Fic: Like A Nerve
Fic: Like A Nerve
Fandoms: Marvel Movieverse
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3217
Warnings: None.
Pairing: Bruce/Tony (because have you SEEN them?)
Notes: Yes, sometimes I write porn. For fightingthecage, for her birthday! <333 Beta-ed as ever by the very best of all possible alas_a_llamas.
Summary: For Bruce, staying calm has never been the secret.
Just as well, really...
Bruce has become accustomed, of late, to people asking him what his secret is - as if he has just one. What they actually want to know, of course, is how he keeps the beast - the Other Guy - penned up inside him, as if it were just a case of practising really hard until one day he's fixed, abracadabra, hallelujah, praise the non-existent Lord. They want to know how he stays so calm, how he keeps the easy drawl and the faint smile on every day, through Tony's baiting and Natasha's wariness (he can't blame her; God knows he scares the shit out of himself, too) and Rogers's gently condescending concern. How he pretends he doesn't know that Barton keeps tranquillising arrow-heads close to hand at all times, even when he sleeps, and that Fury has had the cage rebuilt at double the strength, just in case. It's as if they think maybe he'll ever stop hearing his heart hammering in his ears, or stop never stopping counting its beats per minute, over and over, calculating the rate again and again and again. They think maybe it's yoga, tai chi, weed (although marijuana actually raises the heart rate by approximately fifty percent, well within the danger zone, and anyway he's still not really comfortable with breaking the law), Enya CDs, meditation... Tony has a few more outlandish suggestions every day. (Today's was tantric sex, an idea which surprised Bruce primarily because it was so mild: it's practically family-friendly, compared to some of his other ideas.)
They've been flirting more and more, he and Tony, ever since Tony convinced - or possibly conned - him into agreeing to stay at Stark Towers for the time being. 'For the time being' has turned, by now, into nearly six months, and at this point the flirting has become so consistent that Bruce has almost convinced himself that it's actually not flirting at all, it's just Tony, and that he doesn't react every time Tony puts a hand on his arm. Every time Tony drapes an arm around his shoulders like it belongs there. Every time Tony gives him that look, like he knows exactly what he's doing to him and is daring him to push back or keep up or something; Bruce doesn't know, but he has to believe it's just normal - it's just Tony Stark being rich, famous, charismatic and kind of a dick, just like he is to everyone else. He has to believe that, because otherwise it means that Tony is going to expect some kind of response or reaction or something, and he can't allow himself to think about how much he wants to give it. He can't, he can't, he can't (his life is filled with all the things he can't), because he's going to get someone killed. He's going to get Tony killed, and Pepper, and everyone else at Stark Towers killed too, and he can't believe that Tony can be so brilliant and still not see that, or see that not everyone always has everything turn out right for them the way he does.
Bruce has tried to explain, sort of, except that explaining would by definition assume that Tony does expect some sort of reaction, and seriously - the guy could (and does) have anyone, so why would he be interested in him? But he tried anyway, only for Tony to wave him away, as blasé as any genius billionaire playboy philanthropist who always gets away with everything, who always sees to it that everything turns out okay for himself in the end. So Bruce does what he can: he keeps his head down, takes regular deep slow breaths, over and over, day in day out, and never quite succeeds in moving back out of Stark Towers, because - as selfish as that makes him - he still can't bring himself to leave after so long on his own. Once upon a time, when he had another life, he used to spend days - weeks - in the labs and never speak to anyone, not even notice that he hadn't spoken to anyone, not even to himself. And yet, after just a few months of being treated like a human being again - of experiencing Tony and Pepper's fearless, matter-of-fact caring about him - he can't give it up, he can't help it. Keeps telling himself that he'll leave next week, but he's weak: he doesn't say it to anyone else, and hides in the labs again so that he doesn't have to.
It's in the labs that Tony finds him, working on another set of upgrades for the suit that just won't go right: the theory is fine but, as tends to happen with him, something about the execution is off - almost certainly an error in calibrating one of the machines. It's frustrating but it's probably good for him, actually: he can't allow himself to get annoyed by the mistakes if he wants to fix this, and having to focus on the innumerable microscopic modifications he needs to make until this is perfect lets himself stop thinking about anything - or anyone - else.
