Fic - "Joyride"
Title: Joyride
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Tony, Steve. Avengers movieverse.
Word Count: 1,302
Rating: PG
Summary: Tony and Steve ride a motorcycle through Manhattan.
Warnings: I miss New York. I think it shows.
Notes: I prompted Juno to draw Tony and Steve on a motorcycle, and she made a comment about Tony refusing to ride bitch. Then this fic happened!
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Why do I have to ride bitch?”
Steve would like to point out that Tony says that while placing his hands sassily on his hips, but he’s not in the mood for a Stark diva meltdown right now and so he sticks to the facts.
“It’s my motorcycle.”
Tony fans the air. “Irrelevant.”
Steve frowns. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused! Wow, I’m glad we cleared that up. Now gimme the keys, Slick, I’m driving.”
There’s really no point in arguing with him once he’s made up his mind to do something, so Steve just shrugs and tosses him the keyring, secretly delighting in the way Tony effortlessly snatches it out of the air with one hand while putting on his sunglasses with the other. It’s yet another example of the fact that showmanship is as natural for him as breathing. Tony can never just do something. He has to do it with style, and there’s an unmistakeable swagger in his step as he slings himself confidently onto the motorcycle, scooting forward on the seat to leave plenty of room for Steve behind him.
At first Steve tries holding on to the sides of the seat for balance, but then Tony floors it and he’s compelled to throw his arms around Stark’s waist to keep from falling off.
“Hold on tight, princess,” Tony calls over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take you for a ride.”
They rocket out of the Stark Tower parking garage and on to the Manhattan city streets--- at which point Steve’s stomach plunges down to his feet.
He doesn’t know how he could have ever been foolish enough to think that Tony would obey something as plebeian as traffic laws.
Tony lines up their tires with the center line and hits the gas, sending them hurtling down a gauntlet of standing cars while Steve holds on for dear life. They go so fast that the other drivers take a moment to even realize that they should honk their horns, and the delayed indignant echo chases them in a rolling wave up Madison Avenue. Tony is fearless, darting into open lanes when he can, dodging around double-parked cabs and the occasional herd of clueless tourists--- which makes Steve compulsively shout “sorry!” even though he’s not sure if they can hear him over the engine’s roar. They blaze through yellow lights and when Tony sees a red one up ahead he banks left and takes them across 66th Street instead. Two more city blocks and suddenly there’s open air and Steve realizes that they’re in Central Park.
“Oh,” he exclaims, without meaning to.
Their speed drops to a gentle glide as they coast through the dappled shadows cast by the leaves overhead. Soon Steve is able to relax his death grip and sit up a little straighter to enjoy the scenery. It’s early autumn and the trees are just beginning to turn towards their seasonal colors, green giving way to yellow, preparing for orange. The air is crisp and cool--- they’re both in leather jackets, Steve in brown and Tony, of course, in black. As the road dips below ground level, the branches above seem to soar even higher, and Steve squints up at the sun flashing between the leaves.
He drifts into such a reverie that when Tony suddenly accelerates he has to fling himself forward to compensate, his body crushed against Tony’s back, his arms compulsively cinched like a vise around Tony’s belly. They’ve reached the far side and are taking a sharp right onto Central Park West, and as Tony rounds the corner and exits the park, any hint of his leisurely driving vanishes with a squeal of tires.
Like a bullet from a gun they go streaking northwards, zigzagging horrifically through the cluttered streets in front of the American Museum of Natural History while Steve buries his face between Tony’s shoulderblades and begs him to slow down, squeezing him so hard that he’s surprised Tony doesn’t complain of asphyxiation. There’s honking and shouting from all directions, but suddenly they’re turning right again, and it’s silent. They made it to the 79th Street Transverse, and they’re back in the park.
