Chapter 29: Borrowed Time

Tony leaned close to the bathroom mirror, watching himself shave, sharpening the lines of his beard. It was strange to shave after months of not needing to. Or no, that wasn't quite right—needing to made shaving sound like a chore. It was strange to shave after months of being unable to. Shaving was a meditation, a quiet time for Tony to be alone with himself and to consider the man he was. Today, the consideration was unsettling. The face in the mirror was on borrowed time; if everything went according to plan it would disappear again in just a few hours, hidden once more behind the Other Tony. Tony could see her in the mirror, Steve's Dream Girl, as if her features were already imposed on his own. He shut his eyes, took a breath. When he opened them again, his own face was back, looking strained. He wished suddenly for Steve, for Steve's strong arms around his waist, Steve's face over his shoulder in the mirror.

He was using Steve's razor, and Steve's tiny scissors, and Steve's Barbasol, and he'd use Steve's aftershave when he was through. Steve's smell was everywhere, though the man himself was conspicuously absent. Steve was…elsewhere. Roaming the halls or plotting with Bruce or reading in the library. For reasons Tony had not been able to fully articulate, he could not let Steve watch him dress, not when he was going to see Hammer, not when Tony was getting ready to do…whatever he was getting ready to do. That was another thing Tony couldn't fully articulate, not even to himself. He was going to have to wing it; strategic planning was outside his current capabilities. Sighing, Tony rinsed the razor, stowing it back in Steve's leather case along with the rest of the supplies, as ready for the job ahead as he was likely to be.

Heading down the hall, Tony concentrated on normal, human respiration. He could feel the adrenaline trying to speed his breathing, but he wouldn't let it. Some nervy energy would help him sell the thing, but too much would make him look desperate; he wanted to hang in the sweet spot between eager and anxious, but that was proving impossible. Once again, he was heading into a seduction with some serious handicaps. At least, he consoled himself, he'd seen a mirror this time. And he'd picked his clothes with care: pants in army drab (camo was too G.I. Joe) and a t-shirt on the tasteful size of smedium, though he would have given just about anything for something wool with a pinstripe. His current ensemble left him feeling like he was going to war in his underwear, but it was a sartorial step up from his oversized sweats of the day before. So there were a couple of ticks in the plus column, but only a couple.

On the other hand, there was a big, fat, overstuffed minus column. Had Tony known what his morning would look like, he'd have made dramatically different choices in the preceding hours. For one thing, he wouldn't have encouraged Steve to fuck him like a jackhammer the night before. If he didn't shit some blood later, he was going to be mighty surprised. He could not take it in the ass again, not today. Unfortunately, he also wasn't sure he could top. Jacking off had been a serious mistake. He could probably get hard again, or at least pretty hard, but could he come? Iffy. It would definitely take awhile, and he'd rather shoot himself in the foot than fuck Hammer for an hour. Tony was not ready to take off his pants for this enterprise in any capacity.

But ready or not, it was showtime.

"Hey," Tony called, rapping on the door of Hammer's suite with a knuckle, "it's me."

"Who?" Hammer called back, voice muffled through the door. "Come in. Door's open."

Hammer was still at the breakfast table, though the dishes had all been cleared away, leaving only his espresso in its china cup. He was reading the paper in blue silk pajamas, glasses perched on the end of his nose. The bruise on his face was livid; Tony could easily number the impressions left by five small fingers. That was probably going to make him pissy.

"Well, well, well," Hammer said, leaning back in his chair, his mouth compressing into a thin line. "It's a boy. Mazel tov. Rogers finally did it, huh? And it only took him two months."

"Yeah. Look, can I sit?"

Grudgingly, Hammer waved him towards a seat at the table and resumed reading the paper. "What do you want, Tony? Make it quick. I assume you've come to ask me for a favor, but after yesterday, I am officially out of the favor business."

"It'd be a transaction."

"I'm not interested."

"Listen, I have an alternative theory about how extragen works. I'll tell you about it if you agree to help me prove it."

Hammer flipped a page with calculated indifference. "Eh. Why? If you're right, I'm sure my team will get there eventually. I've got a lot of brainpower back there getting paid a lot of money."

"I'm trying to save us both some trouble, asshole. It's not going to work on me this afternoon. If I'm right about this, you can give me as much extragen as you want, it's not going to change a single pube on my nutsack."