He still knows it the second Tony steps out of the elevator to the labs, though: partly it's that since the Hu - since the Other Guy appeared he's noticed a nine percent average uptick in basic sensory perception, but mostly it's that it's Tony, and he couldn't ignore Tony if he tried. He takes deep breaths - in, one, two, three; out, one, two, three - and tries to focus, find his centre. Tony isn't talking yet, which is weird: normally the guy talks like it's an Olympic sport, like he has to say more in one conversation than Bruce normally says in a week or he'll lose the trick of it. The not-talking is bizarre, actually: what's he waiting for? What does he expect Bruce to do?
"Try adding an extra half-degree to the rendering temperature," Tony finally suggests, and Bruce can't believe he's actually so relieved to hear him speak, to be back on comparatively safe ground.
"If I do that, it'll take at least another day or so whilst I figure out a coating to stop everything melting together," he points out gently. "Unless you were planning to rebrand? 'Molten Man' does have a ring to it."
"Can't - copywrite violation." Tony sticks his hands in his pockets and regards Bruce with a look so thoughtful that it almost makes him edgy all over again. "Remember that guy we fought in Central Park last month? He's got himself a website, a lawyer, the full nine yards. Natasha says Fury's throwing a fit."
"Like that'd stop you, if you wanted," Bruce remarks dryly, and he can't quite stop himself from sounding a little bitter. "Like anything stops you getting what you want, if you really want it."
"Well, being rich, brilliant and outstandingly good-looking has been known to open doors," Tony admits with an easy nonchalance that Bruce knows he could never even fake, let alone replicate. "Quite a few doors, actually, although sometimes I regret it later when they've opened on the garage at four AM."
Bruce snorts, turning to make a smart remark - what, he isn't sure; around Tony is about the only time he ever lets himself say anything without thinking it through first - but before he can get there Tony adds "Still working on getting everything I want, though."
...Oh.
Now he knows what Tony's expecting, and the worst thing about the smug, privileged-from-birth, unfairly attractive billionaire bastard is that he's entirely right to expect it, because - as ever - Bruce can put anything off for as long as he wants, but he always falls. Always gives in to what he shouldn't have; is always weak, in the end, just as he always knows he will be. But Tony is looking at him as if daring him to try something, do something about it, as if he's looking at another human being and not some dangerous freak, and suddenly Bruce's temper surges and he thinks, fine. If Tony wants to push his luck with the Other Guy, let him: he'll learn better fast enough and then, maybe then, he'll let Bruce alone again and it will serve them both right.
Fine, he thinks again, and is still thinking it as he pushes Tony up against the nearest work table and kisses him, hard. Tony doesn't seem surprised, and doesn't miss a beat as he kisses back, lets Bruce kiss him hot and angry, is pliant underneath him as if he, Tony, is the one who has finally given in. He tastes of things Bruce has long forced himself to forget, and his hands are warm and unhesitating as they find the corner of Bruce's jaw, thumb rubbing over five o'clock stubble, stroking back and forth as Tony murmurs something incomprehensible but which is definitely not an order to stop, although even if it were Bruce doesn't think he could obey if he tried. Tony is warm and easy, and his aftershave smells expensive but not too strong and oh God, he wanted this, needs this; needs it, in fact, so badly that it's all he can do to count his own pulse (fast, too fast) as Tony bites at his lower lip until he whimpers and kisses him even harder, his hands on Tony's shoulders to hold him there, stop him from leaving.
When the Hulk is waiting in the wings he can feel it, feel him like a wave of heat under the skin. He should be able to feel him now but he can't: all he can feel is Tony; his brain is flashing up images, desperate and pornographic and Tony's hands have moved from his face to stroke, agonisingly slow, down his chest to his stomach to his hips, tugging his shirt loose and flickering up to settle on the bare skin of his hips. The sensation alone makes him moan: he hasn't been touched like this - as if he were wanted; touchable - in so long, and it's Tony who is in control now, pushing insistent at his belt, genius inventor's fingers sliding under the waistband of his pants.
"Fuck, Tony," Bruce manages, the plea so small even he can barely hear it, but it's all going to go wrong, he knows it is. "Tony, I can't, he's - he'll -" but he can't make himself say it out loud. Tony seems like he half understands, though, because he stops kissing him long enough to answer it.
"You can," he says, like he knows Bruce better than Bruce does, and punctuates it by sliding his fingers further down Bruce's groin until he can barely even hear his own thoughts in his head, let alone a heartbeat. "You're gonna be fine, Bruce, c'mon, make it easy on yourself for once." Tony kisses his jaw, slow and deliberate, like he knows what he's doing even though Bruce knows he doesn't; can't possibly. "C'mon."
