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Chaos and Dancing Stars 3/?
Aug. 7th, 2017 12:13 amvia http://ift.tt/2uxb0ID:
A/B/O AU - Part One, Part Two. Mind the cut.
Five Years Ago
Tony wanted the day to be over. They’d stopped an actual alien invasion, he’d taken a really good shot at dying a hero, and they’d captured a live god. That had to be enough to count for a full day’s work. Really, it was his own fault that they weren’t crawling into their individual dens to lick their wounds in peace. He’d made a smart-ass comment about shawarma, and now had to pay the price. Namely, trying not to look like his entire body was convulsing with terrible nausea while choked down what was probably a perfectly edible plate of Middle Eastern cuisine. It was team thing. A pack thing. Rogers had thought it was a good idea, and everyone else had fallen in line.
Biology was such a shitty, shitty, asshole-y bitch.
He slumped into the suit for support, mind running a thousand miles a minute to avoid thinking about – No. Not going there. He had a tower to rebuild, a city to rebuild, dangerous alien tech to get off the streets before some kid ooh, shiny!’ed their way to certain destruction. He needed to figure out some kind of containment cell for the freaking god sitting in a woefully inadequate SHIELD holding facility. Thor had slapped some kind of muzzle on him, and then plopped his hammer down in Loki’s lap and told him to mind his manners. Setting aside the Geneva Convention and pesky things like hygiene and bodily functions, it seemed like a pretty slipshod response to prisoner containment.
And Bruce was way too interested in the hammer. Tony wanted to nip whatever ideas he had about Thor being able to ‘control’ his mean green counterpart in the bud, because that went bad places very quickly.
The table was quiet. It was like an image from parody of the 1950’s nuclear pack, with Steve as their stern but dotting capital-A Alpha surrounded by a bevy of betas arranged in some arcane pecking order. Real life had never worked like that, but if it ever had, Steve would fill the role of Alpha pretty damn well. Tony’s A-levels were unusually high, but even he had to admit that there was something about Steve that functioned like gravity.
(Keep reading)
“I… really need some new clothes,” Bruce mourned out of nowhere. He’d been naked when he’d turned back into a pinkish-skinned human, and the first thing he’d done was look down at his filthy body and groan not again.
They’d appropriated some clothing for him from a boutique that would need some serious glasswork soon. Tony had hacked the register system and charged the purchases to his credit card, adding a hefty ‘I’m sorry we basically looted your store’ tip to the total. Bruce did look more than a touch ridiculous in the bondage pants and Hello Kitty tee shirt, but he hadn’t been in much condition to complain about Tony’s choices at the time.
“I’ll buy you a whole department store, buddy,” Tony promised. “We’ll call it a sign on bonus.”
Bruce made a strange wounded-animal noise and put his forehead down on the table. Tony lifted his arm (who the hell was he kidding? He twitched his arm muscles and the suit lifted his arm) and patted him on the back. Bruce’s breath wuffed out with each pat to make him sound a bit like squeaky toy. Tony was tempted to see if Bruce would keep doing it, but he wasn’t sure that his arm would keep obligingly. He’d been able to replace the reactor when they’d gone to fetch Loki, so he at least wasn’t going to run out of power, but the suit wasn’t designed to work with zero user input.
“This has been fun, but I’ve got to take Bruciebear home before he gets cranky,” Tony said, and he really hated that he was turning to Steve like he needed permission to leave the table.
“I’ll come with you,” Steve said. Just like that, Steve was coming home with him.
Tony wasn’t sure that Steve had actually meant to invite himself to Tony’s home – or, in this case, a spare home, because even he wasn’t crazy enough to go tuck into bed at Stark Tower. He probably meant that he would help Tony carry Bruce over the threshold if needed, or prowl around and make sure all the doors and windows were locked before curling up at the foot of Tony’s bed. Maybe not the last one.
It was entirely possible that Tony was starting to go hysterical.
“I shall return to my brother,” Thor announced. “He should not be left unattended for long.”
Steve looked at their two super spy assassins with his eyebrow hiked, clearly waiting for the kids’ plans for the evening. Natasha looked at Tony, her expression unreadable through the grime and oil streaking her face. Tony looked back at her, and said nothing. He wasn’t comfortable around her, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would be. She’d taken hormone therapy so she put out O pheromones while she’d infiltrated life, because, as she’d explained later, they’d thought he would respond better to an omega. Without the artificial hormones, she was nearly neutral, just slightly A-ten. Despite her past betrayals, they had just saved the world together. It wasn’t like Tony was going to throw her out on the street.