For a second, Hammer went still, but he recovered. "I guess we'll find out."

Tony resisted the eyeroll. Hammer was such a pain in the ass; how had he ever fucked this man on purpose? It boggled the mind. "I'll just tell you, alright? I think extragen is neurologically dependent; you have to turn on the body's receptivity in the orbitofrontal cortex."

"Turn it on how?" Hammer asked, still pretending to read.

"You have to want it to work."

"Nope," Hammer flipped a page. "It would have worked for the volunteers." Tony wanted to rip the paper out of his hands.

"No, listen," Tony said, trying to stay outwardly patient, "you have to want it to work in a very particular way: the brain has to reproduce a certain set of conditions related to desire."

"Desire?" Finally Hammer looked up from the paper; Tony had his attention. "Like, sexual desire? That's interesting."

"That's right. The physiological response is triggered by some combination of electrical patterns and chemical signaling in the hedonic regions. This wouldn't be unique to me, but it could make it a challenge to use extragan for espionage— "

"You'd need reliably horny spies," Hammer said, putting the picture together. "So it really did work on you because you're a pervert."

"And you have to want it to work on the backend, too. The same set of conditions have to be met during climax to make it dissolve: you've gotta want it."

"Now that would be good news," Hammer mused, folding away the Times. "You wouldn't get made during an assault. Okay. I like it. It's logical. But I still haven't heard why it won't work on you. I have no doubt you're the biggest freak in this building; that means you are still my number one guinea pig."

"Because after last night, I have no desire to do that with Rogers again. Nil."

"Well, that's not great, Tony," Hammer chuckled humorlessly, "at least not for you. I won't lie. I'm under the gun: the government wants this today, and the industry contractors want it yesterday. So whatever it's going to take for you to get in touch with your feminine side, you'd better do it. Otherwise, I'm liable to ask myself just how long it'll take Stella to get her groove back in solitary confinement—"

"Wait a minute. I said I have no desire to do it again with Rogers." Tony's heart started to beat hard as he leaned forward, putting a hand flat on the table. The rubber was about to meet the road. "He's just not…look, I love the guy, but I had to finish with a vibrator. He's on morphine for the shoulder right now; he can't stay hard—"

"No way," Hammer laughed incredulously. "No way. There is no way you're asking me to—"

"Steve's a shitshow, Hammer. Seriously. A gorgeous shitshow. A sweet shitshow, even, but god help me, the man fucks pussy like he's never even seen one. You try getting a lady boner for that. I just can't do it, but you and I both need this to work. If I help you figure out the mechanics of this thing and prove that I'm nothing special, I'm suddenly a lot less interesting to Uncle Sam. I'll sign the governmental NDAs, whatever. I just want to get out of here. I want Steve and Bruce to get out of here. I will do whatever it takes to increase that possibility."

"Tony," Hammer said, still incredulous, "do you see my face? After yesterday, I wouldn't fuck you with a ten-foot pole—"

Shoving his chair back, Tony rounded the table like a predator, swift and direct, heart pounding. He leaned over Hammer's chair, grabbing Hammer's chin just when he looked like he was about to try to run for it.

"I don't need a ten-foot pole, Hammer," Tony said seriously, "just a solid six inches and somebody that knows what they're doing." Tony groaned internally; what a god-awful line. He went for the liplock immediately, hoping to put it out of Hammer's mind. There was a little resistance, but not much. Ten seconds in and Hammer had Tony by the back of the neck. Ten seconds after that and his coffee-flavored tongue was practically licking Tony's tonsils, and Tony thanked god or whoever for making Hammer an easy slut.

Pulling back, Tony dropped to his knees and started mouthing at Hammer's erection, saliva spreading dark on the blue silk. He kept going until Hammer's hands were scrabbling at the waistband of the pajamas, trying to push down the fabric, and then he jerked back, grabbing Hammer by the cock through the silk, squeezing.

"Say you'll do it, Hammer."

"This is a bad idea. You hate me," Hammer panted, still unconvinced. He was an easy, but not stupid. This was proving tougher than Tony wanted it to be.

"Sure I hate you," Tony agreed. "I loathe you, but even I know we're hot together. You had me so wet yesterday, I thought I'd need a life raft. I was so horny, I fucked Steve as soon as I got him back to the room." He let go of Hammer's erection and went for the waistband himself, tugging Hammer's pants and boxers down his tanned thighs, exposing Hammer's pasty dick. Closing his eyes, Tony stuck it in his mouth, sucking hard for a second before popping back off.