Come on, Tony says, as if he isn't just as powerless as usual, but now Tony's hands have figured out his belt so it doesn't matter anyway, because he does need this, whatever that makes him.
"Please," he begs, hands tightening instinctively on Tony's shoulders to brace himself. Tony lets him, leaning back against the machinery to support them both as he hooks his fingers expertly into the waistband of Bruce's boxers and pants and pushes them both down at once until they pool on the floor at their feet. He kisses Bruce again to prevent any objections as he does it (too late, too late for that now), wrapping his hand lightly around Bruce's cock. He jacks once, twice, easy and slow as Bruce moans into the kiss, and Bruce still can't fathom where the Other Guy is but oh God, oh God, so long as he stays away then he doesn't care, just tips his face into the arch of Tony's shoulder and neck and closes his eyes, letting Tony work him over and over. He's good at this, fingers certain and deft as they slide and squeeze and gently twist, and Bruce bucks and pushes into his fingers, against the steadying presence of him, and just lets go, lets himself give in until finally - oh God - his brain whites out and he bucks again and again, lips closing on the crook of Tony's neck in a bruising desperate kiss.
"Well," Tony says eventually, sounding out of breath and very far away, "Maybe I can amend the 'working on'."
Bruce laughs in spite of himself, easing his grip on Tony's shoulders (there'll be bruises there later, probably) so that he slides to his knees on the cool floor of the lab. "You didn't get flattened by the Other Guy, so I'd say you're doing pretty well, Stark."
"You always set your expectations too low," Tony retorts, and looks down as Bruce's hands settle on his hips like they belong there. "You, uh, don't have to do that, actually - I mean, not that I'm complaining, but it's not a -"
"Yeah, I know," Bruce says, and is surprised to realise that he does know it - he just wants to anyway. He'd gotten halfway through with Tony's belt before he got, uh, distracted, so he finishes the job, then leans in and undoes the zipper on his fly with his teeth, just to see what Tony does. He's not the most graceful or adroit - never has been - but that's not entirely a bad thing, judging by the way Tony leans back and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
"Your control's even better than I expected, actually," he remarks, hands stroking down Bruce's neck to settle on his shoulders and steady himself as Bruce tugs down his pants and boxers. "You barely even went green. We should factor that in, maybe run some extra tests-"
The science is appealing but for once in his life Bruce wants his world to revolve around something, anything other than the damned Hulk. So he says "Shut up, Stark," and licks down the full length of Tony's already-hard dick.
It's about the only truly successful way of shutting Tony up that Bruce has thus far found, which gives him the opportunity to settle himself and find his centre. He's known he liked men as well as women since he was a teenager, but his experience with either gender is far from extensive, and significantly less so with men than with women (to say nothing, of course, of the fact that he hasn't been with anyone since before the Hu - since he left Culver). But that's the last thing he wants to think of now, not with Tony looking down at him with wide eyes and parted lips, so before he can say another word or Bruce starts thinking again he leans in and takes Tony's dick in his mouth. Tony tips his head back with a rumbling groan that can probably be heard all over Stark Towers, his grip flexing on Bruce's shoulders as Bruce sucks and licks and kisses, slow and half-tentative at first but then faster and more confident as he gets into it, finds his rhythm. Whatever he's doing is clearly working for Tony if the sounds he's making are anything to judge by: Bruce's name, over and over, until Bruce speeds up and he slides into semi-coherent profanity and finally into wordless moans again and again. And then finally Bruce takes a deep breath and takes him all the way down (it turns out all those breathing exercises have more than one benefit) and he's done with a long shuddering gasp that's almost a shout and very nearly almost Bruce's name and which is probably the hottest sound Bruce has ever heard in his life. Bruce swallows it all, every drop of him, and at last rolls back on his haunches and pushes up his glasses to look up at Tony as if seeing him for the first time. Tony himself is sprawled against the table, breathing heavily, eyes half closed, and appears to be staying upright only by dint of his hands on Bruce's broad shoulders and his usual ability to bend the laws of physics to his own liking.
