Okay, so I lied. DON'T HURT ME.
This took a while, because, for the first time, I was actually having trouble writing a scene (these types of scenes are generally my thing). If anyone's still out there, anyway.
Oh, there will be one more chapter. And that one will be the last chapter! I couldn't bring myself to end it right here, though I wanted to.
Anyway. No longer will I keep you.
Disclaimer: Own Tony Stark? Pfft. I AM Tony Stark.
5: Narcotic
"Are you honestly asleep?"
Steve tightened his arms around Tony's, whose breathing had gone even.
"Stark?" he pulled his head back to stare down at him. Patting his back, he said, "Tony?" He laughed an airy breath, realizing the other man was passed out. Kissing the top of his head, he hunched up his shoulders. "Come on." He sat up and adjusted Stark to where he was holding him face up. Leaning over, he adjusted the other's legs where they were on the couch and bent at the knee. "Let's get you to bed." Bending to stretch his arm to move under the base of Tony's knees, he pulled him up so he could get a better hold on him. Once he was holding him where the incapacitated man was leaning against him, he stood, carrying him cradle-style. As he carried him out of the room, he could not help but make the mental note that, had Stark had been alone that night, he would have ended up passed out in his lab, which had him questioning how many times the billionaire wound up waking up on either the desk or the floor in his lab.
Even though all of the lights were off, the amass of windows in the bedroom allowed light from the outside stars and lunar to bask the room in a silver sheen, almost reflecting off of the white the room was covered in. As he sat Stark on the bed, keeping him vertical, he moved the sheets and the comforter out of the way before lying him down. He set his legs straight and grabbed the sheets he had moved out of the way to cover the younger man. Almost immediately, Stark released a groan and rolled onto his side, entangling himself in the sheets before going limp and silent.
Steve sat on the edge of the bed and set his elbows on his knees. Running his hands through his hair, he turned his head to glance back at the sleeping figure behind him, who had his back towards him, facing the windows viewing out. A chuckle caught in his throat when he recalled last week when he had to do a similar thing; the only difference was that he was not cleaning vomit from the other's face and stuck having to change his clothes. That night, he felt as though he was taking care of a sick child. Granted, the original aggravation and humor he had found in the situation was replaced with remorse when he saw the still-healing wound on Stark's hip.
A sense of letting down Howard shot through his mind, but he tried to shake it away.
He had nearly killed Howard Stark's son.
Even now, he could still see the scene as it happened: him snapping Tony's arm, hearing the crack and feeling the frailty of the other's body; throwing his shield and seeing it make contact with Tony's side, then watching the man hit the ground; and choking him, gripping his throat until his heartbeat was flush against his hand.
Despite trying to be convinced otherwise, he had this nagging feeling that the creature was only intensifying hidden emotions; but that did not even make sense. Sure, he and Stark had their differences and fought on more than one occasion, but he nothing so intense that he would desire to hurt him – not like that. Though, he was more than willing to admit that he had said things out of spite when things between them got heated, but nothing was ever bad enough to make him want to cause the other man that much damage.
Maybe a punch to the face, but that was about it.
He ran his hands though his hair again, only, this time, he faced the edge of the headboard that was being used as makeshift table. With his chin set on his knuckled, he mindlessly gazed at the items: the only thing on it was a folder and a pill bottle. Reaching out, he grabbed the bottle, only to find it to be a generic white bottle. When he could not find anything to determine what was inside, he opened the top and poured a few into his hand. Small and round with a small 'V' in the center of each of them, the word 'valium' was embedded into each one.
The name sounded familiar, but he could not place it.
He put the pills back in the bottle and screwed the lid, setting it back down.
Turning back to face Tony, he set his hand on the blanket over the other's hip. "I'll be right back, Stark," he said, barely above a whisper as rubbed his side before standing up.
Unfortunately, nature could not be ignored.
He left the room. Though he was sure there was another restroom, the only one he knew was the half-bath in the hallway outside the living room. The lights turned on when he entered, drenching it in bright light, to which his eyes took a moment to adjust. After he relieved himself, he momentarily searched for the knob to flush, but it did so once he stepped back. As he went to wash his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror; ruffled hair and oddly alert eyes stared back at him. He shut the water off and used the small towel hanging on the edge of the sink to dry his hands. As he set it back down, he noticed that the mirror was slightly cockeyed. Curious, he pushed on the edge of it to find that it moved. Slipping his finger under the bottom of it, he pulled, discovering that it was, in fact, a mock cabinet; pill bottles and bottles of liquid were on the shelves inside. Glancing to the door, he went back to grab one of the liquid-containing bottles.