"How do you like it, Hammer? Girl on top? That's how I like it. It's the tit bounce, y'know? I know you noticed the rack. Or maybe you're an ass man. You liked bending me over." He went back to the blowjob, sucking relentlessly until Hammer started to groan, then he popped off again. "What's it going to take? You afraid I'll hit you? I won't. You can strap me to a table if you want to. Handcuff me. Hogtie me. Whatever you want to do, I'll let you." He went back to the blowjob, taking Hammer as close to the edge as he dared before he stopped once more. "You don't get it free, Hammer. Say you'll do it."

"Christ," Hammer growled, frustrated, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "Fine. Let me call down to the lab for a dose—"

"Not now. I've been gone too long. I told Steve I went for coffee; he'll start to wonder where I am."

"Who the fuck cares?" Hammer asked incredulously. "Let's—"

"I care, jackass." Tony grabbed Hammer's cock again, squeezing hard enough to make him gasp. "I love him. Got it? There is no reason for Cap to know about this. And if he finds out from you? Like over some private dinner? I'll kill you. I'd already told him it was consensual, dickhead; you didn't need to go and give him any details. He isn't going to know about this arrangement at all."

"Okay, okay!" Hammer was past the point of argument and trying to thrust into Tony's grip. "When do you want to?"

"Tonight. Steve goes down hard after the morphine. He won't miss me."

"Tonight is the facility Christmas party."

"Perfect. Sounds like you're too busy decking halls to shoot a porno this afternoon, anyway. I assume we're invited to this shindig?"

"Well—"

"Steve and Bruce hate parties." He gave Hammer one last squeeze and then stood. "They'll both be in bed by ten, and then I'll meet you under the mistletoe."

He stood, snatching the newspaper off the table on his way out.

Tony couldn't go back to his room, so he went to the library instead. He closed the door and sat heavily in one of the leather armchairs. He licked his teeth, made a face: his mouth tasted like dick and espresso that someone else had had to drink. Taking up the newspaper, he sorted through the sections, tossing them onto the floor until he got to Arts and Leisure. As he'd hoped, the crossword was pristine, crisp and clean. He folded the page carefully and stuck it in his pocket, then stared into the darkness of the unlit fireplace. The folded crossword felt like the only unspoiled thing about him: the septic feeling was back with a vengeance.

It wasn't fair. Being back in his body had felt so good; there'd been a purity to it, like all the shit with Hammer had gotten erased. For one brief, shining moment, he'd felt well-nigh virginal. Goddamn, but that feeling had had a short fucking shelf life. Tony the Virgin hadn't lasted twelve hours. And now–

"Pssst."

Tony startled, peering around the empty library.

"On the floor. To your left."

Tony looked down; Nat's voice was rising from a vent. He couldn't see her face, but there was a glimmer of headlamp through the grating.

"Oh," he said without enthusiasm, "you."

"You mad at me?" she asked frankly.

"Yes," he said reflexively, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. "I don't know. No. You were right."

"I usually am," she agreed, "but I shouldn't have been so hard on you, Stark."

"Eh," Tony shrugged, "what are you doing down there anyway, Romanoff? Wearing a clown nose and eating children?"

"We all float down here. You'll float, too."

Tony snorted, "Not me, Pennywise. I'm sinking. Actually, scratch that. I think I'm already sunk."

"You…you did it, then?" Her voice turned on a dime, from comic to serious. "Hammer's on board?"

"I did it," Tony said grimly.

There was a silence, so long Tony started to think Nat had disappeared again.

"I'm sorry, Stark," she said finally. "It's not an easy thing to do."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Otherwise you wouldn't be hiding out in here."

Another silence.

"I'm not ashamed of it," Tony declared, the words pushing out of him. "I did what I had to do. I don't understand why I feel so bad about it."

"Because it's going to hurt Rogers."

"Is that it?"

"Yes. It's much easier when there's no one back home."

Tony thought back to the previous day in Hammer's bedroom and the visceral pain he'd experienced any time he thought about Steve. She was right. Unquestionably.

"So what do I even say to him?" Tony wondered. "Do I lie? Or—"

"You want my standard line?"