Tony eases up the pace, stretching out the time they spend cruising through the deep, quiet shade of the bridges. Steve cautiously loosens his hold and lifts his head from its hiding place. Of course they’re not alone on the road, and looking at the cabs around them Steve finds himself wondering if anyone recognizes them, if anyone is taking a picture with their phone--- something he’s told happens a lot these days. Maybe someone sees Captain America and Tony Stark. But maybe, just maybe, someone else glances at them and just sees two guys on a motorcycle, out for a joyride for no reason other than that it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Bam. Tony floors it unexpectedly, and for the third time Steve has to lunge forward and cling to him, his face tucked instinctively against the back of Tony’s neck.
It’s the fact that he’s done it three times now that gives him away.
“You’re doing that on purpose!” Steve shouts over the engine.
“Doing what on purpose?” Tony cackles, as he swings them on to 5th Avenue and hits the gas.
They’re heading south this time. Steve wonders if that’s Tony’s plan--- because Tony always has a plan--- to crawl along the through-streets and then go screaming up and down the avenues while Steve hangs on for the ride. He assumes, then, that they’re heading back to 65th Street, but Tony nimbly banks right at Terrace Drive and suddenly everything becomes beautiful.
They were down in the utility roads before, Steve realizes--- shortcuts meant to get from one side to the other as quickly as possible. They were just going through the park. Now they’re in the park, up at ground level, driving over the bridges instead of under them. The difference is striking.
The great green lawns go spreading out in all directions, crowded with trees of all shapes and sizes, filled with warm September sun. With the grace of a gondolier, Tony steers them right into the heart of it, slow and steady. This time there’s no sudden speeding. This time he takes it easy, and they lazily wind their way east, following the road as it curves south, then curves west--- and as it turns north again Steve realizes that Tony is driving them in a huge circle through the entirety of Central Park. He couldn’t be happier with that decision. He's finally enjoying the ride.
Funny how he can be in the middle of New York City and still feel like he’s a million miles away. Even in his own time Steve thought Manhattan was daunting, a hive of people in a hurry, big and loud and relentless. This new version is a hundred times worse--- but not here. Right here, right now, he can forget about that. He can forget about everything else, because some things--- the roar of the motorcycle, the sun through the trees--- never change.
He wonders if that was the plan all along.
Probably.
Filled with contentment, he wraps his arms around Tony and holds on tight.
________end.
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Tony, Steve. Avengers movieverse.
Word Count: 1,302
Rating: PG
Summary: Tony and Steve ride a motorcycle through Manhattan.
Warnings: I miss New York. I think it shows.
Notes: I prompted Juno to draw Tony and Steve on a motorcycle, and she made a comment about Tony refusing to ride bitch. Then this fic happened!
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Why do I have to ride bitch?”
Steve would like to point out that Tony says that while placing his hands sassily on his hips, but he’s not in the mood for a Stark diva meltdown right now and so he sticks to the facts.
“It’s my motorcycle.”
Tony fans the air. “Irrelevant.”
Steve frowns. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused! Wow, I’m glad we cleared that up. Now gimme the keys, Slick, I’m driving.”
There’s really no point in arguing with him once he’s made up his mind to do something, so Steve just shrugs and tosses him the keyring, secretly delighting in the way Tony effortlessly snatches it out of the air with one hand while putting on his sunglasses with the other. It’s yet another example of the fact that showmanship is as natural for him as breathing. Tony can never just do something. He has to do it with style, and there’s an unmistakeable swagger in his step as he slings himself confidently onto the motorcycle, scooting forward on the seat to leave plenty of room for Steve behind him.
At first Steve tries holding on to the sides of the seat for balance, but then Tony floors it and he’s compelled to throw his arms around Stark’s waist to keep from falling off.
“Hold on tight, princess,” Tony calls over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take you for a ride.”
They rocket out of the Stark Tower parking garage and on to the Manhattan city streets--- at which point Steve’s stomach plunges down to his feet.
He doesn’t know how he could have ever been foolish enough to think that Tony would obey something as plebeian as traffic laws.
