gotup | open post v2.0

[So here's the thing: Steve Rogers, Captain America, actual Nazi-punching hero who has saved the world (and the universe) more than once, is terrified of dates. More specifically, asking people out on them, but also probably the action of dating itself if he got that far. (He's been on double dates before, but those don't count; Bucky had coaxed girls into bringing along a friend for him, but they nearly always ended up more interested in Bucky than Steve.)

He knows that after admitting his feelings to Tony, the logical next step is a date, but, at the same time, that feels too weird to him. Dates are for getting to know someone, and there's no one he knows better than Tony Stark. (Because he's kind of an idiot sometimes, it doesn't occur to him that there are other reasons for dates, that maybe the woman he's trying to romance would, in fact, like to be romanced.)

Maybe he lets the topic fall by the wayside for a week or so because he doesn't actually know what to do and he's overcome by sheer awkwardness, and maybe that means he ends up not talking to Tony again till they're suited up and fighting some AIM goons who think that souping up zoo animals is somehow a good idea.

It's not, and although they get most of the menagerie wrangled pretty quickly, Steve ends up disarmed and cornered by a bear that is way bigger than it should be. He catches a flash of scarlet out of the corner of his eye and prays that it's Tony; though he might not admit it, there are times that technology comes in handy.]

Mind lending a hand here, Stark?

[The bear swipes at him, and Steve dodges the paw, tackling it in the stomach. It feels like tackling a furry brick wall.]

[ Despite Steve's assertions that dinner wasn't necessary, Tony had decided to read between the lines. No, taking someone on a date before having sex with them wasn't a rule of nature, and plenty of happy and healthy individuals bypassed that step of courting and skipped straight to the main event. It was Tony's opinion that Steve could use a little courting, though, not because of his origins but because of his timeline. Tony knew more than enough about Steve's past—thin, frail, and single to tall, strong, and busy as hell fighting a war. There had been romance, but little time to act on it—then into the ice and, after thawing, back into the fight. So maybe Tony isn't the kind of man to wine and din everyone he falls into bed with, but he was damned if he wasn't going to give Steve that base courtesy.

Plus, it had been fun to test his skill with chopsticks.

Now, though, he's faced with the heavy tension post-dinner and pre-whatever it was they were going to get up to. Steve hadn't been entirely forthcoming about his desires, but he's stated them later rather than never. As Tony drives them away from the restaurant and towards Stark Tower, he contemplates his potential courses of action. ]

Since they didn't have many desserts to pick from, want to come up for a nightcap?

[He might not have come straight out and admitted it, but it was nice to have someone actually taking him out. Dating - apart from the double dates Bucky set him up with, and those were more like two girls vying for Bucky's attention - had never been in the cards for Steve. Nobody had wanted him before the serum, and after...well, they'd never had the time.

These days, there are more than enough people vying for attention, but they all view him as some kind of status symbol, or else they're more interested in the myth than the man. Steve thinks (hopes) that Tony might be the exception to that - and if it turns out he isn't, well, on one hand, he'll have wasted a lot of time nursing a stupid crush, but on the other, at least he'll have picked someone good for his first time. (Assuming the rumors are true, anyway.)

Dinner's bled some of his nerves away, but Steve's still hyper-aware of everything, still half-hard with anticipation. He hopes he isn't imagining the almost palpable tension between them, that it isn't all one-sided.]

Depends on what kinda nightcap it is. [He tries to sound suave and seductive, but that's apparently the kind of thing that works better if your last name is Stark; Steve just sounds like the awkward dumbass from Brooklyn who thought fondue was an innuendo. He coughs and shifts in his seat.] I mean, I'd like that. [And he means it; even if nothing else comes of this, it would be nice to at least get closer to Tony when they aren't on Avengers business. God knows he could use an actual friend or two.]

[ Tony can definitely relate to the feeling that people are interested for the wrong reasons. Since he was old enough to know what seduction was, women and men alike have been looking to snag time with the Stark heir for all sorts of perks—expensive dinners, private vacations, company stock, or in the worst-case scenario, a chance to sell their story to the tabloids. Tony hadn't always been smart enough to care about it, but as he ages and gains experience, he finds that such trysts aren't as thrilling anymore. Maybe he's going soft, but middle-aged Tony Stark wants something more meaningful than a good fuck and an early-morning NDA signed by a hungover PR nightmare.