"Yeah."

"You say: 'It was simple. I didn't have to do that much.' It's what they want to hear. And honestly? It's also the truth. Even if you have to go all the way, it's just a few minutes of your life, and then it's over."

"What if he asks—"

"He won't. They never do. They're too afraid of the answer."

"Then what?"

"Then you move on," she said firmly. "Eat the dinner they made for you. Watch television with them on the couch. Let them take you to bed if they want to. Do all the things that seem impossibly normal, and try not to be too precious about it. You did the job; don't give more of your life away for free. Rogers would probably say something about minimizing or compartmentalizing or something, but it's kept me sane."

"But you don't have to do too much of that now, do you? I mean—" he cut himself off. The question was incredibly personal. He was surprised he'd asked it.

"No," she agreed. "I think the last time I got a dedicated lingerie budget from the department was when I was working for you, and that turned out to be a waste of taxpayer dollars."

"Oof," Tony groaned. "That's kicking a man when he's down, Romanoff. God. It's probably too late to say, but I'm sorry I was such an asshole."

"No you weren't. I was there to entrap you, Stark, and you wouldn't take the bait. At the risk of sounding immodest, you can be a little proud of that. I gunned for you pretty hard. My cover was, what? An Ivy-educated lingerie model? I know there were pictures in my resume packet. Do you remember your birthday party? You were pretty sick by then, but—"

"When you came into my room holding a box of watches like 'Tempus Fugit' personified and then told me I should do whatever I wanted to do with whoever I wanted to do it with? Oh, yeah. I remember. Felt like my nuclear-powered heart was going into meltdown."

"Subtle, right?"

"As subtle as a leopard-printed freight train."

"So what stopped you? You missed spectacular underwear, by the way."

"You like twisting that knife, don't you? What stopped me…" He remembered that night so clearly, up until the point he didn't remember it at all. His recollection of Nat was certainly vivid: the oily bite of the martini she'd made him, the smell of her perfume, the curves of her body under her clothes. When she'd settled on the arm of his chair, leaning over him to apply concealer to his black eye, he could see right down her dress. He'd thought about pulling her into his lap. After Afghanistan, he'd more or less given up sex. It hadn't been a conscious decision on his part, but the reactor had made sex complicated, and Iron Man had made it complicated, and his reassessment of his own life had made it really complicated, and here was this seductive woman who looked like rain after a long, dry spell. All he had to do was step into the downpour, and he knew he'd get wet.

But in the end, he'd stuck to his umbrella.

"I don't know what stopped me exactly," he said finally.

"I scared you."

"No, you terrified me, but I think it was more that your timing was off. I was right on the edge of knowing I wanted something else."

"You'd started waiting for Steve," she said simply.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I guess I had. How about that? They hadn't even thawed him out yet." He touched his wedding ring, rubbing over the stone with his thumb. Ever since Steve had slipped it back on, he couldn't keep his fingers off it. Every time he touched it, it felt like a miracle, not just that he was himself again, but that Steve had stuck by him through the ordeal, through the weirdness and the fights and the bad sex and now this fresh hell with Hammer—

"Can I ask you something? Something personal?" he asked.

"Sure."

"If Bruce did something like I just did, something he felt like he had to do, would you want to know about it?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Yeah," Tony said, feeling the sweat begin to gather on the back of his neck, "hypothetically." He was glad he couldn't really see her. For the first time in his life, he understood why Catholics liked those screened confessionals.

"As in, hypothetically, would I want to know if Bruce had almost slept with his best friend because he thought it might keep his friend from being assaulted? Hypothetically like that?" Looking at the grate, Tony thought he saw a flash of teeth. She was smiling.

"Yeah," he said, relieved, "hypothetically like that. Was that the very first thing he told you?"

"The first thing? No. The first thing he told me was how much he loved me, which was a dead giveaway that something had happened. Do not go back to your room right now and tell Rogers you love him. I knew for sure Bruce had done something he felt guilty about. Hypothetically, by the way, I'd have slept with the friend, too."

"Thanks, Romanoff."

"You're welcome, Stark. Now go see Steve. He's waiting for you."

Steve lay on the bed, trying to relax. It was the first time he'd gone so long without the morphine. He was relieved to find that he didn't hurt lying still, but he needed to rest the joint so he could use it later. It would be a tough evening, but it wouldn't be tougher than the current waiting.

