While Tony was on the couch and close to nodding off, Bruce slipped out the door and into the elevator. When he left the tower, the scientist began to wander, unsure of where his legs were taking him – not that it mattered. He just needed to get out.
His gait was quick in the frigid night air that made his legs numb until each step was automatic and with a mechanical swiftness. The cold nibbled at his cheeks, and wind brushed against his jacket. People passed, the crowds slowly starting to thin. He crossed street after street and cut through alleyways.
Then he happened upon a small liquor store, or a L_UOR store, as the sign read; the "I" and "Q" were missing. How fitting. Bruce snorted in amusement. The sign buzzed eagerly as Bruce walked toward the dingy building. He opened the front door, and the gruff-looking cashier jerked his head up at the sound of tinkling bells overhead; he'd been sleeping on the job. Bruce scanned the aisles. He didn't drink much; sometimes he'd have a glass of wine or a beer with Tony, but beyond that, he avoided the stuff. It gave him less control over his actions, and Bruce craved control as much as possible. The Hulk had taken so much of that away from him. There was another reason he didn't like liquor so well, but Bruce didn't want to think about that. Tonight, he had to get something to numb himself – take the edge off so he could pass out and forget all of his emotions and worries for one night. He rolled out a bottle of rum - hadn't tasted the stuff in years. That ought to do it.
He approached the clerk, who had begun to nod off again, so Bruce let the bottle rest on the counter with a hard clunk. The man with a scruffy beard and a Giants cap jerked up. "That all?" He asked, scanning the long bottle.
"Yeah."
"That'll be eleven sixty-two. ID, please." Banner searched his wallet to find that he'd left his ID at home. The clerk gazed at Bruce and nodded understandingly as he passed him a crumpled twenty. "Rough night?"
"Yeah." Bruce nearly laughed. He had no idea.
The scientist took his bag, thanked the generous clerk, dropped his change and a few bills in the tip jar, and left. There was a Motel 6 about two blocks from here, he remembered. Bruce trekked on until he passed the blinding neon sign with a red "6" that was about his height. He paid for a room and jammed the key a green door with the paint beginning to peel off. Upon entering the dingy space, Bruce just looked around. It was a far cry from Stark Tower, but he'd lived in worse. Much worse. He lowered onto the creaking mattress and turned on the TV. As he stuffed the remaining dollar bills back in his wallet, Banner pulled out a photo of he and Tony from a credit card pocket. He then remembered that he could be at home right now. With Tony. In a nice, king-size bed with sheets that had a thousand thread count and pillows stuffed with the chest hair of Greek gods. All he had to do was walk back and gently wake Tony up from his slumber. They could slip into bed together, and Bruce would wake up in the morning to the smell of coffee and maybe something burning on the stove. Even Jarvis couldn't improve Tony's "cooking" skills at a certain point.
He loved all of it, but tonight, there was something inside him that couldn't take it – any of it. With that in mind, he opened up the bottle of rum, gulped down a third of it while watching some soap opera that somehow seemed less dramatic than his life, and passed out on the bed, never even slipping beneath the sheets.
Staring at that photo had reminded him of a different sort of emotion, or feeling, whichever term was appropriate he wasn't sure. It reminded him of a complicated sort of wanting and simultaneous not wanting. When he'd first visited Stark Tower, that was when it occurred to him that Tony had not only been asking him to go on a tour, but on a date as well. Tony had literally grabbed the emergency blanket from his primary laboratory and laid it on the floor. They'd had a picnic right there on the tile floor. And when Tony had leaned in to kiss him, it was all so very right, but something in the back of Bruce's mind told him otherwise. He'd pulled back, with Tony's face inches from his own. His hand rested on Bruce's thigh.
"Is something wrong?" Tony wasn't used to so much resistance.
"I just...don't do so great with-" he grunted, moving Tony's hand from his leg, "-physical contact." Tony raised his eyebrows.
Bruce rubbed his face with both hands, trying to wipe the anxiety from his mind. "Sorry... I don't... I'm not used to..."
"People willingly touching you," Tony finished. He wasn't stupid.
"Yeah, I, um, it's been a while, to say the least."
"Well..." Tony cast his eyes downward in an unusually shy way, then looked up with his regular playfulness. "I happen to be more than willing." He leaned in again, slowly – fantastically and amazingly slowly so that Bruce could compose himself – and their lips met. It was gentle, chaste, and not at all rushed, even in the most minute sense. It was as if they had all the time in the world betwixt their lips. This was a feeling Bruce never wanted to let go, he decided right there. He reached up gradually, fingers trembling, and laced his fingers in Tony's mass of dark, wavy hair, breathing in all the other man gave. It was like a gift. A mutual gift that neither of them was intent on giving up.
