-Chapter 16: Yellow Card - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A/N. To CampionSayn, your comment was absolutely wonderful! And thanks for the inspiration KateNolan and DinoDani; I'll do my best to keep the updates about every week. Courtland, please continue being wonderful and brightening people's days. On a personal note, this chapter is in my house, breathing down my neck close-to-home and was a hard write. I hope the realism comes through. It took almost 4000 words to get it across.
Tony has never been nice. Bruce knows that. Still, it doesn't stop Tony's words from stinging when they leave his mouth, "I fucked you because I was pissed at my father," as though it is an explanation, as though it justifies it all. There is a pause where Bruce replays the words on his eyelids, digesting and making sure they won't change. Maybe Bruce says something during it—"Don't you call him Howard?", and maybe Tony replies, but if he does, Bruce doesn't register a syllable of it.
Then, it hits him: humiliation, shame, and crunching, twisting anger. There is a loss of control and vulnerability that leaves Bruce shaking and tearing up from undiluted rage. Tony, meanwhile, is being uncharacteristically nice. He feels guilty, thinks the loser in front of him is pathetic. He's probably right, but that doesn't stop Bruce from wanting to punch him in the jaw.
Tony cries too, at a point. Bruce wants to spit venom, 'Don't you know straight boys don't cry?', but Bruce isn't mean like Tony so he—Bruce's thoughts crash-stop.
Bruce isn't mean like Tony. Bruce isn't mean. Suddenly, Bruce is back in middle school, fourth grade, pushing a smelly Eric Kripke to the ground and laughing as he falls. Sally Hansen is nicknamed 'Pig Girl' because of her fat stomach and perennial pigtails that Bruce likes to pull on while chanting 'Squeal, squeal, squeal!' Bruce has a nickname too, 'Big Bruce', since he does Martial Arts every Wednesday, though he's only a yellow belt.
One day, after tripping Pig Girl to the ground, he catches a glimpse of her face, covered in the baseball field's mucky sand as she yells: 'Why are you so mean?!' Three years later, Eric's sister is part of the popular clique and bullies are out of style. The friends Big Bruce has just because they'd grown up together, friends of convenience and parental connections, stop talking to him, and without people to laugh with him, it's not much fun pushing others around. There's an attempt to be nice on his end. It's an awkward phase of uncomfortable apologies that the recipients don't believe for a second, even if Bruce is being honest. At least no one is actively mean to Bruce. No one talks to him much at all, really.
Schoolwork becomes a focus with nothing else to occupy his thoughts. At the start of eight grade, he apologizes again to everyone he'd ever been mean to, a long list, and they mostly accept it. Sally Hansen says she just feels sorry for him now. Eric Kripke, the unpopular nerd in his sister's shadow, has a different reaction.
They become friends, Eric turning into Bruce's best friend, though Bruce isn't sure if the sentiment is mutual. One day, he's over Eric's house, watching some wrestling match, and feels something in his stomach that he'd only felt when Veronica Mars had worn spaghetti straps to Gym class the month before. Eric asks him something then kisses him. Bruce hasn't been kissed before. He doesn't like the feeling and tells Eric so, which is clearly the wrong move to make. After that, Eric doesn't talk to him anymore either. "So you bully the shit out of me, and when I'm finally nice to you, you just shirk me off? You're so mean; you'll never change!"
You're so mean.
Bruce isn't mean.
He gets up off the bed, stops Tony from going because Tony is pulling pigtails and being mean, but he's apologizing. He's legitimately sorry; Bruce can tell from the intonation. It's the same one he'd used with Sally and Eric. Second chances are a second breath. Bruce remembers starting freshmen year irrevocably low. One second it was shiny new goals—be nicer to people, make new friends—and then the next he was screaming at some innocent thirteen-year-old in the hall. Big Bruce would never change. That's why he was going to slit his throat with the pocket knife Eric had given him a few weeks into their friendship. Bruce doesn't remember what had happened that night, freshmen year, feelings blurring out the details, but he must have had some angel watching over him, because when he'd gone to end his life, the knife was gone, and Bruce couldn't kill himself without it. He couldn't.
