Feb. 5th, 2017

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This is technically the second half of chapter 3, but for tumblr reasons, I’ll label it 4. 

Part 3, 2, 1

About 3800 words, so watch for the cut.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and shivered. He’d been alone in Tony’s workshop for hours, a fact that had stunned Bruce into silence for several long seconds when they’d realized that Tony had left. At first Steve hadn’t noticed the tension creeping back into his shoulders, but sitting alone in front of the blank screen, he somehow felt worse than he had the night before. He ached like he had the flu, his head was stuffed with wet wool, and he could barely swallow around the tightness in his throat.

Steve took in a slow breath and let it go. He’d been off the line with Bruce for almost ten minutes, but he couldn’t quite make himself get out of the chair. The longer he sat in the silence, the more he seemed to sink into the chair, the more his joints started to ache, the more pointless it seemed to get up and go look for Tony. It would just be more energy expended than he would be able to get back. He looked at the elevator – he could take it back to his bike, find a parking spot and the nearest subway entrance, and just ride the line back and forth until his next shift.

He slumped forward to press his hands to his face. The subways were even worse than the clubs. Rather than being filled with desperate strangers oozing sexual tension, they were crowded with desperate strangers oozing stress and depression and exhaustion. What little energy he picked up from proximity felt dry and hot and left an oily taste in the back of his throat.

Even the oily aftertaste might be better than another failed attempt at a full Feed, and the nausea and emptiness that came afterward. He remembered the tug of accidentally trying to enthrall Tony the night before and squeezed his arms hard over his stomach.

Just relax, Bruce had told him, He’s safe, you can’t enthrall him. If there’s anything in the universe you can trust, it’s that Tony Stark knows how to build a ward.

I can’t enthrall him, Steve repeated to himself. The workshop was quiet and dark, and a very loud part of Steve wanted to just stay there. The louder part was strangling him with hunger, reminding him of the lines of Tony’s thighs, the curve of his spine, the way he’d looked on his knees across from the breakfast table.

Steve’s hand drifted to his stomach, and then trailed up his chest to rest two fingers over his pulse point. It was sluggish, and he could count the beats by the throb of his headache. He swallowed nervously, counted to five, and pushed himself off the tall stool. He couldn’t go back to subway, or the club, or spend another day watching customers mill around the shop, content with their muffins and coffee. He couldn’t go home to Bucky and his perpetual state of undress, or the women he brought home.

Squaring his shoulders, he started off across the workshop. He chose the stairs, not sure that he wouldn’t run back to his bike if he had the elevator buttons under his fingers. The door to the penthouse opened when he was still four stairs away. Steve didn’t question it, just used the doorframe to slingshot into the hallway and tried to remember the layout of the apartment. They’d taken the stairs down, but Steve had hardly been paying attention to how they’d gotten to the stairs in the first place. He opened half a dozen doors before he stumbled into living room by accident and found Tony on the couch. He’d changed into a three-piece suit and sat with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his jacket open to show off the burnished copper of his tie against the saturated red of his shirt.

Steve had grown up Catholic, and the picture of Tony reclined on the couch with a glass of scotch resting on his knee and one hand draped over the back would have looked right at home next to any number of pictures of demons, fae, gods, and angels he’d grown up with. He stopped to just stare, barely even registering that the TV was on and Tony was talking to it.

“I just think you need to consider the new proposal, Tony. If you really want to start moving away from military contracts –”

“Switching military contracts for private military –”

“– Security, Tony –”

“Contracts is not any better, Pep.” He took a sip from his glass, the fine amber liquor slipping around a single globe of ice. His eyes flickered up and he saw Steve standing in the doorway like an idiot. A smile stretched around the rim of his glass. He had very pink lips. “Gotta go, Pepper.”

“Tony–!”

Tony slid a finger over a tiny remote and tossed it away with a negligent flick of his fingers. “You look out of breath.”

Steve glanced nervously at the television. He hadn’t even considered that Tony might have had anything else to do than entertain the stranger who’d invaded his home. He looked at the elevator, thought about the subway again, and then gestured to the TV. “I didn’t meant to interrupt.”