As the rum started to disappear, Bruce's awareness of his surroundings began to lack, but oddly enough, his memories were heightened. His mind shifted to a similar situation. He could remember just a week and a half ago when he and Tony were sitting on what had been Tony's bed, in the middle of a passionate kiss – the kind that would have lead to sex in any normal situation. Tony slid his hand deeper in Bruce's thigh, closer to his groin. The other hand fumbled with the scientist's belt. Bruce pulled back.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Tony breathed, looking at him with concern.
"It's not you... it's, well, it's me."
Again.
Tony laughed haughtily. "Really? The break-up speech? For this? You're not breaking up with me, are you?" Tony sat up and nudged Bruce's knee lightly. Was he?
"No, no, I'm just... nervous is all."
"I won't hurt you; I promise."
Bruce chuckled. "That's funny... you think-" He shook his head. "You think I'm worried that you're going to hurt me? No, I'm worried about... about..."
"You hurting me?" Tony looked at him quizzically. "Bruce, you don't have to worry about that."
Bruce bit back a sad sort of smile and shook his head slowly. "Oh, but I do," he said finally.
Tony shook his head defiantly. "No."
How could he explain? How does one explain this sort of thing? 'I might turn into a giant gorilla-man-type-thing that could take you and the rest of the block down in about an hour?' Bruce shook his head again. He'd just have to say it. "You really just don't get it, do you? I'm that monster that attacked Harlem those years ago. I'm the one that- that smashed several buildings in New York to pieces. I'm-"
"The one that stopped me from hitting the ground at indefinite acceleration as I plummeted towards Earth? The guy that helped save New York by beating the living shit out of huge aliens? I was there, Bruce. I know what I saw – and heard. And I am not afraid of you. I'm just not buying it." Tony gulped, trying to keep a firm, engaged expression. He was talking about New York. He wasn't quite ready for this; there was a step before it that the therapist had laid out for him, but Tony couldn't remember and he didn't care. He could skip it. "So, please, stop being so afraid of yourself. Save that for the bad guys."
Bruce sighed with an air of resignation. So maybe he wasn't a bad guy. Maybe that was possible, but did that matter? Even if he played for the right team, did all the right things, something would go wrong. Something.
"What if I-"
Tony stopped him with a sharp gesture. "You're so paranoid, it isn't healthy. I should know. It's okay to be nervous, but you can't let it rule your life. You gotta go for what you want. How long's it been? Two months?"
"Two months, six days, and..." Bruce looked at his watch. "three and a half hours. Give or take."
There's the Bruce I know..." Tony stopped, not ready to say it. Or was he? Fuck it, he was. This was Bruce goddamn Banner here, and he'd known for a while. "-and love."
Bruce's head came up so fast, Tony was afraid he might snap his neck. "What?"
Tony grinned devilishly. "You heard me."
Bruce wasn't sure if he could breathe. Did Tony just...? Did he...? He swallowed in a breath. "I love you, too."
He meant it.
Tony kissed him lightly, but Bruce responded harder. His lips parted beneath Tony's. "Okay," he breathed.
"Okay?"
"I think I'm ready for a little more."
"You want to try again?" Tony hadn't expected that reaction. He'd just expected a kiss like they normally would.
Bruce nodded slowly.
"Okay, try taking off your shirt," Tony instructed. He'd never done this before – never had to, really.
Bruce fixed his trembling fingers over one of the top buttons. This was still not working. His fingers just would not move the way he wanted them to. Tony cautiously removed Bruce's hand and began unbuttoning the shirt himself. Then he slid it over Bruce's shoulders and carefully splayed his fingers across Bruce's chest hair, slowly rubbing his way down. Bruce slowly began to recline as Tony just touched him. He was almost at the scientist's navel when Bruce gasped. Tony paused. "Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?"
"No, I just... it's not... go ahead. I'll be fine." Tony continued to let his hand go lower until he was fingering underneath the waist of Bruce's pants. He let his fingers grace the hem of the scientist boxers. Bruce flinched and scrambled to sit up, drawing his knees into his chest. "Sorry, oh god, sorry," he murmured.
"Hey. Look at me."
Bruce lifted his gaze.
"You have nothing to apologize for. That's alright. You wanna go out tonight? Come on, we'll do whatever you want. I'll just be a minute." Tony planted a kiss on Bruce's lips and got up to walk toward the bathroom.
Bruce tugged back on the maroon shirt he was wearing that was probably Tony's. It smelled like his cologne. Bruce took a deep breath, letting the scent fill his nostrils, and pushed the air out slowly. Why was he so afraid to be intimate with Tony? This man wanted him, craved him, even, and Bruce felt the same - well, he would feel the same if he wasn't so damn anxious. How was Tony even being this patient? Bruce knew from, well, everyone that Tony wasn't exactly wearing a purity ring before they started dating, and the most they'd done was this. Stopped every time. Sure, Bruce had touched Tony before, but never below the belt. It had been only a little more intimate than this. Control was what Bruce craved, and touching Tony meant that he could stop himself before anything happened that wasn't supposed to. He... was working on it.
Then, the world and all Bruce's memories faded to a welcoming, enveloping black for a while.