Back in reality, Bruce kisses Tony again and smiles against his mouth. There's a science to the way Tony reacts, pupil dilatation and hip-angling that Bruce catalogues in the back of his mind for later use. He lets Tony go, keeping control for himself, "I'll text you," and the difference between the two of them is that Bruce actually will because he isn't mean like Tony was. Was, past tense.
Forgiveness is floating, flooding, fucking. It leaves Bruce high and exhausted, cradling him back to sleep. The kinky, homo-polygamist dreams probably mean something deeper, but Bruce is feeling too light to analyze them beyond the breasts and blowjobs when he wakes up later that day. His clock reads 4:00pm. The sheets still smell like Tony, and Bruce can't stop smiling, so he doesn't even bother trying. It's going to be a good week. He plans to text Tony next Friday.
It's going to be a bad week, Tony thinks, stretching up and out of the two-hour sleep he'd gotten on Rogers' living room couch. Tony still doesn't have a place to stay for the week, and while Steve's residual guilt or maybe a good word from Peggy had let Tony get away with a metaphorical one-nighter, he doubts Steve will be up for a more permanent relationship. The only options, then, are to text his dad and beg for forgiveness or to text Bruce and beg for forgiveness. Bruce is out of the question; Tony won't do anything to jeopardize their friendship more than he already has. As such, Tony lugs himself into the kitchen, where his iPhone is still propped up against the toaster, and calls his dad.
"Tony?" Howard's stern voice makes Tony wince. "Where are you?"
"I'm at—"
"What?" Howard muffles, covering the receiver of his phone with his palm. "No, Marie, I'm talking to my son. It's—no, it's not important. I can do the briefing. Yes, I'll be right there, just one second." Tony hears his father exhale. "Look, just go to the house and we'll discuss this later."
The phone clicks off before Tony can reply. Tony closes his eyes and steels himself until his arms stop shaking. Once still, he taps opens his messenger and texts Steve that Howard picked him up early. It's a long walk to Stark Mansion from the Rogers' Abode, but everyone in New York walks, and Tony could do with some fresh air. If he compulsively checks Bruce's conversation with him on his phone for new messages as he goes, well, that's Tony's secret.
A week passes. Howard leaves for an emergency business trip before he even gets home to give that 'discussion' he had been so keen on earlier. By Thursday night, he's still not back, and Tony is debating whether to host a party or not. It would have to be one of those trash-your-whole-house parties since Howard deserves it and can't legally kick Tony out until he's eighteen anyway. Even if he could, Mr. Stark would never besmirch his company's precious name by implying its owner's family was anything less than perfect.
By Friday morning, Tony has decided do it, and by Biology last period, half of the sophomore class is going. Science class has been weird with him sitting next to Bruce, but miraculously, there haven't been any labs this week, so he and Bruce haven't actually had to talk to each other yet. Tony wants to invite him. He knows Bruce hates parties, but Tony doesn't want him to feel intentionally excluded. Still, the gag order Tony has put himself on stays strong and keeps his mouth sealed through the rest of the class.
Later, as he's rationing out red solo cups and alcohol, his phone buzzes. Tony hopes its Howard announcing he'll be home tonight so that he can witness Tony's mayhem first hand. When he checks the message, however, it isn't Howard. It's Bruce.
do you have plans for tonight? mom's taking me to the movies, and we can't justify getting the extra large popcorn without a thirdsie
- Bruce
Tony's reply is instant:
what theater?
|| Tony 3-
He locks up the labs, deadbolts any experimentation center, and caution-tapes the upper floors to keep the destruction to the lower levels of the house. Tony isn't going to be at the party, but he's not cancelling it now that the solo cups have rationed and been pre-placed for beer pong. Shooting Thor a text and figuring Thor can manage the festivities and make sure no one gets set on fire or becomes a republican or anything equally lethal, Tony heads upstairs to grab a shower and get dressed before meeting Bruce.
