him.
"I'm sorry for who I am. Can't you see? What I do for living, who you are? We can't go out together like this."
"Yeah, the fact that you spread your legs for money cheapens our relationship?"
"Yes."
"Don't talk to me like that."
"It's the fucking truth!"
Then there was a near-skull-cracking-loud thud when Bucky collided brusquely into the wall as Steve shove him against it, pinning him good between a side table and an armchair.
"What do you take me for, huh? Another bastard no different from those who throw money your way so they could take you to their beds?"
"I never said that."
"You damn well did. The second you lower yourself to your job when you're with me made me nothing more than a customer."
"No. Don't say that, Steve."
"Then tell me what is wrong so we can fix this! No more hiding, no more running. Come home."
"I can't. Shut up, listen. I want to leave this industry for good. Go away, start over. Maybe go back to college, get that degree. Decide who I can be, who I really am."
"You don't have to go it alone."
"I do. Steve, you are the predominant reason for this life-changing decision. You have been nothing but good to me, and I realise I can't give you anything back in return – I know you don't care, just shut up for a sec and listen. If we're going to be serious about this, it's not gonna work on just pheromones. And if you truly understand this, you'll let me go now."
Steve eased his vice grips on Bucky's arms and leaned his forehead gently against the other's.
"Why is it always so complicated with you?"
After which there were no conversations anymore. They embraced, at first chaste, relieved that the discord was behind them. There was another thud on the wall, much gentler this one when Bucky somehow swapped places with Steve, the soldier now pinned between him and the bricks. Then they kissed, soft and rueful, before wanton desires took hold and their lips battled for dominance. Bucky ground his hips against Steve's, pressing the needing form deeper into the walls as he latched his mouth hungrily over Steve's jawline.
Tony's own heart raced in his ribcages but given current circumstances, this was very justified, and he wasn't even thinking of freebie-real-time-man-on-man porno. Which was unlike videos that he could X away and leave it the hell alone. No, Tony Stark wasn't going to get his peeping freak up by voyeur-ing around. He wasn't exactly free to walk right out of the cupboard, head for the door and be on his merry way home, was he? "Sorry to interrupt, you guys go ahead, ignore me, I'm just passing by." Never in his life had he ever felt like blinking away and pulling a duvet over his head – save for that horrible PhD viva from that one horrible candidate who thought he could get away with attention-grabbing data and interpretation from dubious experimental designs.
Steve gritted out a strangled moan and Tony chanced another peep from the cupboard again, against common sense of decency. Bucky was kneeling on the floor, his head now at waist-level, bobbing back and forth in earnest doing the obvious. From this angle there wasn't a clear view of what was going on, but Tony's imaginative capacity was expansive.
And suddenly Tony felt a pair of arms snaking around his body. He'd completely forgotten the existence of that creep of a man he was sharing the cupboard with and almost screamed in surprise at the physical contact.
The other man hissed into his ears, "Shut up, or else."
"What are you doing?" Tony dared to ask, digging an elbow soundlessly into random flesh to loosen the hold.
The sickening click of his belt being undone resonated in the suffocating space. Next to follow was the sound of his zipper pulled down. A large, warm hand splayed over his crotch. Tony froze, his hands shot to his mouth to kill any sounds that threatened to escape.
The dextrous pair of hands swiftly pulled the boxer down that it pooled at mid-thigh and took Tony's dick firmly in his hand. Flaccid, but he quickly worked it to full rigidity with several pumps along the length. It only took Tony a full minute to realise the man was stroking him at the same pace as Bucky was blowing Steve, the rhythm of the hand and the bobbing head mirroring each other perfectly. When it was starting to feel good, the man instinctively rolled the tip of his dick between a thick thumb and forefinger, massaging the bulge. Whatever fluid that was leaking out of Tony the man made good use of, smearing it over the length and returned to pumping it again.
Steve himself was lost in his own abyss of pleasure, his long fingers entangled in Bucky's dark hair. As the soldier's breaths quickened, Tony closed his eyes, relishing the sensation as friction gave rise to the familiar pressure that was tightening in the depth of his gut. A handjob was a handjob. At the end of the day man or woman didn't really matter. Steve seemed to be at his limit and Bucky actually took the thing out of his mouth and said, "Give it all to me, Steve."
By then Tony didn't give much care to the scene that was unfolding before him. He shoved his fist into his mouth, stifling the little moans that was threatening to spill over. The man whispered in his ear, "Don't hold back now, baby," and pumped his dick in longer, more deliberate strokes. Tony gasped as his head slammed back into the man's shoulders, his dick and hips in spasm. It gushed over him before he could pace himself and he lost his grip on the cupboard that he could feel himself slipping, if not for the steady arm still wrapped around his torso. The hand down there continued to milk him for more, slowly, that it began to hurt as it got too sensitive to touches. Tony almost gave in to his collapsing knees but the man took on his weight, pulling the panting scientist into his chest.
Outside, Steve and Bucky were both on the floor, basking in each other's company. Somehow this felt even more intimate and private than the rest of the scene Tony had just witnessed.