Tony swallowed the last sip of alcohol and made a production of playing with the ice globe for several seconds, making it roll over his lips with tiny flicks of his tongue. Steve watched it avidly, mesmerized by the way it glistened under the soft track lights. Tony’s lips were swollen from the cold when he let go of the globe and set his glass down on the coffee table. Steve’s mouth flooded with saliva and his throat started to tingle.

“Not an interruption,” Tony reassured him with a devilish smirk. He stood up with a smooth roll of hips and spine, pulling the jacket off in the same motion. “How was your talk?” He asked casually, sliding the links out of his cuffs and dropping them into one pocket.

“Informative,” Steve managed, following the vulnerable stretches of skin appear at his wrists. “Helpful,” he added.

“Good.”

Steve held his breath as Tony crossed the room and mounted the short set of stairs leading up from living room. He let it out in a gust when Tony walked past him, not even pausing for all that he passed within inches of Steve’s left side. He heard a cabinet door open and felt a whisper of cold air against the back of his neck.

When he turned around, he found Tony smiling with a glass bottle of glacier water that had chips of ice floating on the surface. He took the bottle and looked down at the label, very conscious of Tony’s eyes on him. His usual grocery store sold the brand at almost eight dollars a bottle and Steve hadn’t quite been able to get past just staring at it curiously. He sliced a fingernail through the label pressed over the cap and then pushed his thumb against the bar. The cap popped off, letting a trickle of mist curl out of the neck.

The water was sweet and frigid and slightly metallic. Maybe he would have start buying it, eight dollars or not.

“Gods you are beautiful.”

Steve opened his eyes, not sure when they’d closed, and saw the blatant want in Tony’s eyes before the man quickly schooled his expression into something simply charming. Steve took another swallow of the icy water, making sure to keep his eyes open to watch Tony watching him. He drained almost half of the bottle before pulling it away. He was breathless, his throat pleasantly numb and thighs pleasantly warm.

“Still interested in helping me practice?” he asked, holding the bottle by the neck and playing with the cap absently.

Tony’s charming smile turned into a grin. “I am a fan of a practice,” he admitted.

Steve just had the presence of mind to recap the bottle and crowded Tony back against the counter so he could set it down. Tony’s hands hovered on either side of Steve’s hips like he wasn’t sure if he could touch. Bottle safely out of harm’s way, Steve closed his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. The cold made him shiver and he laughed softly against Steve’s chest, hands finally coming to rest on his hips, teeth pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

Humans like to paint our feeding habits like carnivores. We are predators, but we feed more like plants soaking up water.

Closing his eyes, Steve leaned back enough to tuck his face into Tony’s neck, licking a slow line from the hollow of his throat up to his pulse point. He blocked out the silence of the room and Tony’s fingers tugging his shirt out of his waistband, ignored the tight fist of hunger squeezing at his throat, the obvious bulge in Tony’s pants, and the ready way his own body was responding. He forced himself to count Tony’s heartbeats as they pulsed against the flat of his tongue. 10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18… moving faster and harder, 21-22-23-24-25-26-27, each one promising peace.

Needing eye contact to Feed is a myth. Most of us do because the ancient instinct is to enthrall your prey, but you can Feed off a handshake if you’re paying attention.

Steve let his hands drift down Tony’s arms, maintaining his careful count, 55-56-57-58-59, and tangled their fingers together.  He could feel the ridges of Tony’s fingerprints catching against his, the faintest tingle of electricity under Tony’s skin, and the rush of blood through capillaries. His fingernails were smooth and neat, but his palm was thickly calloused and Steve shivered at the contrast of it.

Just focus on the way his skin tastes, and his breath sounds, and the rest of it will come on its own.

181-182-183-184-185. Tony tasted bitter from cologne and clean with pine-mint-rosemary soap, smelled like scotch and mischief, spicyearthyvanilla, and sounded like a god while he gasped for breath. Steve’s skin was alive with sparks arcing between their fingertips. He shuddered, closed his arms tightly around Tony’s waist and listened to him gasp and moan over the primal beat of his heart jumping against Steve’s mouth.

