Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia, a fine country in the heart of South East Asia. Also on average, 30 hours flight away from Boston. Preparations had been rather last minute – Tony just wasn't a hardcore go getter kind of person when it came to the drearier parts of life – and he couldn't shake off the feeling like he'd forgotten to pack something. So he was infinitely grateful that Steve offered to take care of the logistics; anywhere from lodging to flight booking to arranging for hotel transfers. When Steve arrived at his place a good five hours before the stipulated hour for checking in, Tony was moving around in a blur, one hand totting a half-filled suitcase and the other, a wad of cash.
"It's a business trip for the both of us. I can pay my share. Here, for everything."
Sure he wouldn't say no to free lunches once in a while but when he needed to go Dutch, he'd go Dutch.
"You can pay me later," Steve said, not taking the proferred money. "You ready?"
Tony was only beginning to compile his research notes and slides but had only gotten so far. Just one more slide, he told himself, one more - but with Steve standing right at the door looking so stern? Then he remembered his clothes still a jumble in his closet and his toiletries in the medicine cabinet, so he replied shiftily, "Uh, no."
"Things aren't gonna fold themselves into your luggage. Start getting to it."
"I will," Tony closed his laptop exasperatedly. "Look, I'm trying to get the presentation slides ready and it's not going to be fun working on this crap with all the jetlag, so let me work on this in peace. We're way too early anyway, how about you spare me another hour?"
"What presentation slides?"
To answer that, Tony mentally rewound time to two days prior. When Steve passed him the contact details of the PI overseeing the mini-Robocop programme, he'd deliberated on the edge of the phone receiver for a grand total of two minutes before dialing the numbers. Pleasantries were exchanged but most importantly, Dr Umah (who turned out to be a she after all) seemed thrilled about having enticed interest all the way from the States. He'd cut to the chase and said he hoped to drop by for a visit, and he swore he heard her squeal a bit.
"She's interested in the repulsor technology too, so she asked if I'd like to give a talk about it, after which we can have a discussion over lunch or something."
Tony looked absolutely pleased with himself. Steve couldn't help but nod encouragingly at that.
"OK, that's terrific news."
"Yeah. I really do owe you one this time, Steve. I can almost see it, the beginning of something amazing. It's going down in history."
"If you finish packing and make it for the flight, that is. If I don't see you done in thirty minutes I'm leaving you here."
To some, academia was paradise – flexible hours, fun, plenty of traveling opportunities. Tony concurred, but he also must say that sometimes the glory wasn't worth the trouble that entailed the job description. Take traveling, for example. Oftentimes he wished he could magically appear at his destination with a swish of his work jumpsuit because he really, emreally/em disliked traveling. Everything that'd happened after getting through the customs was a frenetic blur. Steve was still his calm collected self, so he manoeuvred them both like he'd been to a tropical country half way around the globe on a regular basis. Or maybe he did. Tony would have to ask Steve that, if globe-trotting was part of emhis/em job description. If so, that certainly wasn't something Tony could be envious of. The jetlag and anti-emetic pills alone...
Then he went through the motion, monkeying whatever Steve was doing. He clambered into a cab that Steve'd flagged - Tony recalled Steve saying something like "Pullman Bangsar, please" to the disinterested driver – and they checked into the hotel without ado. But when they were shown their assigned room, Tony froze. Steve looked at him and peaked a brow.
"What? The room's not good enough?"
"Uh, Steve, there's only one bed in here."
He jabbed a finger to the lone king-sized bed occupying the middle of the space, making his point. Steve bent to collect his luggage and trotted to the wardrobe.
"Yeah, so?"
"So?" Tony's voice went a pitch higher. "I'm getting myself a room then."
"Didn't you hear the receptionist? There's an event in the city so all the other rooms are booked. The other places as well, if going by the local news."
Steve turned on the TV when the silence stretched on a bit and true enough, two different channels were broadcasting something about a rally and the one that had it in English said something about banning the colour yellow for the weekend. Having enough of crazies to last him a day, Tony pulled his own luggage to the other corner of the room and started taking out his toiletries. Steve watched him quietly.
"You sure you're OK?" he finally asked, as Tony fumbled around with the zipper and squeezed his eyes tightly when he couldn't seem to focus.
"Yeah. Just tired. I'm taking a shower."