Whatever she was looking for in his face, she either found it, or she didn’t. Tony would probably never know one way or another. She gave Steve a tired smile, put a hand on Clint’s arm, and said, “We have our own beds to get back to.”
Steve’s lips went tight. He obviously wanted them to come along. Whatever else had happened, they’d formed into a pack and Steve was very obviously not pleased with his pack separating. He continued to stare at the table unhappily. Tony could almost hear the complaints going on inside his head, “Evenings are pack time and you can go play with your friends tomorrow.”
Tony snorted out a laugh, but didn’t explain. He rolled his eyes. “Giving SHIELD the opportunity to lock you in a debriefing room after this shitshow is stupid. Come with us, and you can go running back to Fury tomorrow. You two, big tall and staticky. There’s nothing that can be done about His Highness Lord Crazyeyes until I come up with a better holding cell for him anyways.”
Thor considered the offer, but then shook his head. “I must decline my friend, though I do so with considerable reluctance. Loki must not be allowed to escape again. Even in defeat, he is a formidable foe.” Standing, he clapped Steve on the shoulder and then reached his hand out for empty air. He smiled ruefully when he realized that his hammer wasn’t in reach, and nodded to the rest of them.
“Suit yourself,” Tony said, and then quirked an eyebrow at Natasha.
Natasha looked down at Clint. He was asleep with his head pillowed on his arm. What was visible of him was speckled in bruises, and Tony imagined that what wasn’t visible was a damn sight worse. She transferred her gaze back to Tony, and then nodded. Steve noticeably relaxed, and thanked the shellshocked store owners for the meal. Between Steve, Bruce, and Thor, they’d eaten just about every scrap of food in the store. Tony’s half eaten shawarma pita barely pinged in comparison to the truckloads their resident super-etceteras had put away. When Steve realized that Tony was not going to finish his food, he frowned, and grabbed it off the table, carrying it with him to the street.
The National Guard escorted them out of the battle zone in a Humvee – boy, weren’t Humvees fun? – and then stood by at attention as they hauled their weary carcasses out of the Humvee and into Tony’s custom panel van. He’d designed the thing so it could be used to transport the suit with him in it. He hadn’t exactly anticipated the reason behind that being ‘body incapable of supporting itself due to alien invasion,’ but life was full of surprises.
“This looks like a prison transport,” Bruce mumbled. He managed to sound worried, even though he was half asleep on Tony’s shoulder, and getting drool all over his pauldron.
“Considering that it used to be a prison transport, that makes sense,” Tony said.
“Oh. Okay.”
The ride to Tony’s Upper West Side apartment was quiet and bumpy and slow. There were no windows in the back of the van, though he could have turned on external camera feeds if he felt like putting in the effort. He judged they were somewhere near the park by the time it occurred to him that he should have just gotten them a helicopter. No one else seemed to be especially bothered. Clint had only been woken long enough for the transfers between seats, and was asleep with his head in Natasha’s lap. She had her eyes closed, though Tony couldn’t guess if she was actually unconscious. Steve sat slouched in the bench seat across from tony with his head back against the wall, jostling around with each bump and turn like a ragdoll. His eyes were open, though Tony couldn’t guess if he was actually conscious. What a weird group of people.
A medical team met them in the parking garage, and hustled Clint and Bruce into wheel chairs. Tony couldn’t make himself say it out loud with Steve and Natasha there, but he could have used a wheelchair. Everywhere his body touched the suit was in agony, and the harnessing was good, but it was still biting into him where it was supporting his weight. He could feel his legs twitching and shuddering under the armor plates and was just grateful that no one could tell as long as he kept it off his face.
Tony hadn’t been to the apartment for months. It had been home before he’d finished the tower penthouse, but he kept it to house guests. When it was empty, it occasionally served as convenient lodgings when he had an event and didn’t want to travel back to the tower. It was blessedly quiet and dim with all the shades drawn. Tony directed traffic absently, sending Natasha and Clint to the far bedroom, and Bruce to the office off the master. He didn’t think Bruce would appreciate the idea of a anyone prodding at him while he slept, so he sent the doctor back to check on Natasha.
Looking at Steve, Tony grunted. “There’s a king in the master,” he said reluctantly. “It’s big enough for two.” The last thing he needed was Steve there to see all his bruises, but the apartment only had the three rooms.
Steve was looking around the living room with his eyebrows rucked up. He started at the sound of Tony’s voice and looked at the front door, maybe considering heading back to his room at the SHIELD facility. His gaze transferred to the hallway where the doctor could be heard quietly talking with Natasha. He set a hand on the back of the couch.