"Definitely amending the 'working on'," he says eventually, sounding as unsteady as Bruce has ever heard him, and laughs as he stretches out a hand to help Bruce to his feet with a wobbly kiss. For lack of knowing what else to do, Bruce disengages his hand from Tony's, instead pulling up his pants and trying to tidy his clothes, which provides a useful excuse not to make eye contact but which also means that his glance happens to fall squarely on the old arc reactor where it glints in its glass case behind the inscription 'Proof that Tony Stark has a heart'. His stomach lurches, because - whilst he's aware that Pepper accepts with calm equanimity Tony's constant flirtations with other women, and has apparently plenty of extra boyfriends of her own - he's also aware that for some women it's very different when it comes to their boyfriends and other men. And he likes Pepper, likes her a lot; doesn't want to hurt her - which of course he should have thought about long before this, but if he had ever had that kind of sense or good judgement he'd never have met either of them in the first place.
"Uh, does Pepper -" He starts a question but can't quite make himself finish, so he tries again. "Is Pepper -"
"Pepper," Tony interjects firmly, "Keeps saying that she can't believe it's taken us so long, I'm actually expecting slightly boggled congratulations from her as soon as she stops flirting with Natasha long enough to check her phone." He pauses to let that image sink in a little, then leans forwards and kisses Bruce slow and gentle on the lips before Bruce can spoil the moment - which of course he's going to have to, because they can't keep doing this. The Other Guy has stayed away today but he can't be sure he always will - how can he replicate conditions when he doesn't even know what they were? - and he can't trust him, can't trust himself. He'll say all that, he'll have to, and then he'll leave, because it's the only way he'll ever make himself stick to it; but, perhaps, not today. Today he'll take the little warmth he can, and start again tomorrow.
Tony slings an arm around his shoulders and leaves it there this time, where before he always seemed to just be testing the waters or something, and Bruce's brain skips a few tracks, the way it always does when Tony is this close. When Tony is concentrating on nothing and no-one but him, which doesn't happen very often but is always disconcerting when it does, like there's a spotlight trained right on him but only one person in the world is looking where it points.
"So, Bruce," he says, and Bruce watches him, and smiles in spite of himself, and tries not to think, not for the moment. "Now will you finally start calling me 'Tony'?"
Bruce shakes his head despairingly but has to laugh, because Tony is irrepressible and at least tomorrow isn't here just yet. "We'll see, Stark. We'll see."
Fandoms: Marvel Movieverse
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3217
Warnings: None.
Pairing: Bruce/Tony (because have you SEEN them?)
Notes: Yes, sometimes I write porn. For fightingthecage, for her birthday! <333 Beta-ed as ever by the very best of all possible alas_a_llamas.
Summary: For Bruce, staying calm has never been the secret.
Just as well, really...
Bruce has become accustomed, of late, to people asking him what his secret is - as if he has just one. What they actually want to know, of course, is how he keeps the beast - the Other Guy - penned up inside him, as if it were just a case of practising really hard until one day he's fixed, abracadabra, hallelujah, praise the non-existent Lord. They want to know how he stays so calm, how he keeps the easy drawl and the faint smile on every day, through Tony's baiting and Natasha's wariness (he can't blame her; God knows he scares the shit out of himself, too) and Rogers's gently condescending concern. How he pretends he doesn't know that Barton keeps tranquillising arrow-heads close to hand at all times, even when he sleeps, and that Fury has had the cage rebuilt at double the strength, just in case. It's as if they think maybe he'll ever stop hearing his heart hammering in his ears, or stop never stopping counting its beats per minute, over and over, calculating the rate again and again and again. They think maybe it's yoga, tai chi, weed (although marijuana actually raises the heart rate by approximately fifty percent, well within the danger zone, and anyway he's still not really comfortable with breaking the law), Enya CDs, meditation... Tony has a few more outlandish suggestions every day. (Today's was tantric sex, an idea which surprised Bruce primarily because it was so mild: it's practically family-friendly, compared to some of his other ideas.)
They've been flirting more and more, he and Tony, ever since Tony convinced - or possibly conned - him into agreeing to stay at Stark Towers for the time being. 'For the time being' has turned, by now, into nearly six months, and at this point the flirting has become so consistent that Bruce has almost convinced himself that it's actually not flirting at all, it's just Tony, and that he doesn't react every time Tony puts a hand on his arm. Every time Tony drapes an arm around his shoulders like it belongs there. Every time Tony gives him that look, like he knows exactly what he's doing to him and is daring him to push back or keep up or something; Bruce doesn't know, but he has to believe it's just normal - it's just Tony Stark being rich, famous, charismatic and kind of a dick, just like he is to everyone else. He has to believe that, because otherwise it means that Tony is going to expect some kind of response or reaction or something, and he can't allow himself to think about how much he wants to give it. He can't, he can't, he can't (his life is filled with all the things he can't), because he's going to get someone killed. He's going to get Tony killed, and Pepper, and everyone else at Stark Towers killed too, and he can't believe that Tony can be so brilliant and still not see that, or see that not everyone always has everything turn out right for them the way he does.
