37
"Fuck!"
38
"Son of a bitch."
39
Grunt.
40
"Ach!"
41
"God dammit!"
"Tony?"
He pauses briefly, throwing a cursory glance over his shoulder, nods, then turns back to his work.
42
"Gruhg."
43
"Tony, what are you doing?"
"Give me a sec, Bruce, I only have two left."
44
Clenching his teeth, he growls at his infliction.
"Are you injecting something into your arm? Tony..."
"Bruce, I have one left. We'll do science after, but for now shut up."
45. Sir, the injection process is a complete. Robotic commands firmly in place.
"Finally..." He ran a hand over his forehead, grimacing at the perspiration sticking to his digits. It had been a rather long, and painful day. But he couldn't stop himself, not when inspiration striked him in the dead of night.
Sure, that had been three days ago and he wasn't sure when the last time he had left his workshop to shower and eat was -Tuesday?- but that's what geniuses do.
They put metal controllers into their bodies without testing it on anything first and possibly cutting their already destined to be short lifespans in half, all in the name of science. Though, he did miss Steve, one of the downfalls of having a brain as high tech as his unfortunately, is the putting off of fun. Fun, meaning sexy times with his Adonis mate. It almost made science pale in comparison. But Tony was an inventor, and nothing can stand between him and a configured masterpiece just waiting to happen.
And it was about science, not the fact that he was suffering from severe insomnia. That whenever he closed his eyes, he would find himself slipping and the only way to swim back through the deathly fog was the loud music and bright lights of his lab. His workshop.
His haven.
No, it had nothing to do with that. Really.
"Tony, what were you injecting into your arm?" Bruce turns his office chair to face him, glasses slightly crooked, slanted more to the left than the right. Worry pulls at his features, eyebrows pinched as he looks Tony up and down.
"If you really wanted to admire my sexy physique, you could have just asked, baby." Smiling, he flexed his arms, pulling the tank taut.
Bruce rolled his eyes, "One, if I wanted to look at anyones muscles, I would be looking at your boyfriend's,"
"Hey!"
Bruce continues, interrupting Tony's outcry, "And don't change the subject Tony, what were you putting into your skin?"
"Oh, c'mon, Brucey-"
"Tony."
"Alright," Tony sighs, realizing Bruce wouldn't give it up, "I may have been setting into place the new mechanical marvel that will allow me to call my suit from anywhere... No biggie."
Bruce gives him a skeptical look, "Shouldn't that be done be a surgeon? Or someone with any knowledge of the body at all?"
"I'm sure I have a medical degree in here," He pauses, looking around the cluttered room, "somewhere..."
"Tony," Bruce brings his hand up, attaching his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. Aggravation clogs the air around them, one that would have a normal omega cringing in anticipation fear. "I'd feel much better if you had a medical professional look it over."
"Sure," He pats the stool next to him, "Sit on down, doc, and you can do your magic. But not real magic, I think I got enough of that from Loki." Blinking away the memory of man-in-leather II (now with stupid hats), and the memory that coincides that one -black, sticky, eating the life out of him and leaving nothing but an empty shell to plummet back to earth, and god, somebody save me!- he quickly changes the subject. "After all, you're the only doctor I trust."
Behind Bruce, Dum-E noisily sweeps the gathering dust from the stone floor. Atop his head sits a dunce cap, punishment for ruining Tony's last experiment and blowing up the worktable he'd been stationed at. He cringed at the memory. His eyebrows still haven't grown back all the way, and his hair now had split ends and singed follicles. In fact, if he closes his eyes, he can practically smell burnt hair; which smells oddly like a Waffle House.
"Dum-E," The robot freezes momentarily, before repeating his mundane task, "Dum-E," this time, the bot dropped the broom, and tilted it's claw questioningly, "Hi, Dum-E. What are you doing out of your corner?" The bot whines, putting it's working appendage down slightly.
"Why are you so mean to your poor little bot?" Bruce asked, though he continued to lock his pupils on the bloody marks on his palm. Concentrating, the he didn't notice the other man smirking at his first creation.
"He know's what he did, don't you Dum-E?" The mechanical arm sagged, turning ever so slowly with a low whirrr to pick up the broom once more. Pity lanced through him briefly, before evening back into place. No reason to feel sorry, his first-try knew better. Even day's after he had won first prize with his prototype AI, Dum-E knew better.
Like his father use to say: It's not about winning, unless you're a Stark. So move out and find a job, I'm not supporting your ass for second best.
"You almost done, doc? I got other stuff to do."