“I’ll be fine out here,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a shower if you don’t mind.”
Tony hid his relief. “I would mind more if you thought you were going to plop your filthy self down on my nice white couch.” He made a flicking gesture to get Steve to follow him, though even that much movement made his shoulders burn.
Steve watched him as he moved around the master. It wasn’t really Tony’s room anymore. It had been styled and stocked as a very generous hotel room, prepared to house guests of all descriptions. The closet and dresser were filled with clothes of various sizes that guests could ‘borrow’ (though few of the articles were ever returned), and useful odds and ends were scattered on shelves. Tony pulled out the largest pair of sweatpants and t-shirt he could find with minimal effort, snagged a package of boxers out of the top drawer and dumped them on the bathroom counter.
“Shampoo, soap… all the things. In there. Use whatever,” Tony said through a yawn.
“Do you need help?” Steve asked.
Tony blinked at him and rewound the last few minutes of their conversation. “…With?”
Steve made a blanket gesture to him. “You haven’t gotten out of your armor yet. Is there something special that needs to be done to get it off? I can help.”
Tony waved him away. If he’d been alone with Rhodey or Pepper, he would have gladly taken the help and just ignored their worried tutting over his bruises. Not Steve. Not Captain America. “Once this thing comes off, I probably have five minutes before I’m falling asleep wherever I happen to be. I’ll wait until I can grab a shower first.”
Steve hesitated, and Tony wondered what he suggestion he was thinking about. Bathing Tony and carrying him to bed? The idea was half teenage wet dream, and half instantly repulsive. He didn’t need a big strong alpha to dot on him. If he’d been ten years younger, he probably would have tumbled Steve into a dominance fight, Captain America or not, and if he’d been less tired and in less pain, he would have at least made a sarcastic crack. As things stood, he was too old, and too tired, and he didn’t even have morphine to rely on for pain management.
Tony made an impatient gesture to the bathroom and Steve apparently decided not to argue. He ducked his head and disappeared into the bathroom with a muttered promise to be quick. Tony dismissed the idea of telling him to take his time, because he really wanted to get to bed, and he really needed a shower first.
Steve was in and out in under fives minutes, escaping the room in a cloud of peppermint scented steam.
A/B/O AU - Part One, Part Two. Mind the cut.
Five Years Ago
Tony wanted the day to be over. They’d stopped an actual alien invasion, he’d taken a really good shot at dying a hero, and they’d captured a live god. That had to be enough to count for a full day’s work. Really, it was his own fault that they weren’t crawling into their individual dens to lick their wounds in peace. He’d made a smart-ass comment about shawarma, and now had to pay the price. Namely, trying not to look like his entire body was convulsing with terrible nausea while choked down what was probably a perfectly edible plate of Middle Eastern cuisine. It was team thing. A pack thing. Rogers had thought it was a good idea, and everyone else had fallen in line.
Biology was such a shitty, shitty, asshole-y bitch.
He slumped into the suit for support, mind running a thousand miles a minute to avoid thinking about – No. Not going there. He had a tower to rebuild, a city to rebuild, dangerous alien tech to get off the streets before some kid ooh, shiny!’ed their way to certain destruction. He needed to figure out some kind of containment cell for the freaking god sitting in a woefully inadequate SHIELD holding facility. Thor had slapped some kind of muzzle on him, and then plopped his hammer down in Loki’s lap and told him to mind his manners. Setting aside the Geneva Convention and pesky things like hygiene and bodily functions, it seemed like a pretty slipshod response to prisoner containment.
And Bruce was way too interested in the hammer. Tony wanted to nip whatever ideas he had about Thor being able to ‘control’ his mean green counterpart in the bud, because that went bad places very quickly.
The table was quiet. It was like an image from parody of the 1950’s nuclear pack, with Steve as their stern but dotting capital-A Alpha surrounded by a bevy of betas arranged in some arcane pecking order. Real life had never worked like that, but if it ever had, Steve would fill the role of Alpha pretty damn well. Tony’s A-levels were unusually high, but even he had to admit that there was something about Steve that functioned like gravity.
(Keep reading)
“I… really need some new clothes,” Bruce mourned out of nowhere. He’d been naked when he’d turned back into a pinkish-skinned human, and the first thing he’d done was look down at his filthy body and groan not again.
