Mar 22, 2012 23:54
prompt me,
discussion: big bang,
life: livejournal related,
fandom: avengers,
genre: slash,
challenge: charity,
word count: 1000-4999,
pimp: websites/communities,
word count: 100-999,
activity: meme,
fanfiction,
fanfiction: to be written,
pairing: steve rogers/tony stark
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Steve's boss sits in a swivel chair, behind his mahogany desk, with a smug smirk on his hairy pug-dog face. “You know, Rogers,” he says, as he circles a finger around the rim of his wine glass, “this is the fifth time you've been late.”
“I...I know.” Steve cringes and although he offers no further defense, he straightens his shoulders to stand his ground. There's not much else he can do, despite knowing Obadiah, who's never been fond of him in the first place, has grounds to finally, fairly fire him. What can Steve say, “I'm sorry I missed your conference, Mr. Stane, but I was too busy making sure the United Nations building's bomb threat was taken care of?”
What's terrible about this, really terrible, is that Steve is a art great marketing director. He enjoys creating images for ads, even so many years after World War II, when he became a superhero, not a soldier, with a side-job at Stark Industries. No one alive knows about his secret identity, which Howard Stark had arranged for him. They think he's Steve Rogers the third, grandson of the first, scrawny, failed soldier Steve Rogers.
Obadiah stares at him a moment longer, lips twisted into a disgusted leer, then says, “Get out of my face,” and Steve turns to comply. His blue eyes burn a bit. Maybe, when Obadiah's dead, he can come back as Steve Rogers the fourth and reapply. An extremely long lifetime gives him that option. However, when he reaches the door, Obadiah calls after him, “You better not be late come Monday, Rogers.”
“I-I won't,” Steve hastily promises. He sends a quick prayer to anyone listening - do Loki and Thor take prayers? - that he doesn't have recourse to break his oath. Then, Steve rushes into the bathroom to splash his heated face.
It's empty upon his entrance, but doesn't remain so. One second, Steve's blinking clumps of soap-foam out of his eyelashes, the next, he hears the door behind him open and shut. There's a man with his back to it now, facing Steve.
Steve stares for a moment, but it takes even less than that, maybe a millisecond, for the man's identity to properly click. He has smirking lips, molten dark eyes and thick sable hair, all of which Steve has drawn with such care toward detail.
TBC...
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“M-Mr. Stark,” Steve says at last.
“In the flesh,” Tony replies, then chuckles like there's a joke Steve's not in on.
Steve purses his lips together. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
Tony quirks his eyebrows and says, “That's my name on the wall outside, isn't it? I can use whatever bathroom I'd like.”
“Oh, uh, of course.” Steve's cheeks flare red. He moves to exit the bathroom, but Tony is in his way and doesn't take a hint, at least until Steve stammers, “Can I, er, that is, I have to get going.”
“Sure, sure,” Tony answers, accompanied by a flippant flick of his wrist. He stands aside, pressed against the wall of sinks now, and Steve starts out, but pauses when he hears Tony say, “Don't worry so much about Obadiah.” Steve whips around to gape and Tony shrugs. “He takes himself way too seriously, but wouldn't know a real serious matter if it tugged him on his beard. I wouldn't let him fire you over nothing.”
Steve clicks his jaw shut and narrows his eyes. Tony defending him sends a burst of warmth through his body, but the way he said 'real'... It doesn't make any sense. He's never even been in Tony Stark's physical presence, lest it be as Captain America. “What do you mean?”
Tony smiles. “I mean, I know your secret, Steve,” he replies, and before Steve can do anything but bulge out his eyes, adds, “Got one of my own, actually.”
Steve swallows to wet his parched throat, but forces himself to ask, “What is it?” and Tony grins, even winks.
“I've really got to take a piss,” is his too casual response. Steve watches him disappear into a stall with a final wave, waits a few seconds more, then evacuates the bathroom like it's under artillery fire.
At home, he lines two of his current projects, one for work, one for leisure, side by side: Tony Stark in sepia and gold tones, smiling beneficently to sell his newest medical equipment; and Iron Man, Steve's ally, Steve's friend, a man behind a metal mask who Steve may just know as more. He is late on Monday, but it's okay, because Tony walks in beside him.
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