Bruce has tried to explain, sort of, except that explaining would by definition assume that Tony does expect some sort of reaction, and seriously - the guy could (and does) have anyone, so why would he be interested in him? But he tried anyway, only for Tony to wave him away, as blasé as any genius billionaire playboy philanthropist who always gets away with everything, who always sees to it that everything turns out okay for himself in the end. So Bruce does what he can: he keeps his head down, takes regular deep slow breaths, over and over, day in day out, and never quite succeeds in moving back out of Stark Towers, because - as selfish as that makes him - he still can't bring himself to leave after so long on his own. Once upon a time, when he had another life, he used to spend days - weeks - in the labs and never speak to anyone, not even notice that he hadn't spoken to anyone, not even to himself. And yet, after just a few months of being treated like a human being again - of experiencing Tony and Pepper's fearless, matter-of-fact caring about him - he can't give it up, he can't help it. Keeps telling himself that he'll leave next week, but he's weak: he doesn't say it to anyone else, and hides in the labs again so that he doesn't have to.
It's in the labs that Tony finds him, working on another set of upgrades for the suit that just won't go right: the theory is fine but, as tends to happen with him, something about the execution is off - almost certainly an error in calibrating one of the machines. It's frustrating but it's probably good for him, actually: he can't allow himself to get annoyed by the mistakes if he wants to fix this, and having to focus on the innumerable microscopic modifications he needs to make until this is perfect lets himself stop thinking about anything - or anyone - else.
He still knows it the second Tony steps out of the elevator to the labs, though: partly it's that since the Hu - since the Other Guy appeared he's noticed a nine percent average uptick in basic sensory perception, but mostly it's that it's Tony, and he couldn't ignore Tony if he tried. He takes deep breaths - in, one, two, three; out, one, two, three - and tries to focus, find his centre. Tony isn't talking yet, which is weird: normally the guy talks like it's an Olympic sport, like he has to say more in one conversation than Bruce normally says in a week or he'll lose the trick of it. The not-talking is bizarre, actually: what's he waiting for? What does he expect Bruce to do?
"Try adding an extra half-degree to the rendering temperature," Tony finally suggests, and Bruce can't believe he's actually so relieved to hear him speak, to be back on comparatively safe ground.
"If I do that, it'll take at least another day or so whilst I figure out a coating to stop everything melting together," he points out gently. "Unless you were planning to rebrand? 'Molten Man' does have a ring to it."
"Can't - copywrite violation." Tony sticks his hands in his pockets and regards Bruce with a look so thoughtful that it almost makes him edgy all over again. "Remember that guy we fought in Central Park last month? He's got himself a website, a lawyer, the full nine yards. Natasha says Fury's throwing a fit."
"Like that'd stop you, if you wanted," Bruce remarks dryly, and he can't quite stop himself from sounding a little bitter. "Like anything stops you getting what you want, if you really want it."
"Well, being rich, brilliant and outstandingly good-looking has been known to open doors," Tony admits with an easy nonchalance that Bruce knows he could never even fake, let alone replicate. "Quite a few doors, actually, although sometimes I regret it later when they've opened on the garage at four AM."
Bruce snorts, turning to make a smart remark - what, he isn't sure; around Tony is about the only time he ever lets himself say anything without thinking it through first - but before he can get there Tony adds "Still working on getting everything I want, though."
...Oh.
Now he knows what Tony's expecting, and the worst thing about the smug, privileged-from-birth, unfairly attractive billionaire bastard is that he's entirely right to expect it, because - as ever - Bruce can put anything off for as long as he wants, but he always falls. Always gives in to what he shouldn't have; is always weak, in the end, just as he always knows he will be. But Tony is looking at him as if daring him to try something, do something about it, as if he's looking at another human being and not some dangerous freak, and suddenly Bruce's temper surges and he thinks, fine. If Tony wants to push his luck with the Other Guy, let him: he'll learn better fast enough and then, maybe then, he'll let Bruce alone again and it will serve them both right.