They’d appropriated some clothing for him from a boutique that would need some serious glasswork soon. Tony had hacked the register system and charged the purchases to his credit card, adding a hefty ‘I’m sorry we basically looted your store’ tip to the total. Bruce did look more than a touch ridiculous in the bondage pants and Hello Kitty tee shirt, but he hadn’t been in much condition to complain about Tony’s choices at the time.
“I’ll buy you a whole department store, buddy,” Tony promised. “We’ll call it a sign on bonus.”
Bruce made a strange wounded-animal noise and put his forehead down on the table. Tony lifted his arm (who the hell was he kidding? He twitched his arm muscles and the suit lifted his arm) and patted him on the back. Bruce’s breath wuffed out with each pat to make him sound a bit like squeaky toy. Tony was tempted to see if Bruce would keep doing it, but he wasn’t sure that his arm would keep obligingly. He’d been able to replace the reactor when they’d gone to fetch Loki, so he at least wasn’t going to run out of power, but the suit wasn’t designed to work with zero user input.
“This has been fun, but I’ve got to take Bruciebear home before he gets cranky,” Tony said, and he really hated that he was turning to Steve like he needed permission to leave the table.
“I’ll come with you,” Steve said. Just like that, Steve was coming home with him.
Tony wasn’t sure that Steve had actually meant to invite himself to Tony’s home – or, in this case, a spare home, because even he wasn’t crazy enough to go tuck into bed at Stark Tower. He probably meant that he would help Tony carry Bruce over the threshold if needed, or prowl around and make sure all the doors and windows were locked before curling up at the foot of Tony’s bed. Maybe not the last one.
It was entirely possible that Tony was starting to go hysterical.
“I shall return to my brother,” Thor announced. “He should not be left unattended for long.”
Steve looked at their two super spy assassins with his eyebrow hiked, clearly waiting for the kids’ plans for the evening. Natasha looked at Tony, her expression unreadable through the grime and oil streaking her face. Tony looked back at her, and said nothing. He wasn’t comfortable around her, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would be. She’d taken hormone therapy so she put out O pheromones while she’d infiltrated life, because, as she’d explained later, they’d thought he would respond better to an omega. Without the artificial hormones, she was nearly neutral, just slightly A-ten. Despite her past betrayals, they had just saved the world together. It wasn’t like Tony was going to throw her out on the street.
Whatever she was looking for in his face, she either found it, or she didn’t. Tony would probably never know one way or another. She gave Steve a tired smile, put a hand on Clint’s arm, and said, “We have our own beds to get back to.”
Steve’s lips went tight. He obviously wanted them to come along. Whatever else had happened, they’d formed into a pack and Steve was very obviously not pleased with his pack separating. He continued to stare at the table unhappily. Tony could almost hear the complaints going on inside his head, “Evenings are pack time and you can go play with your friends tomorrow.”
Tony snorted out a laugh, but didn’t explain. He rolled his eyes. “Giving SHIELD the opportunity to lock you in a debriefing room after this shitshow is stupid. Come with us, and you can go running back to Fury tomorrow. You two, big tall and staticky. There’s nothing that can be done about His Highness Lord Crazyeyes until I come up with a better holding cell for him anyways.”
Thor considered the offer, but then shook his head. “I must decline my friend, though I do so with considerable reluctance. Loki must not be allowed to escape again. Even in defeat, he is a formidable foe.” Standing, he clapped Steve on the shoulder and then reached his hand out for empty air. He smiled ruefully when he realized that his hammer wasn’t in reach, and nodded to the rest of them.
“Suit yourself,” Tony said, and then quirked an eyebrow at Natasha.
Natasha looked down at Clint. He was asleep with his head pillowed on his arm. What was visible of him was speckled in bruises, and Tony imagined that what wasn’t visible was a damn sight worse. She transferred her gaze back to Tony, and then nodded. Steve noticeably relaxed, and thanked the shellshocked store owners for the meal. Between Steve, Bruce, and Thor, they’d eaten just about every scrap of food in the store. Tony’s half eaten shawarma pita barely pinged in comparison to the truckloads their resident super-etceteras had put away. When Steve realized that Tony was not going to finish his food, he frowned, and grabbed it off the table, carrying it with him to the street.
The National Guard escorted them out of the battle zone in a Humvee – boy, weren’t Humvees fun? – and then stood by at attention as they hauled their weary carcasses out of the Humvee and into Tony’s custom panel van. He’d designed the thing so it could be used to transport the suit with him in it. He hadn’t exactly anticipated the reason behind that being ‘body incapable of supporting itself due to alien invasion,’ but life was full of surprises.