Tylenol PM was across the front.
He turned it over to read the back: when used as a sleep aid, avoid alcoholic beverages. There was also Nyquil, which had the same warning label. He set them back and grabbed one of the white pill bottles.
He read the label: Valium at forty milligrams per pill. Eyebrows pressed together, he put it back, only to grab another bottle, this one Rozerem at sixty milligrams a dose. His concern deepened when most of the other bottles were sleep-related: Lunesta, Ambien, Sonata and even Xanax. He may not have known much about today's society, but even he knew it was abnormal for one person to hold so many types of a similar narcotic.
Addictions were always present, no matter what era.
He put the bottle he had been holding back into the cabinet and shut it. Now even more curious, he left the bathroom – the lights shut off when he exited – and walked down the hall, back towards Tony's bedroom. The Iron Man's position had not changed since he had left the room earlier, proving that he was well passed out from the alcohol. Going around the bed to the opposite side, he climbed onto it and sat upright against the headboard as he set his hand on the other's head. At least for the moment, he chose to ignore the curiosity coursing through his veins. He was fairly certain that Stark would kill him if he found out the Captain had been searching through his things. Letting his head fall to the side, he started running his fingers through Tony's hair, silently chuckling at the hangover he knew Stark was going to have.
-o-o-o-o-
Tony leaned over the counter with the torch in hand, his goggles tight around his head as he was hardly an inch away. Quickly setting it down, he grabbed the metal rod sitting next to him to use to form the piece he was working on. In the midst of shaping it, the sensors around the lab began ringing, signaling someone's arrival. Ignoring the noise, he kept his focus, trying to complete it before the alloy cooled. The noise echoing around the lab forced his headache to pound harder against his skull and he pressed his eyebrows together, trying to ignore it. The alarms finally stopped when the glass door to the lab slid open to introduce the supposed intruder.
He did not even bother to look up, still wanting to finish before he took a break.
From his peripheral vision, he could see Steve walking towards him, stopping behind him as he watched what the physicist was doing. Though not visible physically, Stark tensed, not being fond of having others looking over his shoulder and because the memories of last night were still vivid in his mind. In any other instance, he would have passed it off, but he was kicking himself for allowing himself to feel and be seen as vulnerable.
Asking Steve to stay with him….
What had he been thinking?
Clearly, he had not been.
The regret hit him when he had woken up to find the Captain absent. Just like the week prior, he woke up to find himself in his bed. That had him question how far he had tried to take it with America's first superhero; once the effects of the alcohol hit him, his sobriety drained rather quickly and he wondered how soon after that he passed out. Being clothed was a bonus, at least proving that, if he did try anything, Steve had not let it go too far. He did recall kissing him, but his order was screwed up; he could not recall what happened first: asking Steve to stay with him, telling Steve to sleep with him or kissing him.
He was really hoping he had that order messed up.
"And if I was sober?"
He slammed down the torch, now aggravated with himself. Pulling his goggles down around his neck, he turned to look at the other presence.
"To what do I owe this appearance?" His impassive expression hid the thoughts running across his mind.
Steve shrugged as he gaze glanced to Tony's current project. "Thought I'd come by and see how you're feeling." The shrug he was given in response let him know the hangover the younger man was experiencing, even if Tony's intent was to keep it hidden. At the remorseful gaze behind the Captain's eyes, Tony turned back to the table and took the goggles off to toss them on the table. When Stark did not respond after an allotted amount of time, especially for Tony Stark, Steve bit down on his jaw and followed up with, "Stark—"
"Tell me something, Rogers: what happened last night?" He set his hands on the table, leaning on it, hunching his shoulders and keeping his head facing down.
The silence unnerved him, but Steve merely shrugged. "Nothing." He still failed to relax. "You fell asleep on the couch because you were drunk, that's it."
Tony nodded, his shoulders dropping.
He inhaled and pushed away from the table, standing. Turning to face the captain, his smirk turned cocky. "Why don't we go upstairs? I could use a drink."
When they got upstairs, this time Tony not needing Steve's aid (though it took him a bit longer, since he had to move step-by-step), Tony stopped at the bar by the wall. Turning one of the unused glasses over, he could feel Steve's gaze on him as he dropped some ice into it. He picked up a clear, crystal bottle, opened it and poured the glass completely full. Looking at the blond next to him, he motioned with the bottle. "Want some?" When Steve frowned, Tony shrugged, capped the bottle and set it back down; however, before he was able to take his glass, Steve snatched it off of the bar, leaving Tony to sigh with a slight frown tugging at the edges of his mouth.