The movie starts at 4:55pm, and Tony doesn't want to be late, but none of his shirts look right. The Calvin Kleins are too dressy; the Marc Jacobs are too casual. Jeans don't feel appropriate, but slacks aren't an option either. Maybe khakis and a t-shirt. Bruce's favorite color is yellow; does Tony have anything yellow? Or maybe black because Tony knows it looks best against his tan skin. By 4:43pm, however, Tony has to decide because Bruce's mom is outside beeping out the beat to Call Me Maybe. He settles on a black tank top, tan khakis, and a yellow livestrong bracelet he hasn't worn since middle school, and runs a glob of mouse through his hair before heading down with his cell phone and his wallet. Bruce is outside of the car, examining the updated security cameras in the front of the house.
"These models aren't even out in rich-people hospitals yet. Your dad really did update them," he says.
"Kind of why you had to put up with me for however-many months."
Bruce nods and then turns to Tony, glancing him over. "Did you have a date tonight or something? We can reschedule."
"What? Why would you think I have a date?"
"You're wearing jewelry."
Tony squints his eyes and slips his livestrong bracelet around his fingers, stretching it apart and then flicking it so it hits Bruce's cheek.
"It's a deadly projectile," Tony says. "Latest Stark Industry tech."
"It's cute," replies Bruce, bending down to pick it up.
"Do you want it?" The words are automatic, out of Tony's mouth before his brain can remind him that you can't buy people to make them not hate you anymore.
"That's okay," Bruce says, shaking his head. "Yellow's not my color."
"It's your favorite color. Your headphones are yellow; your phone case is yellow. Hell, even your notebooks use off-yellow paper instead of white."
Laughing, Bruce tosses the band back to Tony and heads to the car. "Yellow is always on sale. No one ever wants it. But I do like yellow, just on other people. On me it just makes me look translucent."
"Well, maybe if you got some sun every once in an ever."
"Shut up, you get paler than I ever do when you binge of writing Jarvis script."
Tony follows Bruce to the back seat with a 'pfft', getting in beside him. In the review mirror, Ms. Banner looks bright and lively despite the circles under her eyes.
"You two buckled in?" she says, revving the engine. Once the two of them have hummed in affirmation, they start off to the theater a few miles down.
It's crowded, Friday night throngs of teenagers and college-goers around every corner. Bruce had ordered the tickets through his phone, though, so he and his mom manage to bypass the majority of the congestion while Tony heads for the line.
"What are you doing?" Bruce asks, putting hand on Tony's shoulder. "Theater's this way."
"Buying my ticket? I'm not so rich that I can't handle a little bit of lineage, Foodstamps."
Bruce rolls his eyes. "You could probably skip it if you wanted to. But no, I bought your ticket; come on."
'With what?' Tony wants to ask, but the look on his face must give it away because before he can, Bruce is explaining, "I got a part-time job doing tech at the Sears by my house."
Tony reaches for his wallet. "Well, let me pay you back at least."
"What? My poor people money not good enough for you uppidy-uppidy fellers?" Bruce says, leading the trio into Theater Nine. "Had to milk ol' Betsy a lotta times to get these here tickets."
"I don't think Sears has cows, Banner," Tony replies, jabbing into his side. Inside the movie room, it's packed, but the three of them find a group of empty seats near the middle-left where they plop down, Mrs. Banner closest to the center and Bruce and Tony next to each other.
"Of course they do," Bruce continues once they're situated. "The entire backend of their computer systems runs exclusively on milk and hamsters wheels. If Mr. Squeakers ever got tired or Betsy stopped taking handjobs, I would be fired in no time."
"You're an idiot."
Bruce just smiles as his mom shushes the two of them with a whispered, "Movie's starting."