When he disappeared into the bathroom, he could hear the TV volume pick up. The voice of the newscaster came on sharper than before, but in a tongue that Tony couldn't understand. Most probably Malay, the country's national language, and he wondered if Steve was actually paying attention to it, like he could understand it.
Thankfully there were no further plans for the rest of the day. Recuperation and rejuvenation – that was how Tony'd like to spend the rest of the evening. Dinner at the in-house restaurant was sublime. He loved Malaysia if only for the food. There was a serious dearth in his understanding of the country's culture and history and he wondered if he needed a crash course in "Understanding Malaysia" before he go and say hey to potential collaborators, because the last thing he needed was him pissing off people and not even knowing why. Wikipedia helped, so did various blogs and government-linked websites. Some he had to X-away because they were in Malay or Chinese, and he now understood the significance of the three races (and several others, but attention was given to the three main ones), which explained all the fusion Malay, Chinese and Indian cuisine now being digested in his stomach.
One could know a country from the food, so someone said.
Tony turned off his laptop and slipped it carefully into his briefcase. Steve was still nose deep in "The Star", a local daily, as he had been for the past hour.
"What's the plan for tomorrow?"
Steve turned a page. "We should get to know the area a bit. I'm thinking a walk around the city. Do you know where UM is?"
"Now you're just patronising. It's just down there."
The only constructions separating the main entrance of UM and the Pullman were a four-lane highway and an accompanying flyover. Tony noticed the university's archway (cool!) and its guardhouse when the cab was doing a U-turn into the hotel's drop-off point. It couldn't have been a convenient coincidence. Steve had indeed put a lot of thought into this trip.
"Why?" Tony blurted.
Steve looked up from the papers. He looked questioningly at the scientist. "Come again?"
"I said, why? I appreciate all these, don't get me wrong, but I'm going to be blunt here, it feels like there's a secondary agenda going on."
Steve lowered his reading material to his laps. "I don't get you."
"Look, in my 30-plus years of living, nobody would give me a chance at scoring a grant application when I'm in a pinch, hell if they could get rid of competition, I don't doubt they wouldn't. But you did, and you don't even know me. Then you connect me to this lab halfway around the world – which is splendid for my portfolio, thank you – and then you get all the red carpeting done for both of us. This is all…" Tony faltered, gesturing vaguely to the room. "This is all too good to be true, you know what I'm saying?"
"You're questioning my motivations?" Steve deadpanned. Tony gulped at the intensity of his stares.
"I'm a cautious man by nature."
"OK. You're right to question, why would I be nice to some AP from Boston U? Suffice to say that it'll do us good if we get your technology to grow in proper hands."
That caught Tony off his guard. "What? Who's 'us'?"
"The military of course. Of the USA."
"Which you represent. Of course," he rattled off, pacing the short width of the room. "Aren't you jumping the gun here? You don't know if I'm gonna get the military funding or not."
"You're right. But we're still interested in your reactor technology."
"That doesn't make much sense, does it? You can't say you're interested if you're not really funding me, and you certainly can't just take it and mould it into something else that befits your… schemes."
"Why not?"
"It's patented, Steve. My name on the deed. Even you guys are not above the laws."
Tony grabbed for his key card and wallet. Steve got to his feet, suddenly looking worn and regretful of the turn of event. "Where are you going? It's late."
"I'm getting a drink," Tony replied curtly as he pulled on his shoes. "Don't wait up."
That was the pills and the fatigue talking, he chastised himself and quickly regretted every word he'd said and step taken towards the elevator. When he stabbed at the "Up" button he half-heartedly wanted to go back to the room and apologised. Nevertheless his legs had a mind of their own and though he didn't go to the Skybar after all, he did stroll over to relatively deserted corner on the roof and perched himself on a parapet.
From where he was he could glimpse upon some of the taller buildings within UM compound. There was a white block in the middle of it, a row of words spelling "Canseleri" blazing across. He didn't know a single word of Malay but he'd hazard a guess that stood for emChancellery/em. That didn't seem too bad, did it? Maybe a large chunk of the Malay vocabulary borrows from English. A bit of touch-up on the spellings and voila!
So Tony spent the next hour browsing a Malay tabloid he'd nicked from the Skybar (while narrowly avoiding the well-stocked alcohol cabinet on display), taking pleasure in seeing words that seem English but not really, and when he flipped over to the final page, he realised at least Steve was honest about one thing: a rally was expected to take place in the heart of Kuala Lumpur this weekend, and that ridiculous ban on anything yellow was not a joke after all. Tony replaced the magazine and walked closer to the edge where he could see the city's nightline in its entirety.