"Relax, Spangle," he said as Steve sniffed the glass. "It's water," He grabbed the glass back and took a sip.
The Captain's demeanor failed to change, but he nodded, nonetheless. Watching Stark hobble his way to the couch, he felt his chest tighten, still feeling sheer regret that he had been the cause of it. However, one question that had been biting at him since last night was begging to come out, only he was debating whether or not to say it. Tony leaned back against the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and keeping the glass in his hand. He motioned with his head for Steve to sit next to him and the blond walked over to do just that. As he sat down, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the black television screen straight ahead of him. Finally reaching the end of his contemplation, he inhaled and released a sigh: "Tony"—he could feel the other's eyes turn to him—"there are people that care about you, you know." He turned his head to meet Stark's confused expression.
"Okay," he drew out. "Random, but accurate." He took another sip of his water. "People tend to care when you're running most of the technological advances—"
"That's not what I mean." Tony's eyebrows rose at being cut off. "I mean people care about you – your well-being, not you because of your company." Seeing the other suddenly seem uncomfortable, Steve sat straight, pressing his palms to his knees. "Do you honestly feel like your life means nothing?"
Tony shrugged and broke eye contact, going back to take another drink. "Now where would you come up with that? If you haven't realized, Cap, I'm the CEO of my own company, fund The Avengers, make clean energy for all areas of the word – my life means everything."
His usual overconfident smirk was met by Steve's disbelieving and sympathetic expression. Another shrug from the genius.
"I saw all of the sleeping pills, Stark."
An involuntary jerk in Tony's shoulders had Steve know that he hit the right nerve.
"You know, even I can have insomnia, Rogers."
"Damn it, Tony! Stop lying!" Steve found himself shouting in aggravation, making Tony tense up as he acted not to care, finishing the rest of his water. "Stop passing it off any time someone cares about you! Anytime you even think you're getting close to someone, you start to push them away! You act cold, you act like you don't care, but you do. You want everyone to think you don't, because you think it'll make you seem weak and that people will only leave you, but not everyone's out to hurt you!"
He could feel his face growing red as he watched Stark stare down at his empty glass, completely and awkwardly silent.
"Stark."
When Tony stopped swirling the ice around in the glass, he looked up at the blond, his eyes staring at his mouth rather than making contact. Leaning forward, Steve grabbed Tony's neck with his right hand and pulled in to meet his mouth in a fairly aggressive kiss. Once Tony overcame the initial shock of America's Golden Boy acting out of character, he shut his eyes to take advantage of the situation.
"You're not drinking," he said, hardly above a whisper as their foreheads pressed together.
With his heart pounding rapidly, Tony responded with, "If my memory serves me correctly, my intoxication was an issue. Something about if I wasn't drunk?"
"Stark," Steve responded, voice oddly flat, his hand gripping the side of Tony's neck with a bit more force.
Tony gripped Steve's shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric and gripping skin along with it as he lightly pressed forward to catch Steve's mouth, only lightly; but when Steve suddenly tensed, Tony pulled back, watching Steve as he opened his eyes to meet his own. "You're not 'saving yourself' or whatever, are you?" When Steve frowned, but failed to relax, Tony followed out with an oddly disappointed, "What? Because we're both guys?" Still, his shoulders stayed tense, leading Tony to the only other conclusion. "No. It's because of my dad." When the older man released a breath, Tony knew he had it right and he released an aggravated sigh, completely pulling back, dropping his hands from where they were holding and moving away from the Captain's grip, pushing his hand away. Now wanting to put distance between them, he shifted to the side to get up.
Steve fell back onto the couch as Tony stood, limping towards the bar against the wall. Grabbing a glass, he turned it right-side up and dropped a few ice cubes into it from the icebox on the side. As he poured himself a quad-shot of whiskey (which nearly filled the glass), he could hear Steve getting up from the couch and his feet on the floor as he walked over. Sensing him just standing behind him, Tony put the cap back on the bottle and set it down with more force than he intended. "What the hell do I know, right? This entire charade's because of him, isn't it?" He brought the glass up to his mouth, still keeping his back to the blond. When he failed to hear Steve respond, he kept talking, tone harsh, his heart racing in his chest, making the arc reactor give off an odd pulse. "Doesn't surprise me." He took a sip.
"Stark—"
Tony shook his head and turned his head to look over his shoulder, but still did not look at the captain. "I assume you can show yourself out."