So their situations aren't exactly the same, but they can relate to one another. It's the same phenomenon of actors dating within the industry to find someone who understands the pressures of fame and the stress of finding someone trustworthy to date. For superheroes, there was the added layer of trying to keep their identities hidden for the lucky few that manage to keep their real lives a secret. Tony had fucked himself over there, but he doesn't regret it for the most part. He wonders if Steve ever wishes he could bury his connection with Captain America in exchange for a normal life, though.

All of this is to say that the date is nice. They draw looks, of course, but by the point in his life, Tony's become practiced in the art of not acting out in public. He can't escape the playboy title he'd held for years, so now he just tries not to feed into it if possible. It's not entirely easy when he's in public with a hot young thing like Steve Rogers, but he manages to keep his hands to himself at least. ]

Whatever kind you want. [ If Steve wants to try his hand at cavalier seduction, Tony is more than happy to humor him. He doesn't do a bad job of it, either, but he's so earnest that he can't commit and instantly adds a more genuine reply to Tony's offer. It makes him smile because honestly, Tony doesn't want to date another version of himself when honest interest is much more appreciated. ] How about we start with the standard definition and go from there?

[Thankfully, he's had Chinese takeout often enough with Nat that he's skilled at using chopsticks, so Steve doesn't have to worry about fumbling his food in front of all the onlookers. And he's not surprised by the crowd, either; he might be a private person, but he's also learned that absolutely nobody will respect his wishes for privacy. He gracefully poses for selfies, signs napkins, the whole shebang. While part of him wonders about the headlines that are inevitably going to appear, he's learned that there's no point in worrying about it; whatever happens will happen, no matter what he does.

(Though if they'd had privacy - squeezed into a booth at a hole in the wall place, perhaps - he might have ventured a touch or two. So it's arguably better this way.)

Earnest and awkward he might be, but Steve isn't as much of a squeaky clean boy scout type as everyone thinks - as evidenced by his willingness (eventually, anyway) to ease into more risque texts to Tony. Part of that is a serum-enhanced sex drive that's been repressed for far too long, but part of that is that he simply isn't as naive as everyone wants to believe. Sure, all of his knowledge might be second-hand, but it exists. He's even done a little more digging in preparation for this, although delving too far into that particular corner of the internet gets scary fast.]

Gonna break open a bottle of the good stuff for me? [Steve's smile is a little wry.] 'Cause I'll warn you, I might not be very appreciative. Before the serum, I couldn't even manage a glass of beer. I had a few drinks during the war, but it wasn't anything to write home about. Cheap stuff, usually.

Now that I know that, maybe I'll just tell you it's the good stuff. [ He chuckles and shakes his head, already pulling into the underground garage beneath Stark Tower. Living in the middle of the city is convenient, and he wouldn't trade it for anything, but it does cut the time to build tension or sooth nerves down to a minimum. Maybe that's for the best tonight, considering Steve doesn't seem very practiced in this part of the dance. It's true that everyone gives him the pure, boy scout reputation that comes with being America's poster boy, but Tony knows better than that. Even before he'd been able to coax him into exchanging sexy text messages, Steve's romance with Peggy Carter had been in the back of Tony's mind. Consider him surprised to find that Steve was interested in men as well.

Parking the car, he cuts the engine and looks over at Steve with a much more genuine smile. Tony is a master of hiding his emotions for the sake of his outward image, but in the safety of his own car in his own building, he can let some of that melt away. He's also learning that he's safe to do so around Steve. ] We don't have to drink, though. I've got ice cream, or movies, or a California king bed.

Do you even own anything cheap?

[It's meant as a joke, but it's a little more cutting than he'd intended, coming from a guy who grew up practically penniless. Steve's always felt self-conscious about the class difference between them, no matter how easy and carefree Tony seems about his wealth. (Only the people who have money can afford to act like it doesn't matter, he knows that all too well.) Steve brushes it off and keeps moving, both metaphorically and literally.]

Ice cream's more my style. [And, yeah, he's just had a not insignificant amount of Chinese food, but his serum-affected metabolism means that Steve's pretty much always willing to put away something else. (Even that is affected by his mental outlook, that need to eat when he can because he's subconsciously worried about not getting more food.)]

Or the bed, [he adds, and it's a little shy, but when the low light in the garage catches his eyes, it reflects off wide, dark pupils.]

[ Tony hums, pushing open the driver side door but lingering inside to think about Steve's question, even if it's rhetorical. He doesn't take it as an insult, more than aware that he lives a vastly different life from the rest of the world. Even before becoming a superhero, he hadn't really had much in common with the rest of humanity—fighting to keep it safe has definitely been good for his relatability with other people. ] Guess that kind of thing is relative, huh?