Fine, he thinks again, and is still thinking it as he pushes Tony up against the nearest work table and kisses him, hard. Tony doesn't seem surprised, and doesn't miss a beat as he kisses back, lets Bruce kiss him hot and angry, is pliant underneath him as if he, Tony, is the one who has finally given in. He tastes of things Bruce has long forced himself to forget, and his hands are warm and unhesitating as they find the corner of Bruce's jaw, thumb rubbing over five o'clock stubble, stroking back and forth as Tony murmurs something incomprehensible but which is definitely not an order to stop, although even if it were Bruce doesn't think he could obey if he tried. Tony is warm and easy, and his aftershave smells expensive but not too strong and oh God, he wanted this, needs this; needs it, in fact, so badly that it's all he can do to count his own pulse (fast, too fast) as Tony bites at his lower lip until he whimpers and kisses him even harder, his hands on Tony's shoulders to hold him there, stop him from leaving.
When the Hulk is waiting in the wings he can feel it, feel him like a wave of heat under the skin. He should be able to feel him now but he can't: all he can feel is Tony; his brain is flashing up images, desperate and pornographic and Tony's hands have moved from his face to stroke, agonisingly slow, down his chest to his stomach to his hips, tugging his shirt loose and flickering up to settle on the bare skin of his hips. The sensation alone makes him moan: he hasn't been touched like this - as if he were wanted; touchable - in so long, and it's Tony who is in control now, pushing insistent at his belt, genius inventor's fingers sliding under the waistband of his pants.
"Fuck, Tony," Bruce manages, the plea so small even he can barely hear it, but it's all going to go wrong, he knows it is. "Tony, I can't, he's - he'll -" but he can't make himself say it out loud. Tony seems like he half understands, though, because he stops kissing him long enough to answer it.
"You can," he says, like he knows Bruce better than Bruce does, and punctuates it by sliding his fingers further down Bruce's groin until he can barely even hear his own thoughts in his head, let alone a heartbeat. "You're gonna be fine, Bruce, c'mon, make it easy on yourself for once." Tony kisses his jaw, slow and deliberate, like he knows what he's doing even though Bruce knows he doesn't; can't possibly. "C'mon."
Come on, Tony says, as if he isn't just as powerless as usual, but now Tony's hands have figured out his belt so it doesn't matter anyway, because he does need this, whatever that makes him.
"Please," he begs, hands tightening instinctively on Tony's shoulders to brace himself. Tony lets him, leaning back against the machinery to support them both as he hooks his fingers expertly into the waistband of Bruce's boxers and pants and pushes them both down at once until they pool on the floor at their feet. He kisses Bruce again to prevent any objections as he does it (too late, too late for that now), wrapping his hand lightly around Bruce's cock. He jacks once, twice, easy and slow as Bruce moans into the kiss, and Bruce still can't fathom where the Other Guy is but oh God, oh God, so long as he stays away then he doesn't care, just tips his face into the arch of Tony's shoulder and neck and closes his eyes, letting Tony work him over and over. He's good at this, fingers certain and deft as they slide and squeeze and gently twist, and Bruce bucks and pushes into his fingers, against the steadying presence of him, and just lets go, lets himself give in until finally - oh God - his brain whites out and he bucks again and again, lips closing on the crook of Tony's neck in a bruising desperate kiss.
"Well," Tony says eventually, sounding out of breath and very far away, "Maybe I can amend the 'working on'."
Bruce laughs in spite of himself, easing his grip on Tony's shoulders (there'll be bruises there later, probably) so that he slides to his knees on the cool floor of the lab. "You didn't get flattened by the Other Guy, so I'd say you're doing pretty well, Stark."
"You always set your expectations too low," Tony retorts, and looks down as Bruce's hands settle on his hips like they belong there. "You, uh, don't have to do that, actually - I mean, not that I'm complaining, but it's not a -"
"Yeah, I know," Bruce says, and is surprised to realise that he does know it - he just wants to anyway. He'd gotten halfway through with Tony's belt before he got, uh, distracted, so he finishes the job, then leans in and undoes the zipper on his fly with his teeth, just to see what Tony does. He's not the most graceful or adroit - never has been - but that's not entirely a bad thing, judging by the way Tony leans back and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
"Your control's even better than I expected, actually," he remarks, hands stroking down Bruce's neck to settle on his shoulders and steady himself as Bruce tugs down his pants and boxers. "You barely even went green. We should factor that in, maybe run some extra tests-"
The science is appealing but for once in his life Bruce wants his world to revolve around something, anything other than the damned Hulk. So he says "Shut up, Stark," and licks down the full length of Tony's already-hard dick.