The tension and edginess of the night felt almost surreal.
Tony hobbled back to the room at 1.30 a.m., his head all cottony. He didn't turn on the lights and went about his own business as quietly as he could. But the bed was empty, the sheets pristine and untouched.
Tony whipped around and found Steve lying on his side in the sofa, a thin blanket draped carelessly over his chest. There was a military straightness to the posture even as he snored on, and through the dimness Tony discerned undiluted fatigue lining Steve's face. Tony went to crouch beside him, not knowing if he should rouse the sleeping man and march him to their bed. But between that or putting up with an achy soldier for the rest of the day, there was no contest.
Tony clasped a warm hand over Steve's shoulders and jerked him lightly, "Hey, wake up. Bed's over there."
It was going to be a long night indeed.
After breakfast, Steve suggested they take a walk around the block and familiarise themselves with the locality. Know where to find the police station, the hospital or the neighbourhood clinic at the very least; know the number to call in case of an emergency ("Huh, it's 999, what do you know?"). There was a modest network of office buildings and eateries attached to the back of Pullman. After crossing over the pedestrian bridge they emerged on the other side of the Federal Highway to a train station. Very convenient, Tony thought as he threw a sideways glance at Steve, who appeared to be memorising every nook and cranny of the area.
Guess he'd settle with just remembering landmarks then, like this mosque near the intersection, just so he could find his way back if he got estranged from Steve-dearie. Was it him, or did it really begin to smell like paranoia with a capital "P"?
"You look tense," he commented when Steve watch a passing-by bus like it personally offended him before.
"It's called paying attention. We're not in America anymore. It'll do you well to remember that."
And he stalked off towards what looked like a desolate apartment with grime blanketing the exterior. What joy…
When they returned to Pullman for lunch ("God, this 'nasi lemak' is amazing, I gotta have the recipe…") Steve had a map spread out across his lap (over his napkin) that he'd taken to studying between mouthfuls of spaghetti.
"OK, you know what," Tony started as Steve pulled out a red pen from thin air, "we're having lunch. Can't that – whatever it is you're doing – wait?"
"I thought you professors work at meal times all along."
"Yeah, but that's when we're stuck behind the desktop. We're literally a world away now so we should – and why are you eating spaghetti?"
Steve looked down to his plate, frowning, expecting to see something wrong with his order.
"We're in another country, Steve. Try their local food. They're heavenly by the way."
Steve shrugged and shoved a meatball into his mouth.
Night was spent in companionable silence. Steve was back in his sofa, lounging along it as he perused his tablet. Tony was sitting in the bed, his fingers a furious blur over the keyboard. They went about their own business until a jarring "Ping!" blared from his speakers, an alert for incoming e-mails. It didn't take him long to notice a particular memo that carried a red flag in its subject: [2nd reminder] Document submission for KPI appraisal '16.
Tony stared at it for the longest of time, his heart catching up in beats. As long as he could strike some sort of collaboration with Dr Umah, beef up his things-I've-achieved-thus-far list, he should be fine. He should be.
"What's the matter?" Steve asked curtly from his seat, his tablet lying askew on the cushion.
"It's that time of the year again. My performance appraisal." Tony folded his laptop and settled it on the side table. "It's a bit of a problem on this side of the career line."
"On emall/em sides of the career line. It's no trouble to you, surely?"
"Uh, considering that my lab is running out of money, plus I don't seem to 'play well with others', so I got no friends at higher places either, I think the water is boiling kind of hot this time."
Steve swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and sat up straighter, a frown in place. "Your work is phenomenal. The repulsor technology aside, you're also the brains behind third generation batteries, improved modelling of aerodynamics on flapping wings and I think hovering techs as well. I don't see why that's not a guarantee to at least a tenure."
"At least a tenure?" Tony scoffed. "If companies don't want 'em, they're not exactly cash convertible. Just some ideas. And my bosses are all about the ka-ching. And we've already discussed this. They're too high-risk. No sane people will want to fund these shit."
Steve reached for two bottles of mineral water from the in-house mini-fridge and promptly tossed one over to Tony. "Dr Umah's flying armours look promising. If you can marry one of your techs –"
"– to her works, it's a win-win. I know. Much hope depends on tomorrow's discussion."
"When is it?"