The movie is nothing remarkable, another superheroine flick, but Tony likes the main character, Clara Kent, who ends up using her strategies more than her superpowers to defeat Lexi Luther. After the movie's end, Mrs. Banner is raving, talking sequels and character development and comparing it relentlessly to the comics.
"I didn't know your mom was such a nerd, Bruce," Tony says as they step into Mrs. Banner's car.
Bruce pushes up the rims of his glasses, snorts, and lisps, "Ith's hereditary, Misther Sthark."
Tony elbows him in the side, and the two of them laugh all the way home. Once they pull in to Stark Manor, however, the chuckling quickly drops.
"Tony," Bruce starts slowly. "What did you do?"
The part is raging. Hard. Every spot of the backyard and foyer is inundated with people, some of which are obviously years too old to be high schoolers. Bruce tells his mom to leave him with Tony until they sort out the party ordeal, and she does so eagerly, urging Bruce to 'get himself out there', which makes Bruce's ears tip pink and Tony assure him that he doesn't have to join the party if he doesn't want to. However, Bruce insists on helping, and the two of them begin their hunt for Thor, who Tony explains is hosting the gala. After a few minutes of crowded searching, the two of them spot Thor by the pool with some pretty brunette in a red tankini holding his hand.
"Brother Banner! Stark! This is Jan, the fair maiden of Cambridge. My date, in layman's terms."
"Right. Well, everything seems under control here. I'm turning in for the night, buddy," Tony says. Bruce taps his shoulder.
"Under control? This is bad, even by your standards, Tony. You have to get everyone out of here. Your dad is going to kill you."
"Kind of the point." Tony turns from the poor, heading out to the garden, whose gates had been sealed off from the partygoers. "My dad's being a dick, so I'm breaking his stuff. I'm really a toddler at heart, you know." He leads Bruce through the gateway and subsequent foliage to a discrete elevator concealed in a web of lilacs. "Now, do you want your mom to pick you up or do you want sleep on the top floor of Stark Manor?"
"Tony. You need to stop the party."
"It will stop. Jarvis is preprogrammed to stop dispensing drinks at 2:30am and to shut off all lights and close the pool-top at 3:00am. Once the beer and lighting is gone, the people will either crash or file out. It's how I clear all my parties, minus the Jarvis automation."
"Right. Your house's funeral, I suppose." Bruce follows him into the elevator and tries not to gawk the glass walls and fifty-seven purple buttons adorning the navigation panel. Tony hits '57', prompting the elevator to start upwards. A cheesy Vivaldi piece plays through the speaker system which Bruce says sounds far too clear for a damned elevator, but Tony replies that Howard has more than enough money to waste.
There's not many rooms on the top floor. Howard sleeps near the bottom for easier evacuation and keeps Tony restricted to the lower quarters as well. Tony has always considered the top floor to be Howard's bachelor pad since it's only two separate bedrooms and an annex. The walls are entirely soundproof and transparent, making every light from the city glow in dead silence. Bruce can't stop staring out of the walls of the first bedroom.
"This is gorgeous," he says.
"Wait until you see where you'll be sleeping."
The best view of New York City has to include Time Square, and only one angle of the house hits in perfectly. Tony leads Bruce through the annex interconnecting the two rooms into the larger bedroom with billboards and theater marquees glowing out of the window.
Bruce can't conceal his excitement. "Holy shit. How do you live here?"
"I can pull the curtains if it'll be too bright for you," Tony says, sitting down on the California king bed in the room's center. "The bed is memory foam, by the way. Feels like you're sleeping on a cloud."
"We're high up enough for it," Bruce comments, putting his glasses to the window-wall. "Why don't you just live up here? You can see everything."
"Howard won't let me; he does his interviews in this room, but I like to come up here and program sometimes or just work on my laptop when he isn't home. Jarvis likes the view."
"You programmed Jarvis."
"I programmed Jarvis to like the view," Tony corrects. "Therefore, Jarvis likes the view."
Bruce turns around, shaking his head, and joins Tony on the bed, sitting on the edge behind him. "Oh my god, this mattress."
"Yeap."