Bruce looks like he wants to argue, yet drops his shoulders. He's used to Tony by now to concede to a pointless argument. He wouldn't win either way.
Sir, may I suggest rest, and the continue testing tomorrow?
"You may, Jarvis, but I probably won't listen to you. Alright," He stands from his chair, hiding the grimace that plasters his face when he disrupts the wounds, "gather around everyone, I'd like to introduce your badass little brother. Jarvis, put the needle down."
Nearby, his record player fills the area with smooth jazz. Shaking his hips, Tony smirks over in the general direction of Bruce, only to find his buddy covering his mouth with both hands. Flushed bright red, the human transformer lets go of his mouth, letting the loud chortles trickle out.
"You-you look s-so rid-ridiculous!" Choking on his own words, the scientist grabs his stomach, nearly knocking over tools sitting on the table beside him.
"Steve thinks I'm a great dancer." Stretching out his arms and legs, the knots in his back begin to unravel. How long had he been down here...?
Either he was completely ignoring the fucked up nature of Tony's back, or he didn't hear it, Bruce went on speaking as though the silence hadn't been broken by snap, crackle and pop, "Yeah? He probably couldn't think past the uncomfortable hammer in his pocket, and we all no it's not Mjolnir." He pauses to wipe a wayward tear from dropping down his face, "Then again, I'm pretty sure he would probably tell you anything when you're shaking your ass in his face. Hell, you could ask him to steal the statue of liberty, and he'd ask you what gift wrap you'd want."
"True enough," Again, subject change, "Alright Jarvis, send 'em over."
Putting his arm out in front of him in a fighting stance, Tony glared at the metal hardwear spread out in front of him. Like christmas in a junk yard.
A junkyard full of incredibly expensive metals.
At first nothing happened, a high-pitched whistle, then silence. However, moment later a low whine screeched from the metal, and a repulsor shot it into the air. Opening his palm, he signalled for the metal glove to come. Within a blink of an eye, the alloy surrounded his hand. The process worked well enough.
"Nice." Bruce commented.
"Thanks," he responded, not really acknowledging his friend. Instead, he turned his head to towards the next part. The left leg.
Eh, screw it. May as well get it over with.
"Go ahead and send the rest, Jarv."
Big mistake.
Suddenly the pieces of his armor turned into mini-missiles, their target being Tony.
Shit.
"Jarvis," He quipped, barely dodging a foot that sailed unbidden beside his head, "Jarvis! A little slower, buddy." Another piece- shoulder?- smashed one of the glass panels behind his back. He winced, but continued to take the barrage of metal. Swiftly catching a leg, he twisted to grab the arm headed straight for his newest experiment. God if that got out in the lab, he would be in for it-
Oh, right in the groin. Fuuuuuuuuck...
Grunting as the rest of the plates fall into place covering his body, Tony looks at the final, and most important piece.
"C'mon," He coos at the emotionless mask still hanging idly in midair. He motions to it with two fingers, and watches as the faceplate slowly descends towards him. Easy, easy...
Then it shoots off, headed straight for his face.
Flipping backwards (with the help of repulsor technology, psh, do you know how hard it is to do a backflip in mid air?) he latches the last plate into place, sticking the landing on his mini stage. Smirking at Bruce who had remained speechless throughout the performance, he winked, even though it was hidden behind a stoic veil.
"I'm the best." The statement was accompanied by the robotic tones bouncing around the lab. Even Bruce seemed slightly impressed, though it was clear to see he was reluctant to swoon.
Then the actual last piece came out from its nested glass, slamming into his back. Losing focus for a moment, all the other pieces to his suit fell out of place.
Amazing isn't it? How one little piece could ruin such a beautiful puzzle?
Why?
Dust cluttered into his mouth from where his face laid against the cool cement floor. Gazing around, he noticed that the floor was littered in spots of dirt and decay. The bits of sparkled metal shavings gave the picture a sort of glow, like stars. It resembled a sky at night, or...
He gasped as his airways were suddenly clogged, vision twisting black, a sea crashing against the rocks of his mind. Eyes twitched back and forth looking for some kind of light, a freedom among the torrent swarm of endless despair around him, but none presented itself. Voices he couldn't remember whispered vulgarity in his ear, silk like the cloth suddenly choking him. He needed to get out. They were coming. They-they would come back for the sacrificial lamb that was stolen away from them by the shepherd's hand.
Death flirts with the bravest of souls, planning vengeance on those who dare escape he calming embrace.
They're coming for you, Tony. And this time you won't escape.
Come back little fly to thy destiny in the spiders den.