Dr Umah replied to his e-mail just after dinner time, confirming that Tony would have a seminar slot slightly before lunch. After which they'd follow up with an actual discussion for a possible collaboration and perhaps, a lab visit and if all goes well, they could be finalising immediate aspects to work on as a prelude to their joint-venture. Indeed, much hope depends on tomorrow.
They turned in soon after, Steve taking the right side of the bed while Tony occupied the left – a bolster in between to mark their respective territory – yet Tony found himself unable to sleep.
Steve flagged a cab to take him to a conference centre nestled, among other crisscrossing high-risers, deep within Kuala Lumpur. Tony surprised Steve when he said he knew roughly where it was; the impressive landmark that was the Petronas Twin Towers – once the tallest building in the world – was just a stone's throw away. Tony decided to walk into UM since the sun wasn't scorching with plenty of clouds to shade him, and they agreed to meet back at the Pullman for dinner.
UM was in fact the first university of then-Malaya, before the Independence. In those days the entire campus was just basically one faculty, of Medicine. Tony tugged lightly at the strap of his bag that he'd slung over his shoulder. He wiped at his brow as he walked past First College, the oldest residential college on campus. Up ahead was Second College, and if he craned his neck to look over the trees, at about 9 o'clock yonder he could see the roof of 12th College. Progress all around. And as his eyes raked across the yellow Engineering Tower, he heaved a sigh.
Let today be the beginning of progress for him too.
The lecture was a bit of a disappointment really. The hall was large but so was the negative space. He counted not more than seven attendees and by the time he reached his middle slide, three had already left. When the host thanked him and opened the session to the floor, nobody asked questions. The student at the back yawned audaciously wide at the back. Tony's grin tightened at the corner of his lips, and when he said his thanks and started packing his bag, he couldn't help but feel that he was most possibly, doomed.
Dr Umah's lab was conveniently located in the adjacent building. She was a gracious middle-aged lady. Her long, curly locks hung just over her shoulders and her smile was genuine when she welcomed Tony to her office. They spoke at length about the reactor tech, with Tony displaying charts after charts of energy readouts and the elements' half-lives. She listened rapturously, so unlike the audience in the morning and slowly, his confidence came back.
After lunch, she showed him the way to her lab. When the door swung open, something kind of large, metallic and heavy, almost collided with the side of his head if not for him instinctive ducking at the sound of spluttering engine. Dr Umah's frantic voice came over the inevitable crash of metal on cemented ground.
"My goodness, I am so sorry for that, Anthony. We're not supposed to do flight-tests in the lab, I do not endorse this…"
As Dr Umah proceeded to verbally tear several postgraduate students from limb to limb, Tony picked the thing up from the floor. It was just the length of his forearm. Heavier than it looked though, and he checked it over for secret compartments of folded air foils or propellers, something of a "cheat" mechanism that'd enable a chunk like this to even take off for a flight. Finding none, he flipped it back and found himself staring at the faceplate. Cold and calculating with a perpetual scowl carved into it, Tony reminded himself to give his kudo to whoever'd come up with this design.
"Anthony, this way please. Now let me take that, it's kind of muddy…"
A rather red-eared student – very young, but don't all Asians look younger than they actually are? – came up to the white board and started penning down equations. Tony studied each of them, scratching his mustache as his mind reeled with the brilliance of the proposed concepts of aerodynamics. On the drawing board it looked far-fetched, but obviously it worked; it almost gave him a good concussion minutes ago. And imagine all the good that could come out of it. Like a conventional drone, only with an actual human piloting it. Military surveillance, medical support, espionage... the possibilities!
The problem was, they unanimously agreed on, that they could only wait for energy or battery tech to catch up to them.
That evening ended with Dr Umah and Tony shaking hands, promising to keep in touch and start working on what would become a rather game changing joint venture. Tony left UM with his head held high. He had a good feeling about this. It was the change of tide.
Just as that thought left his mind a damp cloth, unforgivingly pungent clamped tightly over his nose and mouth. He inhaled deeply, once, and soon he knew no more.