"Can I at least stay with you until you've finalised your plan?"
Steve fixed his belt, flattened the sides of his pants and proffered a hand to Bucky. He took it and pulled himself up so they both were again on their feet. Tony did the same to his belt and pants and resisted the urge to punch the other man for pulling that stupid stunt. For all that had happened, he was extremely relieved that neither Steve nor Bucky had heard the rattle in the cupboard.
"Yes. I'm still completing application forms and compiling list of homes available for rental, should probably be done by the end of this month?"
"Sure I can't come along?"
They embraced again. There was a briefest hint of hurt etched in the lines of Steve's visage but it was gone when Bucky said, "You have an amazing thing going on for your career here. I'm not gonna let you throw all that away for me. Let me do this. And when I'm ready, let me come back to you."
Steve nodded into Bucky's shoulders.
Their voices trailed away and Tony caught words like "Skype" and "Facebook" and "keep in touch" before Steve held the door open and flooded the room with thrash metal from the dancing floor. When it was silent again, Tony still didn't dare to move.
"Show's over, you gonna camp in here all night or what?"
"Shut up."
Shakily, Tony kicked the door open and clambered out of the cupboard rather sloppily. The other man got out with more grace and began searching for a tissue box. That was after smugly parading his hand that sported trails of Tony's cum. Tony merely glared at him in disdain. The man snorted, probably expecting more of a fight back. He balled the soiled tissue and tossed it neatly into a waste basket.
"G'night, sexy."
Then he too, exited the room.
Tony abruptly sank to his knees and dug the heel of his palms into his eyes. How did things turn out so fucked up… he just wanted dinner and sleep.
Tony woke up feeling worse for wear. He actually turned the alarm off by waiting it out – it goes off automatically after five minutes of undisturbed blaring. One annoyance down, one thousand more to go. He nursed his prickly stomach with two more antacids downed with the help of fresh milk and the lingering acridity on his tongue had him realise he hadn't brushed his teeth.
He was just two days down to the grant submission dateline. Good progress had been made the last week and as with all things that come to an end, the only thing left to do was to pray, but Tony wasn't much of a believer, so he figured he was just going to click "Submit" and then get himself drunk. The thing about research, see, no matter how noble and futuristic it was made to believe, was just like everything else in the world – money maketh stuff happen. Tony could bet two months' worth of salary (a paltry amount, if anyone was asking) that his proposal was only going to be considered, debated, and then bargained with. "We can't give you the full worth of the grant, how about one tenth of it?"
And Tony had learned it the hard way that scientists wasn't the occupational solution to a simple question of intelligence plus curiosity. It was a partial differential equation with networking, office politicking, lip services and showmanship all thrown into it. It wouldn't take long for even Tony Stark to turn out the cynical AP he was today. He sometimes wondered if Howard had to go through the god damn murk as well. Still that couldn't justify Dad taking out the frustrations to beating him up at home because in school, nobody else whose Dads were brilliant professors had blue blacks all over after a weekend spent at home.
Tony pulled the handbrake up more viciously than usual. So what, home was long ago. Now he'd got a job to do.
After one departmental meeting, one tutorial class, two brief discussions with a postgrad student and a colleague (who just wanted to borrow a tool box) it was late evening. Now it was just Tony and the proposal. Just needed a wee bit of tweaking, and voila, booze and booze all night.
Another fun fact from all the years he'd been in research: nothing ever goes according to plan. Nothing. Honestly, how many proposals had he written that'd gone completely right from Step 1 to Step 10? Proposals didn't have detours, possibility of hitting a failed hypothesis (usually this would present itself in the plural form) or just plain ol' unexpected crap? Like getting sniped by an assassin on the way to work or kidnapped by terrorists.
Far-fetched?
Real world kind of worked like that too, Tony liked to think. Take today for example, he'd planned to fine-tune his proposal and submit it tonight or latest, tomorrow morning. Then he wanted to go drink himself silly, drown the misery in alcohol and baked buffalo wings. Naturally when he logged into his e-mail service provider there was one notice "KPI appraisal: document submission by Mar 1", bolded and flagged.
Steve's letter got to be around here somewhere, he thought rabidly, swapping papers from his table as he hunted for that brown envelope. KPI appraisal didn't use to mean much to him when he first started out. They were heck of a useful set of guidelines but much leeway was given to him solely on the basis of junior-ness. He had some close shaves along the years but fast forward a decade later, even the sweetest young thing would age.
He wasn't going to fare very well for this appraisal.
Steve's envelope was exactly where he'd left it; behind that in-out tray of academia red tapes. He poured the content out over his table and read the part about the nature of projects that the grant would consider sponsoring, and most importantly the amount of sponsor up for grabs.
He could do this. The repulsor tech was remarkably flexible. He could weaponise it, like the DOD asked for.
Remember what was it about research and real life? That things never go smoothly as intended? The second problem was an unsuspecting knock on the door.
"Come in," Tony chimed, careful to slip the documents into the envelope before pitching it into a bottom drawer. When he finally looked up to see his visitor, his stomach churned again. God, what had he done to deserve this?
"Steve?"