[ Smirking, he gets out of the car and waits for Steve to follow. He hadn't meant to cut him off in the middle of flirting, so once they've rejoined and can walk to the elevator together, Tony stays close and picks up that topic again. He appreciates that Steve is doing his best to meet him half-way with the innuendos, and he's also trying to not come on too strong just in case it makes him clam back up. After all, it had taken him quite a bit of work to get him to exchange the sexy texts. ] We could always eat ice cream in bed. Or each other. I'm sure your metabolism means you stay pretty hungry.

[ "analysis complete," jarvis reports.

tony glances up from the ruined mark iii faceplate he's working with. on another monitor, beside the one with the mark iii model, reads the result of the analysis: "no identifiable match found." below the words lies the dna readout of the strands of golden brown fur that tony picked off his clothes a month ago during the helicopter ride out of that afghan desert and promptly forgot about until now. in his defense, building the armor consumed his thoughts, then with everything that happened after...

tony frowns. he's not equipped for this sort of analysis, knowledge-wise. "forward the data to dr. alan douglas. see if he gets any bites, literal or otherwise," he tells jarvis.

dr. alan douglas does not, in fact, get any bites. the dna of the fur is unrecognized anywhere in the world's zoological records. a mad scientist's amalgamation of human male and lion is the best douglas can surmise. "do you have any further information for me?" he asks curiously over the video call.

tony thinks of the hazy dream of a lion-man's face as he lay dehydrated and injured after exploding his way out of the ten rings's capture; the dream of soft fur against his cheek, of a clawed hand (paw?) so big it engulfed his entire head as it helped him drink. "... nope!" he says, and that ends that.

with a company to raise from the ashes and terrorists and weapons to turn into ashes, tony shelves the mystery of the lion man. but the possibility has wormed its way in and nestled, a quiet constant in the back of his head: what if it wasn't a dream? when he's talking up the investors about the company's new direction, what if? when he's detecting and removing old land mines in the mark iv, what if? what if?

there's someone else out there who saved me.

he happens to return to that area as iron man, a few miles from where he was held, farther into pakistan and in the pamir mountains. his mission is to eradicate the cache of weapons he located in another ten rings cell. it's night, so the explosions make for a spectacular light show. the ten rings are completely helpless against the armor. though this is a different cell, and each cell operates independently, tony rains fire down on them with prejudice.

once every terrorist is either dead or has fled, tony checks the site for remaining caches. he'll need to sweep all nearby caverns, too.

he gets to work. ]

[He doesn't know how long he's been like this. Years, he thinks; time blurs, time spent in a cage, time after he escaped and ran away. He could mark the days, the months, the seasons if he cared. Sometimes he thinks he should, because time is a human concept. But deep down, he doesn't want to keep track of an eternity.

The man he finds at the edge of the desert interrupts his routine. Carefully, he nurses him back to health, brings him food and water. He keeps his distance, makes sure he's still in a state of delirium or half-consciousness when he's cleaning his wounds or coaxing him to drink. Once the man's healthy enough to move on, he carries him to a different cave while he's asleep, leaves him there like he's a wounded baby bird he's setting free.

And, like the birds, he doesn't expect to see the man again. He puts him from his mind and goes back to his solitary life in the mountains. Men have been more active at the fringe of his territory lately, and it worries him. There are some small villages, a few groups of nomads, but these are organized men with weapons, and they settle in caves. (It would be so easy to take care of them, he knows. So easy to creep in at night and surprise them, to rip and tear until bodies litter the floor. He's done it before - but he came here to stop doing that.)

He's become used to the explosions and lights in the night. (It stirs something in the back of his mind, burnt-out buildings, the shriek of shells, but the memories are dim.) The camps are good for salvage, he's discovered, and man-made goods come in handy. He's already taken several large bags of rice from the caves and taken them back to his storage; rice helps him make the most of meat and stretch his diet out. Now he's loading up a pack with smaller rations and blankets; a few of them are already full. In his wake, he leaves a trail of wrecked weapons - every time he finds a gun next to a body, he crumples the muzzle by squeezing it in one paw. He has strong feelings about guns in his territory - he doesn't know if these could hurt him, but he doesn't want to find out, either.

He hears footsteps in the cavern, and his ears swivel in the direction of the noise. These are heavier than most humans', and they make a strange metallic noise against the rock. He crouches, tensed to spring, his tail lashing around his ankles.]