"I could fall asleep."
"Well don't," Tony says, heading over to the massive bookshelf adorning the inner wall of the room. "We have some reading to do." Bruce watches him quizzically as he reaches for a thick black book with silver accents at eye-level. "Whenever my dad does interviews here, he either has this bookshelf or New York as his backdrop. No one's caught it yet, but there's about four hour-long interviews with this gem visible in the shelf." He tosses the book onto the bed where it lands to the left of Bruce's thigh.
"Fifty Shades of Grey. Tony. Tony. You didn't. You literally did not."
"Oh I did. The one where he discusses the plan for Iraq's militia weapon funding? The seductive Christian Grey was in lurking in the background, waiting to pounce on Howard's Inner Goddess."
"I've never actually read this thing."
"No?" Tony asks, seating down next to him. He reaches over Bruce's thighs and takes the book, flipping to the first page. Bruce scoots behind him, leaning over his shoulder to follow along as Tony starts on the first paragraph. They read for a half hour in unison prior to Tony flipping the page before Bruce is done.
"Wasn't done," Bruce says, reaching around Tony's sides to grab the book. Tony clasps his hands, stopping him from reaching the pages.
Turning back and facing Bruce the best he can from the angle, Tony jeers, "Read faster then, Valedictorian." They look at each other. Bruce's arms are still around Tony, his chest against Tony's back and his nose to the left of Tony's neck. Tony arcs away his head, letting go of Bruce's wrists and flipping back a page. "Just tell me when to turn," Tony says.
Bruce's hands retreat from the book and settle at Tony's sides, ghosting over the fabric of his shirt. He leans in closer until his chin is against Tony's shoulder and then tilts his head down so his lips are against Tony's neck.
"When."
Tony flips the page.
Bruce kisses Tony's neck.
"When."
Bruce kisses Tony's ear.
"When."
His cheek.
"When."
Corner of his mouth.
"What are you doing?" Tony suddenly asks, trying to keep a jitter of casual laughter in his voice as he tilts his face away. Bruce wraps his arms under Tony's shirt and around Tony's stomach.
"I wanna feel your scars."
"You could have just asked."
"I wanna kiss you."
Tony chokes. "I, uh, think that job at Sears has gone to your head, Brucie-boy. You can't just. Um."
Bruce's hands are over his hipbones, fingertips just under the hemline of his jeans. Then there's Tony's spine tingling, and Bruce's mouth against his ear, whispering, "How's your relationship with your father?"
Tony's lips dry up as they reply, "Bad. Terrible. Usual."
"That's good. You two need to get along more." Bruce's hands skate over the elastic of Tony's boxers.
Then Tony jolts away, turning to Bruce with an outreached arm and flat palm against Bruce's chest, keeping him away. "Bruce," he says sternly, definitely, resolutely until he looks up and sees Bruce's face.
If it was any other expression. Any other expression in the world. If Bruce's eye were red-rimmed and teary, if his lips were lined with an anxious frown, if his cheeks were flushed from a horny haze or drained from color in guilt, Tony could have managed it. But none of those are Bruce's face. Not by a longshot.
Bruce is smirking. His eyes are glinting and his brows are quirked with an absolute confidence that looks downright foreign on Bruce's features. There's not an ounce of doubt, not a skin cell of hesitation, and the upright curve of Bruce's back, haphazard splay of his legs, and lingering hands on Tony's knees makes Tony short-circuit, immobile before the two words resound in his head like a loudspeaker: Do it.
He does what he wants to do and can't do. Tony can deal with the guilt later. Right now, he just needs to act, even if it means ruining the relationship forever. The guilt has always been too much, but Tony has to take it a step further, has to get the message across that he isn't like that sexually. He never will be. It's not wired in him, even if it's going to hurt someone whose relationship with him has all but fallen apart, someone who Tony loves, even if he can't admit it, won't admit it.
So Tony closes his eyes and acts, forgoing the consequences and destroying the two of them indefinitely.