The world went syrupy slow, colors slipping across the inside of Steve’s eyelids, and for a few precious seconds he could feel his own heartbeat thumping in time with Tony’s, 212-213-214-215, and something clicked deep in his chest. The weight that had been pressing on his spine for weeks vanished, a wash of tingles flooded upwards from his fingertips, and the tightness in his throat melted away. He abruptly understood the appeal of cool water as the hunger in his throat turned cold and spread down through his chest and stomach.

Tony’s knees gave out and Steve found himself hauling the man away from the counter to press him to the wall. He grabbed Tony’s thighs and pulled him up in one smooth motion, just barely conscious of Tony’s hands flying out against the wall for balance, his oaf of surprise, and then the desperate moan as Steve found his pulse once more. Tony arched and writhed against him, and Steve was aware of moving with him, but he could barely feel his body at all where it wasn’t in contact with Tony’s skin. His entire awareness narrowed down to the strong thumpthumpthumpthump, 309-310-311-312, of Tony’s heart.

There was a sudden increase in the energy pouring down his throat until it felt like he was drowning in it. He swallowed reflexively, and bit into Tony’s skin, not sure if he was trying to stem the tide or encourage it to pour faster. Tony clawed at his shoulders and went stiff, arching away from the wall hard enough to push Steve back. Breathless and wild, Steve looked up and watched in stunned awe as Tony came against him. He went abruptly limp, orgasmic moans turning into breathy laughter.

“Oh… oh god,” Tony gasped.

Steve looked dazedly down between their bodies. They hadn’t even gotten their shirts off. He carefully wrapped his arms around Tony’s back, pulled him away from the wall, and carried him on shaking legs down the stairs and over to the couch. Steve lowered him carefully to the cushions, surrounded by the scent of Tony’s sex and aware of a cooling wet spot on the front of his pants. He laid a proprietary hand on Tony’s thigh and leaned forward to nuzzle his hip.

“Sorry,” he managed finally, sitting down on the floor, feeling warm and fuzzy and a little numb.

Tony laughed again, louder and touched with mania. He pressed his hands over his face and drew his fingers down his cheeks as he turned to look at Steve. “You are… you,” he panted. He lifted a hand to point weakly in Steve’s direction. “Fast learner.”

Feeling far too euphoric and sated to even be embarrassed, Steve just smiled at him. Tony’s hand found its way to his face, and Steve nuzzled lazily into his palm. “Thank you.”

“Wow. Not the one who should be getting thanked here, seriously,” Tony said, a brilliant smile stretching across his face. “You’re welcome.”

~*~

Steve bounced up his apartment stairs, helmet dangling from one elbow, a drink holder cradled against his chest with the condensation soaking into his shirt, and a pair of paper bags clutched in the opposite hand. He had to set the bags down to get the door open, and still almost spilled the drinks. It would be ironic to have gotten them home on the bike without a spilling a drop and then splatter juice and coffee all of his apartment door. He heard the heavy thumping of Bucky’s footsteps as soon as the door hit the wall, and struggled to hook his ankle around the door.

“Bucky, I’m home!”

“Where the fucking hell have you been, Steve?” Bucky shouted, stomping into the front room like a living train with hellfire in the tank.

“I texted you!” Steve protested, finally getting the door closed and taking his brunch offerings to the table. It was folded down from the wall and had a scattering of mail across the top. “I told you I was going home with someone.”

“Two nights ago, Steve!” Bucky put both hands on his hips and muscled into Steve’s space.

He should have felt guiltier, but he was high on the energy rushing through his veins, Tony’s scent still lingering on his clothing. He set the bags down, straightened the coffee cups in their holders, and scooped his friend up in a hug. Bucky made a sputtering noise like a pissed off cat, but Steve just squeezed him harder, leaning back to lift him off his feet. Bucky smelled familiar and good, and it was the first time he’d touched his friend voluntarily since that night. He was so sated on Tony’s energy that he didn’t even feel the pull of Bucky’s pulse.

Bucky’s back popped three times –snapsnapsnap- and Steve hastily set him back on his feet. He pressed a messy kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“…Who the hell are you?” Bucky asked, staring at Steve in a mixture of confusion and reluctant pleasure. “You’re all…” He made a broad up-and-down gesture at Steve. “Glowy.”