[ "hold off the hounds for like fifteen more minutes tops. i'll be cleared out by then," tony is telling rhodey over the comm link inside the iron man helmet. "i have plans tonight, and they involve less generals and more hot tu–oof!"

the sensors pick up the second presence the moment he turns the corner, but too late: massive bulk barrels into him and knocks him down. the armor clangs heavily against the cavern floor. tony, for his part, stares up wide-eyed at the lion's face growling at his mask.

"tony?" rhodey calls.

tony keeps staring.

that's him. he's real.

"tony!"

"yup, roger that," tony gasps. "fifteen and i'm out. bye."

he ends the call.

the lion-man, all olympic-weightlifter seven feet of him, has him pinned by the upper arms. tony can still use the repulsors by swiveling his wrists, and while he can't break the lion-man's grip (not even with the thrusters, tony figures; he remembers iron monger's strength dragging him down), he has a wide arsenal of other tools to harm or stun the thing enough to escape.

but he's not attacking. and he saved me.

even if the lion-man could break through the armor, which tony doubts, not with the improvements he's made (he feels invincible), tony doesn't think he'd be harmed so long as he poses no threat. he relaxes. ]

Uh, nice kitty?

Edited 2020-07-05 02:28 (UTC)

[He bares fangs longer than a man's hand, his golden eyes narrowed and his whiskers bristling. Nice kitty, indeed. But the man in the suit - at least, he assumes there's a man in there - doesn't seem inclined to harm him. He's suspicious as hell, but he relents enough to let him up.]

No, [he growls in response.] I'm not a nice kitty.

[But the man speaks English - American English - and he's obviously the one who's been clearing out the camps. He might be a potential threat, but he doesn't appear to be an enemy, not at first glance. His gaze travels up and down the suit - still prone on the floor - and he dismisses him and goes back to rummaging through the supplies.]

So you speak. English, too.

[ iron man heaves himself up, knees bent and one elbow on them, leaning back on his hand. tony watches first the hud, fascinated, as it feeds him information and then the lion-man himself. there's no known (available) record, not even a reported or rumored sighting of a humanoid lion before. could there be more like him? a whole tribe, hiding under humanity's collective noses?

there's still a job to finish, tony reminds himself. they both need to get out, and soon. iron man clanks into a stand. ] Not with the Ten Rings, are you? 'Cause I'd hate to give PETA a reason to ride my ass.

Вы бы предпочли другой язык?

[His tone is dry, although there's no more Russian forthcoming. He knows there are other languages lurking in the depths of his mind, but, like most of his memories from before, they're fragmented. Russian is the only one that comes easily, and he has his captors to thank for that.

(He doesn't like speaking Russian. There are too many bad memories tied to it.)]

I don't know what either of those are.

[It's a brusque dismissal. He opens a MRE with a claw, then lifts the container to his mouth and licks out the meat before tossing it aside.]

[ and the guy also speaks russian (which tony does not, but he can recognize it, and jarvis will translate if asked). the ... guy-lion. the gion. like a liger, but with guy and lion. tony unofficially dubs gion as the species' name. ]

Good. Good answer.

[ after a pause and a sigh, iron man steps to the gion's side and looks up. even in the armor tony only reaches chin-height with him. ] Listen. Hey. Simba. [ maybe that last bit will get the gion's attention. ]

[He doesn't understand why the man is calling him Simba, but it's not like he has a name to give him, either. The tip of his tail twitches, hitting one leg of the suit.]

What?

[The armor is the only thing keeping him from knocking the man unconscious and leaving - the only thing that kept him from doing just that in the first place. Now he's concerned that he'll report his presence to...well, whoever. Anyone at all. He just wants to be left alone.]

[ tony glances down. isn't a swishing tail a sign of irritation? not to mention that tone. with a deep breath, he makes what might possibly be the stupidest decision of his soon-to-be-over life: he reaches up both hands, the helmet hisses and unlocks, and he bares his unprotected head. his hair is matted flat to his forehead (helmet hair, maybe he should start keeping it shorter?), and he's more cleaned up than when the gion last saw him, but his face with the circular white-blue light in his chest should connect the last of the dots. man, tony really hopes this is the same gion and not a pride-mate or something. ]

You're the one who helped me, aren't you? [ he asks, meeting the gion's eyes, his own widened in awe. i really didn't dream it. ] About two months ago, in the desert in Afghanistan. It was you.