“This looks like a prison transport,” Bruce mumbled. He managed to sound worried, even though he was half asleep on Tony’s shoulder, and getting drool all over his pauldron.
“Considering that it used to be a prison transport, that makes sense,” Tony said.
“Oh. Okay.”
The ride to Tony’s Upper West Side apartment was quiet and bumpy and slow. There were no windows in the back of the van, though he could have turned on external camera feeds if he felt like putting in the effort. He judged they were somewhere near the park by the time it occurred to him that he should have just gotten them a helicopter. No one else seemed to be especially bothered. Clint had only been woken long enough for the transfers between seats, and was asleep with his head in Natasha’s lap. She had her eyes closed, though Tony couldn’t guess if she was actually unconscious. Steve sat slouched in the bench seat across from tony with his head back against the wall, jostling around with each bump and turn like a ragdoll. His eyes were open, though Tony couldn’t guess if he was actually conscious. What a weird group of people.
A medical team met them in the parking garage, and hustled Clint and Bruce into wheel chairs. Tony couldn’t make himself say it out loud with Steve and Natasha there, but he could have used a wheelchair. Everywhere his body touched the suit was in agony, and the harnessing was good, but it was still biting into him where it was supporting his weight. He could feel his legs twitching and shuddering under the armor plates and was just grateful that no one could tell as long as he kept it off his face.
Tony hadn’t been to the apartment for months. It had been home before he’d finished the tower penthouse, but he kept it to house guests. When it was empty, it occasionally served as convenient lodgings when he had an event and didn’t want to travel back to the tower. It was blessedly quiet and dim with all the shades drawn. Tony directed traffic absently, sending Natasha and Clint to the far bedroom, and Bruce to the office off the master. He didn’t think Bruce would appreciate the idea of a anyone prodding at him while he slept, so he sent the doctor back to check on Natasha.
Looking at Steve, Tony grunted. “There’s a king in the master,” he said reluctantly. “It’s big enough for two.” The last thing he needed was Steve there to see all his bruises, but the apartment only had the three rooms.
Steve was looking around the living room with his eyebrows rucked up. He started at the sound of Tony’s voice and looked at the front door, maybe considering heading back to his room at the SHIELD facility. His gaze transferred to the hallway where the doctor could be heard quietly talking with Natasha. He set a hand on the back of the couch.
“I’ll be fine out here,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a shower if you don’t mind.”
Tony hid his relief. “I would mind more if you thought you were going to plop your filthy self down on my nice white couch.” He made a flicking gesture to get Steve to follow him, though even that much movement made his shoulders burn.
Steve watched him as he moved around the master. It wasn’t really Tony’s room anymore. It had been styled and stocked as a very generous hotel room, prepared to house guests of all descriptions. The closet and dresser were filled with clothes of various sizes that guests could ‘borrow’ (though few of the articles were ever returned), and useful odds and ends were scattered on shelves. Tony pulled out the largest pair of sweatpants and t-shirt he could find with minimal effort, snagged a package of boxers out of the top drawer and dumped them on the bathroom counter.
“Shampoo, soap… all the things. In there. Use whatever,” Tony said through a yawn.
“Do you need help?” Steve asked.
Tony blinked at him and rewound the last few minutes of their conversation. “…With?”
Steve made a blanket gesture to him. “You haven’t gotten out of your armor yet. Is there something special that needs to be done to get it off? I can help.”
Tony waved him away. If he’d been alone with Rhodey or Pepper, he would have gladly taken the help and just ignored their worried tutting over his bruises. Not Steve. Not Captain America. “Once this thing comes off, I probably have five minutes before I’m falling asleep wherever I happen to be. I’ll wait until I can grab a shower first.”
Steve hesitated, and Tony wondered what he suggestion he was thinking about. Bathing Tony and carrying him to bed? The idea was half teenage wet dream, and half instantly repulsive. He didn’t need a big strong alpha to dot on him. If he’d been ten years younger, he probably would have tumbled Steve into a dominance fight, Captain America or not, and if he’d been less tired and in less pain, he would have at least made a sarcastic crack. As things stood, he was too old, and too tired, and he didn’t even have morphine to rely on for pain management.
Tony made an impatient gesture to the bathroom and Steve apparently decided not to argue. He ducked his head and disappeared into the bathroom with a muttered promise to be quick. Tony dismissed the idea of telling him to take his time, because he really wanted to get to bed, and he really needed a shower first.
Steve was in and out in under fives minutes, escaping the room in a cloud of peppermint scented steam.