Steve didn’t answer, just grinned even brighter and starting sorting through the bags. “I got breakfast sandwiches, burgers, fries, coffee and orange juice. What do you want?”

Bucky was quiet for a few seconds, but finally shoved up to the tabletop and hip checked Steve out of the way. He snagged a whole bag for himself, and then fished a breakfast sandwich out of the other. “Tax!” he declared when Steve tried to protest, “You let me worry all day, all night, all this morning.” He took a giant bite of the sandwich and continued with his mouth full, “I almost called the cops, you know.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade. He reached into the bag and rescued the other burger, watching Bucky arrange himself on the couch. Bucky went through the bag and sorted through the wrapped packages, squishing the burgers to see if Steve had snuck any mustard into the mix.

Bucky snorted. “Though they would have laughed me out of the precinct if I’d tried to tell them you were with Tony Stark. What kind of joke is that? I thought the next time I was going to see you was on the six o’clock news.”

Steve made a noncommittal noise, and bit into the sandwich.

“… Are you serious?”

Shrugging, Steve made another humming noise.

Bucky threw his arms into the air, sending crumbs everywhere. He waggled the half-eaten breakfast sandwich in Steve’s direction. “You are fucking kidding me.”

Steve laughed and Bucky stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth so he could throw the crumpled-up wrapper at him. Bucky muttered darkly under his breath for a few seconds, but when Steve sat down with their orange juice, Bucky handed him a breakfast sandwich and turned the Playstation on.

Tony had been on a conference call when Steve had woken up, speaking what sounded like French, and once again dressed in a fancy suit. Steve had watched him from out of camera-range for a few minutes, thinking about the fate of the last suit, and Tony had managed to step away from the camera just long enough to give him a searing kiss and squeeze his ass. He’d thought about waiting for Tony’s call to end, but he had to work in the evening, and Tony had already been more than generous with his time.

Steve had jotted his number down on an envelope in the kitchen, and left without exchanging any promises or making any plans. They’d probably never see each other again – Steve was just an incubus who worked in a bookstore, Tony was a global business tycoon. It had been a good weekend, and Steve was content with that.

~*~

When Steve walked into the bookshop, he found Darcy kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a pile books that had obviously been knocked off the shelf.

“Just in time,” Darcy said. She craned her neck back to look up at him, adjusting her glasses and giving him a bright smile. She continued in a sugary voice that clearly expressed her anger, “Some little shits tipped over the entire shelf and ran.”

Steve winced and leaned around her to see that the aisle was littered with books. They were in piles, and a few of them looked like they’d fallen open. He hoped they weren’t damaged too badly or they were going to end up the clearance shelf, and Dr. Selvig would not appreciate it.

“Let me clock in and I’ll get this taken care of. You can head out.”

“No, I’ll stay until it’s cleaned up,” Darcy said, picking up one of the books that had fallen open and smoothing the pages out and checking that still closed neatly.

“You have a test in the morning,” Steve said. He pulled his messenger bag off and dropped it in the chair at the counter. “Just go and get your studying done. It’s no problem.”

“Are you sure?” Darcy called, still stacking books in a steady thump-thump-thump that briefly reminded Steve of Tony’s pulse.

Steve shivered, biting his lip to keep any stray noises from escaping. He quickly typed in his password, and waited for the ancient computer to boot up to the desktop. He cleared his throat. “Definitely. Shouldn’t have much else to do until six anyway.”

Darcy jumped up with a cheerful, “Okay!” and picked her way around the piles of overturned books. She shoved Steve out of the way to get to her purse and snagged the mouse away from him as soon as the timekeeping window came up. She clocked herself out and then rose up to her tippy toes to kiss Steve on the cheek.

“Looking good today, Captain Gorgeous.”

Steve groaned. “Get out, Darcy, gods. You’re the worst.”

“I think you mispronounced ‘best,’” she said with a bright smile. “There’s a customer over in the reading nook, by the way. He’s had his headphones in for like… four hours, but keep an ear out for him. He likes his espresso, you have no idea.” She patted his bicep, snagged her jacket and hat off the shelf below the desk, blew him a kiss, and skipped out.