Tony lines up their tires with the center line and hits the gas, sending them hurtling down a gauntlet of standing cars while Steve holds on for dear life. They go so fast that the other drivers take a moment to even realize that they should honk their horns, and the delayed indignant echo chases them in a rolling wave up Madison Avenue. Tony is fearless, darting into open lanes when he can, dodging around double-parked cabs and the occasional herd of clueless tourists--- which makes Steve compulsively shout “sorry!” even though he’s not sure if they can hear him over the engine’s roar. They blaze through yellow lights and when Tony sees a red one up ahead he banks left and takes them across 66th Street instead. Two more city blocks and suddenly there’s open air and Steve realizes that they’re in Central Park.
“Oh,” he exclaims, without meaning to.
Their speed drops to a gentle glide as they coast through the dappled shadows cast by the leaves overhead. Soon Steve is able to relax his death grip and sit up a little straighter to enjoy the scenery. It’s early autumn and the trees are just beginning to turn towards their seasonal colors, green giving way to yellow, preparing for orange. The air is crisp and cool--- they’re both in leather jackets, Steve in brown and Tony, of course, in black. As the road dips below ground level, the branches above seem to soar even higher, and Steve squints up at the sun flashing between the leaves.
He drifts into such a reverie that when Tony suddenly accelerates he has to fling himself forward to compensate, his body crushed against Tony’s back, his arms compulsively cinched like a vise around Tony’s belly. They’ve reached the far side and are taking a sharp right onto Central Park West, and as Tony rounds the corner and exits the park, any hint of his leisurely driving vanishes with a squeal of tires.
Like a bullet from a gun they go streaking northwards, zigzagging horrifically through the cluttered streets in front of the American Museum of Natural History while Steve buries his face between Tony’s shoulderblades and begs him to slow down, squeezing him so hard that he’s surprised Tony doesn’t complain of asphyxiation. There’s honking and shouting from all directions, but suddenly they’re turning right again, and it’s silent. They made it to the 79th Street Transverse, and they’re back in the park.
Tony eases up the pace, stretching out the time they spend cruising through the deep, quiet shade of the bridges. Steve cautiously loosens his hold and lifts his head from its hiding place. Of course they’re not alone on the road, and looking at the cabs around them Steve finds himself wondering if anyone recognizes them, if anyone is taking a picture with their phone--- something he’s told happens a lot these days. Maybe someone sees Captain America and Tony Stark. But maybe, just maybe, someone else glances at them and just sees two guys on a motorcycle, out for a joyride for no reason other than that it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Bam. Tony floors it unexpectedly, and for the third time Steve has to lunge forward and cling to him, his face tucked instinctively against the back of Tony’s neck.
It’s the fact that he’s done it three times now that gives him away.
“You’re doing that on purpose!” Steve shouts over the engine.
“Doing what on purpose?” Tony cackles, as he swings them on to 5th Avenue and hits the gas.
They’re heading south this time. Steve wonders if that’s Tony’s plan--- because Tony always has a plan--- to crawl along the through-streets and then go screaming up and down the avenues while Steve hangs on for the ride. He assumes, then, that they’re heading back to 65th Street, but Tony nimbly banks right at Terrace Drive and suddenly everything becomes beautiful.
They were down in the utility roads before, Steve realizes--- shortcuts meant to get from one side to the other as quickly as possible. They were just going through the park. Now they’re in the park, up at ground level, driving over the bridges instead of under them. The difference is striking.
The great green lawns go spreading out in all directions, crowded with trees of all shapes and sizes, filled with warm September sun. With the grace of a gondolier, Tony steers them right into the heart of it, slow and steady. This time there’s no sudden speeding. This time he takes it easy, and they lazily wind their way east, following the road as it curves south, then curves west--- and as it turns north again Steve realizes that Tony is driving them in a huge circle through the entirety of Central Park. He couldn’t be happier with that decision. He's finally enjoying the ride.
Funny how he can be in the middle of New York City and still feel like he’s a million miles away. Even in his own time Steve thought Manhattan was daunting, a hive of people in a hurry, big and loud and relentless. This new version is a hundred times worse--- but not here. Right here, right now, he can forget about that. He can forget about everything else, because some things--- the roar of the motorcycle, the sun through the trees--- never change.
He wonders if that was the plan all along.
Probably.
Filled with contentment, he wraps his arms around Tony and holds on tight.
________end.