When Tony was younger, his mother took him to the field to play Frisbee. It was a day to remember, because Mom rarely had time for him, and Dad almost never. She threw the disc with a gentle smile and Tony ran ahead eagerly for it. What wouldn't he give to see Mom happy like this whenever she was with him? His little fingers curled hopefully around hard plastic, but when he next opened his eyes, it was to a greyish brown ceiling and harsh fluorescent light, the field a recent memory. Turned out he had a little hole in his heart, right at the septum that made his circulation and ultimately oxygen transportation inefficient. They could do a surgery to patch it up but the family couldn't afford it. His mother stayed with him that night in the ward. He watched her stare out into the inky night, her eyes glazed. There were no more smiles playing on her lips. Tony couldn't bear to see that, so he turned around to his side and soaked his pillow with silent tears.
Maybe Mom was thinking they'd be better off with him dead?
When Tony gained consciousness of his surrounding, he quickly understood it was 2015 and he was in UM. Or should be. He blinked rapidly, chasing the ghosts of his childhood away and the lingering weariness in his body. Where exactly he was he wasn't sure, but he knew he was alone, half-sitting with his upper body draping a table. He straightened himself and appraised himself for injuries.
Someone took him – he speculated as he pushed himself unsteadily off the rickety chair – or rather, someone emdrugged/em him, dragged him here and dumped him. He looked around a bit, ignoring the sense of mild vertigo. He was absolutely alone. Maybe they'd rifled through his wallet and discovered that he was a lame-ass professor worth absolutely nothing.
That piqued him to run a hand down his pants. His pockets still had his phone and wallet.
And it rang.
Shakily he pressed the "Accept" button and spoke, "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" came a stern voice. Tony had never felt gladder to have heard that. "I'm outside the block. Would you hurry up?"
Tony didn't understand what Steve meant. He didn't remember stumbling through what looked like an unused garage. It didn't register that he'd opened a door and was falling through it.
"Tony!"
He hit the tarmac hard. He scrapped his palms because they stung, and he was going to tip over if not for something, someone that sounded and felt awfully like Steve. He steadied him by the arms as he threatened to fall sideways again. When Steve pulled him to his feet, his stomach curdled that he almost threw up.
"Are you OK?" Steve asked with a tinge of worry.
He was going to say yes, and maybe rattle off three more of its synonyms, when he felt an inexplicable jolt inside him. He gasped audibly, and Steve tightened his grip.
"That's it. I'm taking you to the hospital."
"No!"
And there was that jolt again.
"No, please."
Tony looked around rabidly, anywhere but Steve, because he knew he was getting redder in the face by the minute, and also because he could now place an adjective to whatever he was experiencing: pleasure.
Shameless, burgeoning pleasure.
He shuffled on his feet, trying to stand independently and sure again it came, the familiar tug in his lower abdomen.
"Take it easy, breathe. We're just behind the Pullman. I'm taking you back, OK?"
Tony nodded, and threw his arm around Steve's neck.
By the time they were safe in the security of their own room, Tony felt his self-control slowly ebbing away. Steve settled him on the edge of the bed and proceeded to drawing the curtains close, bathing the place in the shadows of privacy. Tony breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He was starting to sweat and he couldn't keep still. His fidgets didn't escape Steve's keen eyes. Tony jolted in his spot when Steve came to sit beside him.
"God help us both, if you say you're fine when it's obvious you're not –"
Tony steadied himself with another inhale. He averted his eyes to the carpet and in a voice more subdued than the usual, he admitted, "I think there's something… in me."
"Come again?"
"Damn it," he shuddered again, "there's something inside me, Steve."
"Inside you, like surgeon-left-something-behind kind of inside?"
Tony squirmed uncomfortably at the mere thought of that, but he quickly brushed it aside when the vibrations, now strong against his core was growing to the point it was impossible to ignore. He swallowed thickly, "Like something-up-the-backdoor inside."
"Jesus…"
Tony watched Steve's shadow reflected off the TV screen as he paced the expanse of the room. It was a blur, maybe, because he could barely keep his train of thoughts from derailing amidst all the feel-goods, but he saw a mixture of frustration, and horror, and perhaps fear etched on Steve's face. His blonde hair was an absolute mess going by how he kept running his hand through them, thinking of how the heck to clean up the mess right here. Tony had long given up thinking, uncharacteristically so as he twiddled a crease in the bedsheet. The shaking in his hands lingered though, and he was thirsty, so thirsty… what did the creeps feed him?
"OK," Steve finally said, "first thing's first. We got to get it out of you."
"No," Tony spluttered. Steve advanced on him and he instinctively curled into himself. "No, stay away from me – I don't want it!"
"Fine, if you can do it yourself then by all means," and Steve gestured at the bathroom door, his expression still severe, "or I do it for you, either way it's got to come out."