That was all he said before moving from the bar to go down the hallway, passing the door that led down to the lab. He did not bother to turn around – to chance seeing Steve standing at the end of the hallway, watching him. Trying not to use the wall for support, to have some semblance of dignity, he made his way to his bedroom. With his elbows on his knees, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring into the whiskey-filled glass. When he heard footsteps coming down the hall, he scoffed to himself and brought the glass up, practically chugging it down before bringing it down. When he caught Steve entering the room from his peripheral vision, he took another drink, this time a sip.
"What?" he asked sarcastically, voice harsh. "Want to give a fake apology because your Good Ol' Boy morals tell you to?" He still did not look up at him, not even when the blond approached him. "Look, I'm really not in the mood, Rogers. Go play hero somewhere else for the night."
"Tony…," Steve drew out as he stood in front of the man, who was staring at his now-half-gone glass. "I'm not doing this because of your father."
Without missing a beat, the response came: "Then prove it." Tony looked up to see Steve's startled expression. "You want to tell me that you're not thinking of him all the time, that it's not the only reason you act to care, then show me." He set down the glass on the section of the headboard that stuck out that he had been using as a table. He put his hands on the edge of the mattress and slightly leaned back. "Prove it to me."
Inhaling with an awkward movement, Steve stepped forward and set one knee on the bed as he grabbed the back of Tony's neck and pressed their mouths together. As Tony moved back onto the bed with Steve following his movements, he took his shirt off over his head and, when they went back to kissing after the small break, he began to unbutton the Captain's plaid shirt. Steve's hesitant hands were hesitant just to set on the sides of Stark's abdomen, but Tony paid no heed, adrenaline rushing and making the arc reactor pulse to match. As Steve helped in taking his shirt, they broke apart and Tony fell back on the bed, watching the blond take his white t-shirt off, revealing his perfectly cut body, each muscle defined.
His pulse quickened just at the sight.
The times were far and few when a man could turn him on, let alone turn him on just at the mere sight. He reached his hand out to run it down the other's chest, eyes mirroring an uncommon emotion. Bending back down, Steve kissed Tony's neck, lightly sucking on the skin, having Tony shut his eyes as he put his hands on Steve's shoulders. He found his own hands fumbling around with Steve's belt, having him wonder when his hands had left the older man's shoulders. As if following suit, Steve's hands found their way to the band of Tony's jeans, except Tony did not have a belt that he had to mess around with and he had Tony's jeans unbuttoned and unzipped with one hand. Being experienced, Tony could tell at Steve's hesitation as the blond slid his hand into his boxer briefs, lightly grabbing his groin.
Lifting his hips off of the bed, Stark pushed his own clothes down before kicking them off onto the floor. Steve's mouth traced up to his jaw and back to his mouth; his hand ran over Stark's abdomen. With things progressing, Tony's breath caught in his throat as Steve's tongue traced down his chest and stomach. "Damn it, Rogers," he said, practically exasperated. Steve stopped and glanced up at him, only to see Tony swallow hard with his head pressed into the mattress. "Under the bed. Small box." He felt Steve move and could hear him pull the box out from under the bed; its movement across the floor was a familiar sound.
"The bottle?"
"Yes, the bottle," he responded with slight aggravation. At this point, he could not help but notice the change in his mental state, noting that the whiskey he had shot down was actually affecting him. When he felt Steve pull back up, Tony sat up and took the bottle of lubricant from him. Steve could only watch as Tony popped open the lid and poured some onto his fingers, and then used his own hand to coat his entrance, smearing it as he slid a finger into himself. Watching him, Steve's gaze became wider and the apprehension he was experiencing became even more obvious. Shaking his head, he leaned back over Stark, having the man turn lay back down on the bed as he continued to prep himself by sliding in a second finger. Taking the bottle into his own hands, Steve mimicked Stark's previous actions, then set the bottle down. When Tony felt Steve's hand next to his own, he slid his fingers out and let the other take over.
Feeling Steve inside him, Tony could not help it; he groaned. His body shuttered when Steve's middle finger was quick to follow his index.
It was not as though he, Tony, had never slept with a man before; but this was the first time the person he was with was someone he wanted to be with, if that made any sense at all.
Tony's head pressed into the mattress when Steve inserted a third finger and hooked them, pressing against the wall. His hands found his way back up to the blonde's forearms; his legs (or rather, right leg) spread open as he shoved himself down on Steve's fingers.