[As the man moves, he tenses, first out of caution, then from shock - he'd honestly never expected to see him again, even if he'd survived the desert. He leans in closer to sniff - not that he really needs to, but he does anyway - and, yes, the scent is the same.

Fuck, he thinks, and his heart sinks. He'd remembered and come back. After all these years of caution, it really did only take one act of kindness in the end. His ears press close to his head as his thoughts race. (He could crush his skull like a melon in one bite. Humans are so small, so fragile.)

He moves back slowly, forces himself to relax a little. (He's not going to kill him. He can't.)]

It was, [he confirms. Doesn't even think about lying, because what good would it do?]

You weren't supposed to remember me, [he adds, voice quieter as he glances away.]

[ the strength of the sniff lifts part of tony's hair. briefly startled, he bears with it, then mirrors the gion's tension, gripping the helmet tighter, face dropping the awe for guarded wariness. (he can kick out with the thrusters to make space, get the helmet back on...) he's made poor character judgments before after all, one very recently. his trust is in short supply these days. but the gion backs down, and tony follows suit, relaxing as well. ]

And I'm not supposed to be alive, but here we are. [ he slides the helmet back on. it locks into place, the plates shifting together, eyes renewing their glow, and the speakers mechanizing his voice. ] You got somewhere we can talk? This area's about to be teeming with American and Pakistani troops and I take it you're a little camera shy.

[He bares his teeth and his chest rumbles with an irritated growl. Of course he's bringing troops down on him, and who knows how long they'll stick around, and how closely they'll examine the surrounding terrain. After this man leaves, he'll have to seriously think about leaving, and all of the work he's done over the years will be ruined, and who even knows how he'll find another place this uninhabited-

One thought at a time, he reminds himself. He's survived this long, surely he can make it through this.]

I'll wait for you at the entrance.

[He picks up the packs he's filled and slings them over one shoulder, meandering slowly back to the entrance to the caves to wait; once they get started and he's outside the cave, he drops down onto all fours in a ground-eating lope. Instead of using one of his smaller nests nearby, he leads the man to his "home" cave - a system not unlike the ones the humans have been moving into, with a water source deep within the mountain and plenty of caves for storage. They don't go very far past the entrance, though.

After he's dropped his burden near a wall, he rummages through one of the packs and takes out a battery-operated lantern and switches it on to give them light.]

Sorry I don't have any coffee to offer you.

[More of that sarcasm - but it's worth noting that the vowels in the word 'coffee' are broad and Brooklyn-esque, betraying a home he can't even remember.]

Edited 2020-07-06 19:53 (UTC)

[ tony honestly expects the gion to be gone by the time he finishes canvassing for weapons and he wonders if that wouldn't be the best for the both of them. but to his pleasant surprise, they meet up. in the far distance whirl the blades of two military helicopters, so they steal into the night. tony spurs the suit into low-hanging flight, tracking the gion on his hud. even the king of the jungle's powerful gait can't match the mark iv in the air, so tony pulls tricks to slow down and entertain himself: a spin, barrel rolls, a loop-de-loop. (if rhodey was ever right about anything, it's the joy and privilege of flight.) and–okay, sure, he's showing off, too.

he hovers lower, lighter in his heart, and follows until they reach the entrance, where he cuts off the thrusters. tony clomps alongside his host. inside, he analyzes his surroundings, head tilting. ] I've had worse hospitality, trust me.

[There's not a whole lot in here. Scorch marks on the stone and the leftover bits of fuel show where there's usually a fire, and in one corner, there's a pile of dried grass with an assortment of blankets thrown on top. Near the firepit, there's a large iron cookpot, currently empty.

Intelligent eyes blink at him, flashing gold in the light from the lantern.]

What did you want to talk about?

[ that impassive mask stares back at him. then, tony removes his helmet again, holds it under one arm (a more casual stance than before, but just as personal with the eye contact), and says, short and simple and so sincere, ] I owe you.

No, you don't.

[He softens slightly. Whoever he was before, whatever he was, there are some things that run bone-deep. They'd tried to change that, but they hadn't succeeded entirely; free from their control, he clings to the only thing he can be certain about. His morals might not come into question often out here, but when they do, he stands by them.]

You would have died if I'd left you there. I couldn't let that happen.

Edited 2020-07-08 23:04 (UTC)

[ of course the gion's noble. of course. tony almost rolls his eyes. ] Not a real strong case for your argument, gotta say. In your own words, I would've died, right? Ergo, I owe you.

Edited 2020-07-09 23:00 (UTC)

open post v2.0

for fireretardant

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tale as old as time...

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