Tony instructed his legs to straighten, stand up, and God did he try, but they wouldn't budge. His hands wouldn't comply either and he sat there dejectedly as the bottom of his stomach disappeared into nothingness. Steve didn't spite him more. He approached the bed carefully and as Tony raked his eyes upwards, Steve was looking down at him almost apologetically.
"I'm sorry it has to be like this."
Resigned, Tony nodded and edged further into the bed. Steve followed him, drawing his knees to straddle Tony's flank. If Steve was hesitant before this he didn't show it, his movements steadfast and absolute as he worked on easing off first, Tony's belt and next, the pants. Tony's breathing was picking up its pace, and as he eyed Steve working on undressing him, he'd unknowingly strained so hard against the headboard as if rigour mortis had just settled in.
Steve didn't waste time with meek consolations, words they both understood would be spent meaningless between them. So he lifted Tony's legs by the calves, had them bent at the knees as Steve positioned himself in between. It was perhaps courtesy, or concern, or curiosity, Tony didn't care much at that point, that when Steve looked up to assess his distress, he'd abruptly looked away. When a callous finger pad started tracing the exterior ring of his entrance, he bit back a swear word.
Well, joy. Just what Tony Stark needed in his already messed-up life.
Then Steve pushed in. Tony did gasp at the intrusion, and Steve did stop, and Tony thought it was more of out of surprise than concern, because Steve ignored his little protests – the wriggles to escape Steve, the tensing of his general self – and forced his index finger all the way to the knuckle. Tony winced at the discomfort of it all and found himself half-buried in pillows, his head resting awkwardly at an angle on wood.
"You OK?" Steve finally asked, his voice deep and hushed.
"No!"
"Suck it up. Almost done."
Oh that was beautifully articulated, really, because having a finger deep in his ass was an everyday occurrence. And for an entirely different reason, definitely not because Steve was starting to really get down to business, scissoring his way around hunting for the little bugger, rather the sensation of something vibrating incessantly against his notch of pleasure, that Tony found himself arching deeper into the mattress and swallowing all the sporadic moans that were threatening to get out.
Steve wasn't sure if his own dick was hardening because of Tony's obvious reaction to his ministration, or because it had been ages since his last release.
Amidst their roaring carnal wants and needs Steve's finger brushed against what felt like a tiny bit of metal, foreign to his touch embedded in warm flesh that when he crooked his finger to pry it out, he'd also pushed it hard against the prostate – he'd guessed it must've been – because Tony almost leaped out of the bed as he cried out for Steve.
Then a look of pure horror and shame marred his features and Steve couldn't find the strength in him to pacify the scientist. He'd dug deeper, harder, with purpose and Tony writhed around him, eliciting moans of pleasure and pain that soon turned to begging for release, but not the kind that Steve was envisioning in the heat of the moment.
Steve himself was leaking at the tip, so was Tony, and which each prod more seeped out, and Tony's pleas were getting harsher, laced with desperation.
"Please, Steve…"
Steve, with all the burden in the world, strained to look squarely at Tony. He was flushed red, feverish, and his lips were quivering, but there was wetness in his eyes and Steve found himself hearing it repeatedly: Stop.
It finally came loose. With one last scrape Steve had the device stuck to his finger pad and he dug it out, but all faded into unimportance as he watched Tony climaxed, his body undulating, his dick a glaring red mass spewing semen in multiple bursts all over his lower abdomen. Steve only came to realise how his voice had become hoarse – too much crying, too much begging – and he watched on, utterly lost as the tension in Tony's form subsided that he'd rolled over to his side and burrowed his face into the pillows.
Neither moved for what felt like the longest of minute until Steve walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower – icy cold – and just stood there. If he drowned he'd be fine with it. As rivulets of water ran down his wrists he remembered how close he was to pinning Tony down for good and taking him right there and then.
How close he was to losing himself.
He poured body shampoo into his hand realised the stupid thing that he got out of Tony was still stuck to his palm. It was a capsule – and with all the audacity in the world was still capable of vibrating in his clutch – and when he broke it open with a gentle squeeze, he looked at the electronics that were now sprawling on his hand. He wasn't as good an engineer as the highly-likely-to-be-traumatised professor outside the bathroom, but he knew enough to tell that the complexity of the circuit was superfluous to be just an innocent vibrator.
Steve didn't like the way his stomach curdle at the revelation.