Barking laughter exploded in front of him, causing him to lift his head to gauge his surrounding. He was in the workshop still, surrounded by the bright fluorescent lighting that cast of the darkness for a time. The nightmare was over, he was safe.
For now.
Rubbing his jaded expression away, Tony glared up his highly amused friend, "Shut up, it's just a small kink in the system, that's all."
"I'm sorry," From the way he continued to chuckle with an 'I'm-not-really-sorry-but-I-transform-into-a-giant- monster-so-you-can't-hurt-megrin, Tony highly doubted it, "Really, sorry. It's the irony, not the situation."
He hums, standing from his spot spread out on the floor. Rapping his hands against his faded jeans to knock the large brown particles from his palms. An oil stain black on gray catches his eye, diverting his attention from his wandering companion. When was the last time he cleaned in here? A month ago. Maybe. He'd have to have J.A.R.V.I.S call in a cleaning crew to come in sometime this week.
-Invading his privacy, coming at night and ripping his arc out of his chest. Choking him, and leaving his corpse to be found in the morning-
On second thought, maybe he'd just leave it to the bots.
"Hey Dum-E, you've been sitting in that same spot cleaning that bit of floor for an hour. Come make yourself useful and clean the grease coating the cement."
"Tony?" He turned and, oh wow. When had Bruce teleported to his far-end lab table. "What is this?"
Ah. "A bit of an incentive for Steve." No reason to lie, Bruce wasn't a snitch.
"It smells like you, only stronger." The test tube was directly under the other scientist nose, a large whiff of the contents, "Tony, what is this?"
"Pheromones, Bruce." He plucked the glass from his friend, setting it's golden liquid out on the cold metal table, "Heat pheromones. I'm hoping to push forward with this bonding thing."
"Steve still refusing to mate?" Theres a cheeky grin in his voice.
"Ugh, yes." Turns out when Steve was a kid, there was some old wives tale that parents told their children to scare them. Apparently, if you bonded when the omega was not in heat, not only would it not work, the child-bearer became forever infertile. While Tony tried to tell Steve how ridiculous that concept was and how couples bonded everyday without being in heat, the man wouldn't back down. So now Tony get's no sexy time, all because some old parents didn't want to hear their children bonding while they were trying to sleep.
Sigh, "Tony," Oh god, not the disapproval voice, "You can't pressure Steve into bonding before he's ready. If you try to do this to him, I will tell."
Huh, so Bruce may be a snitch after all.
"Oh, come on. I'm not pushing him into anything."
"Coaxing him with your scent, what does that sound like to you?" One of his eyebrows cocked up, eyes never leaving the dazzling wetness.
"Fun. Love. Sex. Any of these working for you?"
"Isn't your heat in, what- a week?"
"Three. And I can't wait that long. Please don't tell him. Don't bring me down, Bruce." He smirks as his friend rolls warm black pupils.
"That's the second time in the last two months you've used my name in a song to get what you want." While it sounds accusatory, Tony takes it with a good laugh.
"Is it working?"
He clicked his tongue as he walked up the steps to the sound studio, focusing on the deliberate stomps crunching on the white concrete. Around him, his closest friends and bodyguards cover all sides, human sandbags to fall and be left in the case of an attack.
All for show, of course. Like he needed protection.
It was nearly time to begin shooting, once their residential diva arrived.
Maya Hansen strode proudly beside him, head held high despite the fact that she was at least three feet shorter than everyone else. He would never understand why she refused to accept the change, content to remain blemished as she was.
Eventually she would either be forced to take it, or disposed of, along with all the other stains on their otherwise perfect world. All would be allowed to partake in the beautiful transformation.
Except, perhaps, Steve Rogers. No, he would much rather chain the good Captain up by his arms and have his way with Tony in front of him.
Then he could be thrown away too. After Tony takes the injection, that is.
Tony.
"Sir, we're ready to begin shooting whenever you say." Nameless drone one says, eyes unreadable behind thick tinted sunglasses. Behind him, the set lit up menacingly. Dark figures danced through shadows sparked across the wall. Concealed whispers sung in the air, filling it with a small ambience to cool the nerves.
"Has the master arrived yet?"
"Yes, Mr. Killian. He was prepped in hair and makeup, and is now ready to make his debut." While the man's lips twitched into a smile, his voice remained empty of emotion. It was as though he were completely hollow on the inside.
At least someone else feels the same.
"Then let's get started," He smirks, clicking his tongue once more, "I have a meeting tomorrow, and I'd hate to be tired for Ms. Potts."
Sometimes the best way to the heart, is to break out the ribs protecting it first.
Soon, Tony... Soon.