Steve shook his head, clocked in, and stuffed his own things under the desk. With Darcy gone, the mess looked even more daunting, but even the piles of books on the floor couldn’t ruin his good mood. He shook his head at the mess, and then knelt and got to work picking them up. He set aside three books that had landed open, creasing the pages badly, and started putting the rest of them back on the shelf.

He was humming along with the store radio when a pair of worn Converse stepped into view. Steve shuffled backwards on his knees to grab the next pile of books and said, “I’ll be up for your espresso in just a second.”

The shoes turned into a pair of denim-clad knees, and a dark t-shirt as the customer knelt across from him. A familiar scent wafted around him, and he froze. Spicyearthyvanilla, and a hint of expensive cologne.

In his ratty jeans and faded t-shirt, Tony Stark knelt across from him with a sweet smile and a book in his hands. “Hi.”

Steve leaned forward without thought and sealed their lips together. A wave of tingles exploded over his skin and he crawled further into Tony’s space, reaching up to cup his jaw. The flood of energy down his throat had become familiar and he pressed forward for more of it. Tony responded enthusiastically right up to the moment when he overbalanced and they both ended up sprawled on the floor.

Laughing helplessly, Steve crawled backwards and helped Tony sit up, abruptly remembering where he was. Dr. Selvig liked him, but Steve doubted he would be happy to find him making out with a customer on a bed of spilled books. “That was… unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t help it that I’m irresistible,” Tony said with a wink. He held the book out again. “You know, you could have given me your number before you disappeared.”

Steve cocked his head. He took the book and slid back onto the shelf. “I did. I wrote it on an envelope and left it on your counter.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You wrote it down? Who does that?”

Steve shook his head incredulously, shuffled backwards again, and picked up the next stack of books. He glanced behind him, but the store was still empty and no one had opened the door since he’d gotten there. “How did you even know where I worked?”

“I definitely did not get it off of your Facebook page, and spend the whole day waiting for you to come in.”

“You are insane,” Steve said, but he couldn’t resist the warmth pooling in his stomach.

Tony’s smile went lopsided, and he handed Steve another book.
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mostingeniusparadox:

Wonder Woman 75th Anniversary Special
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I am watching the tribbles episode!
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dreamsofplumbobs:

khansfringe:

purpleandorangesheep:

bittencupcake:

this-simple-mind:

thegirlwiththemooglehat:

mxdiscourse:

aphobephobe:

floweryqueenofhell:

not-darquesse:

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timpaxew:

aptixty:

kuoriia:

colbrrr:

lorrainewarren:

I mean
Im not complaining

NO WAY! 😍

Literally was my favorite pokemon and evolution so this works. 

Ahaha look ^^^ it’s my gif! :3

Okay, I’ll bite
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Can I just say that a) everyone in the original show pronounces Klingon differently. I find this both highly amusing and realistic. B) Klin-GUN.

Also. Tribbles.
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Please enjoy this tiny twirling water owl.

Rotate your owl for science
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MY FAVORITE POST EVER
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“The world has a serious shortage of both logic and kindness.”
- Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
(via naturaekos)
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kazuaki horitomo’s tattooed cats.
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Spread this around; remind the world that for every Nazi, there’s an entire train full of sensible people capable of basic moral behaviour. 
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micdotcom:

On Thursday, unnamed sources told news site Axios that Trump gave his female campaign staffers a note: They need to “dress like women.“ 

According to the report, “women who worked in Trump’s campaign field offices — folks who spend more time knocking on doors than attending glitzy events — felt pressure to wear dresses to impress Trump.”

Women who heard reports of Trump’s sartorial demands were not exactly thrilled with Trump’s desire to make womenswear great again and they fire back with the hashtag #DressLikeAWoman. Read more
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Because I am a complete dork, I drove up to the mountains and came back with a bottle of snow.
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writing-prompt-s:

One normal day you see a mouse pointer move across your field of vision, right click, and delete an object.
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Doom/Tony Fanart  ANAD

have I posted this before? If I haven’t, let me do so now. Also, because I’m writing fic with this scene in it…

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