It's about the only truly successful way of shutting Tony up that Bruce has thus far found, which gives him the opportunity to settle himself and find his centre. He's known he liked men as well as women since he was a teenager, but his experience with either gender is far from extensive, and significantly less so with men than with women (to say nothing, of course, of the fact that he hasn't been with anyone since before the Hu - since he left Culver). But that's the last thing he wants to think of now, not with Tony looking down at him with wide eyes and parted lips, so before he can say another word or Bruce starts thinking again he leans in and takes Tony's dick in his mouth. Tony tips his head back with a rumbling groan that can probably be heard all over Stark Towers, his grip flexing on Bruce's shoulders as Bruce sucks and licks and kisses, slow and half-tentative at first but then faster and more confident as he gets into it, finds his rhythm. Whatever he's doing is clearly working for Tony if the sounds he's making are anything to judge by: Bruce's name, over and over, until Bruce speeds up and he slides into semi-coherent profanity and finally into wordless moans again and again. And then finally Bruce takes a deep breath and takes him all the way down (it turns out all those breathing exercises have more than one benefit) and he's done with a long shuddering gasp that's almost a shout and very nearly almost Bruce's name and which is probably the hottest sound Bruce has ever heard in his life. Bruce swallows it all, every drop of him, and at last rolls back on his haunches and pushes up his glasses to look up at Tony as if seeing him for the first time. Tony himself is sprawled against the table, breathing heavily, eyes half closed, and appears to be staying upright only by dint of his hands on Bruce's broad shoulders and his usual ability to bend the laws of physics to his own liking.
"Definitely amending the 'working on'," he says eventually, sounding as unsteady as Bruce has ever heard him, and laughs as he stretches out a hand to help Bruce to his feet with a wobbly kiss. For lack of knowing what else to do, Bruce disengages his hand from Tony's, instead pulling up his pants and trying to tidy his clothes, which provides a useful excuse not to make eye contact but which also means that his glance happens to fall squarely on the old arc reactor where it glints in its glass case behind the inscription 'Proof that Tony Stark has a heart'. His stomach lurches, because - whilst he's aware that Pepper accepts with calm equanimity Tony's constant flirtations with other women, and has apparently plenty of extra boyfriends of her own - he's also aware that for some women it's very different when it comes to their boyfriends and other men. And he likes Pepper, likes her a lot; doesn't want to hurt her - which of course he should have thought about long before this, but if he had ever had that kind of sense or good judgement he'd never have met either of them in the first place.
"Uh, does Pepper -" He starts a question but can't quite make himself finish, so he tries again. "Is Pepper -"
"Pepper," Tony interjects firmly, "Keeps saying that she can't believe it's taken us so long, I'm actually expecting slightly boggled congratulations from her as soon as she stops flirting with Natasha long enough to check her phone." He pauses to let that image sink in a little, then leans forwards and kisses Bruce slow and gentle on the lips before Bruce can spoil the moment - which of course he's going to have to, because they can't keep doing this. The Other Guy has stayed away today but he can't be sure he always will - how can he replicate conditions when he doesn't even know what they were? - and he can't trust him, can't trust himself. He'll say all that, he'll have to, and then he'll leave, because it's the only way he'll ever make himself stick to it; but, perhaps, not today. Today he'll take the little warmth he can, and start again tomorrow.
Tony slings an arm around his shoulders and leaves it there this time, where before he always seemed to just be testing the waters or something, and Bruce's brain skips a few tracks, the way it always does when Tony is this close. When Tony is concentrating on nothing and no-one but him, which doesn't happen very often but is always disconcerting when it does, like there's a spotlight trained right on him but only one person in the world is looking where it points.
"So, Bruce," he says, and Bruce watches him, and smiles in spite of himself, and tries not to think, not for the moment. "Now will you finally start calling me 'Tony'?"
Bruce shakes his head despairingly but has to laugh, because Tony is irrepressible and at least tomorrow isn't here just yet. "We'll see, Stark. We'll see."