Working (too) Hard
Fandom: Avengers (MCU)
Word Count: 199
Paring: (implied) Steve/Tony
Summary: It's late at night, and someone is still at their desk.
The light has left
From the large windows behind him
And still he sits,
Hunched over,
Fingers jumping from key to key
As he fights to finish.
People never see this side
Not of him
Not when the media loves
To flash cameras in his face
To catch him on a yacht
Partying,
Irresponsible.
Reporters and talk show hosts
Deride and mock and use ugly colors
To paint pictures of this wonderful man
Someone I love,
Someone I could spend
The rest of my life with
And never need anyone
Or anything else.
He looks up when I walk in,
And the make-up has worn off
Revealing the dark smudges
That outline his bloodshot
And tired eyes.
He tells me to leave,
That he's fine,
And he'll be home soon
(Really).
'Come with me,' I whisper,
Gently tugging him upright
So that his poor back can straighten out,
Turn the lamp on
So that his strained eyes are not working
Just by the light of the screen,
And he moans when I dig hands in to his shoulders,
Head lolling back against my wrists,
Sighing, 'alright, Steve, alright'
As he allows himself to be pulled up and taken home.
Word Count: 199
Paring: (implied) Steve/Tony
Summary: It's late at night, and someone is still at their desk.
The light has left
From the large windows behind him
And still he sits,
Hunched over,
Fingers jumping from key to key
As he fights to finish.
People never see this side
Not of him
Not when the media loves
To flash cameras in his face
To catch him on a yacht
Partying,
Irresponsible.
Reporters and talk show hosts
Deride and mock and use ugly colors
To paint pictures of this wonderful man
Someone I love,
Someone I could spend
The rest of my life with
And never need anyone
Or anything else.
He looks up when I walk in,
And the make-up has worn off
Revealing the dark smudges
That outline his bloodshot
And tired eyes.
He tells me to leave,
That he's fine,
And he'll be home soon
(Really).
'Come with me,' I whisper,
Gently tugging him upright
So that his poor back can straighten out,
Turn the lamp on
So that his strained eyes are not working
Just by the light of the screen,
And he moans when I dig hands in to his shoulders,
Head lolling back against my wrists,
Sighing, 'alright, Steve, alright'
As he allows himself to be pulled up and taken home.