"Come on, Cap." His voice came out in a bit more of a whine than he anticipated. Without a word, Steve extracted his fingers and, with Tony assisting him with a hunger-filled gaze, extracted himself from the confinements of his slacks. Using more lubricant to coat his length, Steve was very careful when he pressed himself against Tony's entrance and practically waited for the younger man's confirmation that it was okay. When he only had the tip of the head in, Tony shifted to press himself all the way against Steve's groin, getting the entire length buried inside him. Getting himself to relax, his cavity could not help but spasm against the size of the blond, giving a pressure in his stomach.
His throat went against his wishes and a guttural groan came out when Steve shifted.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked with his body leaning over Tony's, seeing and feeling the man tense up; one hand was sitting on Stark's uninjured leg and the other on the man's shoulder.
"Less talking, more moving."
He kept his eyes clamped shut when Steve began to slowly move in and out. He could not tell if the Captain's caution was due to his, Stark's, injury or because he was inexperienced – or if he just did not want to.
Who cared at this point?
He certainly did not.
He got what he wanted – hell, who was he kidding? He always got what he wanted.
Steve's mouth found its way back to his neck, to which Stark released a moan – neck biting always had been his weak point. With hard hands, his arms wrapped around the other's back while one hand managed to get caught up in the blond man's hair as Steve lightly pulled out and pushed back in. "You're teasing me, Rogers," he rasped right by Steve's ear; he shifted his leg from being in an awkward position, making his hip twist. "You're not gonna break me." Steve pulled up and grabbed Tony's right leg to lift it up – Tony aided in this process and his leg found its way to be slung over Steve's shoulder.
A quick glimpse into Steve's eyes had Tony's pulse quicken and he immediately shut his eyes and fell back on the bed. The look in the other's eyes – they were distant, thinking.
A look Tony would have easily taken for disappointment.
A look his father would have given—
No.
Now was not the time to think about that or reflect on the emotion he had caught in the Captain's gaze. Just thinking about it made his blood boil and his veins pulse – his chest throbbed.
"God, enough with the child's play!" he practically yelled out as he thrust himself back down on Steve's length, making a throbbing pain shoot up into his stomach. "Please, Steve, just—" He was cut off by Steve pulling almost completely own, and then shoved himself entirely in, hitting Tony's prostate, making the younger man practically cry in mid-sentence. Making it apparent that was the sensation he was hoping for, Steve repeated his actions, getting Stark to shudder as his fingers dug into the sheets beneath him. Making his body pull up, he wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders, buried his head into his neck and dug his nails into his back. One of Steve's hands was holding his thigh, which had gone from being over Steve's shoulder to being partially hooked around his waist. His other leg was lying in a slight bend on the opposite side, still being careful, but, at the same time, not caring that the spread of his legs caused discomfort.
Even with his constant thrusts, Steve's touches and movements were still gentle, careful and tentative; and as he continually hit Tony's prostate over and over, the Iron Man's breath was quick, panting, as throated moans kept coming out.
With anyone else, he would monitor his voice and not allow himself to sound like some hormone-driven woman with exasperated breaths and moan after moan; but, right now, he did not care. He did not care about the pain in his hip; he did not care about the fact that Steve said nothing; he did not care that nearing the end his body was so wracked with physical pleasure that his eyes betrayed him and a few bits of water fell from the corners of his eyes.
His body finally shuddered and his clasped onto Steve's shoulders as he reached his point, spilling onto both of their stomachs. He expected Steve to finish, but when his body practically collapsed, surprise filled him when Steve just wrapped his arms around his back and moved to pull him back and lay him down on the bed. Stark sunk into the mattress when Steve pulled out. The older gent leaned down and, with his hand on Tony's head, kissed his forehead.
He wanted to ask why Steve felt as though he did not have to get off, but his mental capacity was drained, still swimming from the effects of having the Captain's well-over-average length completely inside him. His stomach hurt, his rectum throbbed – damn. He was going to be sore in the morning. Moving in an awkward way, he moved up on the bed to where his head was at the top.
His body was almost numb.
Steve helped get the covers out from under him after he apparently zipped and buttoned himself up.
Not a word was said.
And as Tony allowed himself to sink into the mattress, he heard Steve's footsteps leave the room and the feeling of the empty presence was left lingering in the air. In his last states of consciousness, his mind flipped over-and-over itself.
He thought he had fucked up before?
That was nothing.
Regret washed over him and the last thoughts of any joy disappeared from his mind as he drifted off, alone once again.
I'M SUCH AN ASS.
I was trying to think of a way to have them do it, but keep in in-character. This was the only thing I could think off. :\ I had a different scene started, but I didn't like how if went together - it didn't seem like that could actually happen.
Anyway. Once last chapter. It'll be up sooner.