During the war, Steve had come to appreciate waiting as a refined skill, and one for which he had no innate talent. Bucky Barnes, in contrast, had been the greatest, natural-born time-killer in the European Theatre. Buck's go-to move had always been a nap, but Steve couldn't manage one, not with Tony gone. Still, Steve knew he should do something. Watch television. Read a book. Anything other than stare up at the ceiling, imagining what his husband might be up to with Justin Hammer. The big, bad, worse-than-jealousy feeling was back. Tony had been gone for so long. They must be having sex, or trying to. Even though it made him feel petty and ashamed, Steve's one consolation was that he'd helped give Tony not one, not two, but three orgasms in less than twelve hours; it might be a lift for Tony to get hard again and climax during round four.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Tony bounced through the door, obliterating Steve's train of thought. "I come bearing gifts! I have a brand new, genuine, totally untouched New York Times crossword in my pocket and, for your viewing pleasure, the one and only Christmas movie on base." He held up a DVD case and then popped it open, producing the disk with a flourish. "And now," he said, putting it in the player, "for your consideration, direct from 1996 and absolutely nobody's favorite holiday film, I present Christmas Every Day. According to the clamshell, it stars Erik Von Detten as Billy Jackson, a selfish teen forced to relive the same Christmas every day until, get this, he is filled with the spirit of the season and beds Andie McDowell."

"You sure about that last part?" Steve asked, struggling to play along, so hopelessly relieved he felt like he might cry.

"Eh, not really," Tony said, toeing off his shoes. "Probably wishful thinking. You ready for this cinematic masterpiece?" Tony flipped off the overhead lights and then flopped on the bed, draping an arm over Steve's chest.

"How's the shoulder?" he asked as the previews started. His body was relaxed, his voice casual and calm. Too calm? Steve couldn't quite decide.

"It's okay," Steve said, watching him carefully.

"I'm sorry it took me so long, Cap. I was talking to Nat through a vent in the library floor. I know I left you hanging."

"Talking about what?" Steve asked, though it wasn't even close to what he wanted to know. What the Hell happened with Hammer? he howled in his head, physically unable to force the words out into the physical world. They were stuck somewhere mid-larynx.

"Nothing. Ancient history," and then, fixing Steve with a serious look, Tony said, "Ask me what you really want to know, Steve."

"How'd it go?" Saying it almost choked him.

"Well," Tony said breezily, "we are officially off the hook for this afternoon. Hammer isn't coming, and I secured three officially unofficial invitations to the Christmas party. We should be set."

"Tony—" Steve began, then swallowed the question. He couldn't ask; it wasn't his right—

"It was simple," Tony answered, hearing the question anyway. "I didn't have to do that much. I kept all my clothes on."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Steve." And he did sound it, but how could he be? Steve had basically pimped him out. It had been for Tony's own sake, for all of their sakes, but—

"Hey," Tony said, again hearing the words Steve hadn't said, "I need you to let this go."

"I'm not sure I can," Steve admitted. "I feel—"

"Listen," Tony interrupted, "just this once, can we please be unhealthily co-dependent and decide that if I'm okay, you're okay and vice versa? Please? It's Christmas Eve, Steve. In a few hours, we've got to go to a really shitty fucking party, but until then, I want to be okay, and I want you to be okay with me. I want to watch this terrible movie, and then I want to watch you struggle with the Saturday crossword, and then maybe, if you give up fast enough, I want to make out with you again and hear some more of the dirty shit you got up to with my alter ego. What do you think? I promise I won't tell your support group you left unexplored feelings on the table."

Steve hesitated; this would be yet another box in Tony's closet, another terrible artifact swaddled in cotton wool, hidden away but not forgotten, not by either of them. But what was the alternative? They couldn't face it right now, not really. In his mind, Steve got out the magic marker and labeled the box in big black letters. Someday, Steve promised himself he'd come back and help Tony unpack it.

"Where's the remote?" Steve asked, putting the box on the shelf and firmly closing the door. "I want to turn on the subtitles."

"Why? Did you forget your hearing aids again, old timer?"

"No. I just want to have an idea about the dialogue. I already know you're going to talk the whole time."

"Hey," Tony said, smiling, "I love you, you know that?"

"I know it," Steve confirmed, smiling back. "Now shut up or find that remote."