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Title: Steve and Tony (Almost) Make a Porno
Author: jazzypom
Rated: R for language (potty mouths, I cannae stand it) and concepts.
Beta read: No. There might be the odd misadventure against grammar, but no war crimes.
Universe: Ultimates 1610 fic.
Summary: The earth is in danger, and can only be saved if Tony and Steve make out! The world might not be enough.
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work.
Notes: For [personal profile] jynx who twittered me a prompt along these lines: "@jazzypom i have an ult!fic prompt for you~ Cap and Tony must have sex, or the world as we know it is like, dead. SEX TO SAVE THE WORLD!!!!!" Erm... que? Let it not be said that I don't grant odd requests. I hope you like it, a small token of appreciation for being my first friend in this fandom. This fic takes place after Absolute Power. The Ultimates titles tend to riff off popular movie titles. Approximately 5,600 words.




Steve Rogers had always known the value of serving country, defending her ideals wrapped in Old Glory. Hell, he inadvertently gave up sixty years - inert in an ice floe- for his service.

As a result of his belief in his country tis of thee, he lost Gail to Bucky, and the life they could have had. White picket fence, dogs in the front yard, the sizzle of meat and smoke in the balmy twilight of summer skies. Seeing daughters that should have been his moving from bobby socks to stockings. Sons that should have been his moving from crayons to cars. Probably getting a career through the GI Bill when he came back from the war, sharing ribald jokes and beers with friends. Instead of recognising their names in a phone book, shadows in the dust, because most of them were dead.

Yes, Steve Rogers had always known the value of serving the flag, defending Lady Liberty. No matter how hard the job was, or how daunting the task. Be it jumping on a rocket to save the world from a nuclear bomb. He never asked what his country could do for him, but what he could do for it. It was hard at times. But he made do, because that's what soldiers did.

Except for now.

"Are you serious?" Steve's disbelief rang off the walls.

"You heard him, big man," Clint murmured, his voice a monotone of perpetual boredom. They were around the Ultimates table, Clint's feet propped on its edge, crossed at the ankles, as he leaned back in his comfortable chair, leafing through a copy of his Soldier of Fortune.

"I sense the ways of my brother in this," Thor mused, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "Loki is known for such activities."

"Or an evil overlord with a prurient interest in hooyay," Tony said, allowing himself a chuckle. If Jarvis were alive, Tony knew, he would have shanked his employer for the opportunity being presented, no matter how dubious.

"Not funny, Stark." Steve fumed, throwing Tony a look so frigid, it almost frosted his Martini glass. Hmm, Tony thought, eyeing his glass. Possibilities.

"Too bad Fury isn't with us," Wanda said, all husky notes and heavy lidded eyes. "Although, I must admit," she went on, tapping her finger against the glossy pout of her mouth, considering. "Tony and Steve together has... some appeal."

Automatically, Tony scanned the room for her brother. Pietro was nowhere around. Good, he thought, the last thing they need was Pietro scolding his sister over... this. No, it was a good thing that Fury wasn't with them. No offence to men in uniform, but they tended to see things in black and white, and had no idea of nuance. Case in point, Captain Flagg over here.

"So, we tell them no, right?" Steve asked.

"The fate of the world is in your hands... or your ass," Clint snickered evilly.

Tony watched the play of emotions across Steve's face with great interest. Despite his Neanderthal bearing, Rogers was not dumb. There was the frown as he digested the information, as he wrapped his mind around the mechanics of Clint's comment. His eyes narrowing to piercing beams as the thought struck him. Tony helped himself to another sip of his Martini, mellow enough to be unperturbed by his team mate's glower.

"I don't think so."

Tony agreed with this comment.


Later on in the day Tony was in the apartments above his offices, sipping scotch from a tumbler as he spoke on the phone to Yves in Paris, one eye on the television and the other on the sheaf of documents in his hand. Someone looking on might have wondered how Tony Stark could multi-task and not get confused. As far as Tony Stark was concerned, the man who did six impossible things before breakfast was an underachiever. He looked out at Manhattan bay, seeing the beings still floating over the harbour. A reminder that he and Steve were living on borrowed time. Every rule had a counter rule, and damn if Stark wasn't going to find it out. While he spoke to Yves, answering questions about strategy, his mind flashed on yesterday.

It was Wanda's fault.

With the earth's teams of superheroes throwing all they could after their enemies; Wanda tossed the probability dice to the nth power, by using her hex powers to rip a portal in the universe, drawing other people to help, getting the battle on the heroes' side. Bish bosh bash, the fight was done, and Steve and himself were in his offices decompressing.

Scratch that. He was decompressing, supine in a cosy armchair, unwinding with a crisp, dry Martini, while Steve was staring out the window, doing that face that he normally did. If the man wasn't careful, he'd give himself an ulcer.

"Rogers," Tony sighed the sigh of the put upon. "Off wondering in the wilderness that is your mind again? You're more in your head than usual."

Steve's eyes shifted to Tony's, no less intense than they were in battle. Tony wondered how Steve could function on high alert all the time. His body attuned to danger, ready to leap into action on his command.

"Do you realise," Steve began. "That Wanda is so powerful she ripped a hole in the universe and-"

"She's really hot. If she weren't so into her brother..." Tony winked, raising his glass in a toast.

There was a brief hum of silence at this, as Steve took in Stark, decadence personified, wearing his armour (the light, streamlined one) with the ease of a smoking jacket.

"You are such a jackass." Steve said finally.

"I kno-oh?" Tony hiccoughed, almost spitting out his liquor, as his eye snagged on a giant dark blotch in the distance. At first he thought it might have been a tidal wave, so sudden and fluidly moving.

"What in the world-?" Steve said, as they took in the scene before them.

Floating over the harbour, past Lady Liberty were silhouettes of armoured humanoids, their forms semi-corporeal, each form glimmering in the twilight.

"Wow, are you seeing what I'm seeing Rogers?"

Steve was already in motion; whipping out his comm, barking orders as he sprang towards the door, leaving Tony behind.

Tony looked at the rest of the Martini in his glass, then looked at the forms outside. With a frown he took the olive from its glass, waved it under his nose. It didn't smell odd, so... the vision out there must be real. With a shrug of his shoulders, Tony tossed the rest of the Martini down his throat, before firing up his suit.


As a result of the forms being in New York, it fell on the Ultimates to defend their turf. Tony sighed, mentally waving his planned vacation to the Maldives goodbye as he carried Steve in an awkward one armed hug, adjusting the torque and speed for the extra weight. Steve decided that he and Tony should reconnoitre, while the rest stayed behind, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

"If the situation gets too hairy, you're the cavalry." he said, looking at Wanda, Clint, Pietro and Thor. "Stark, with me."

"Only you Steve, would treat a billion dollar suit with the insouciance of one taking a cab." Tony said as he propelled them through the air, over the expanse of water of Manhattan's upper bay. At this time of night, with the sun already set the water was inky black. They left the mainland behind, travelling at a good clip.

Steve did not say a word, his eyes trained on the scene before them. He brought Stark along because in spite of his money and bravado, he was a good snake oil salesman. The fact that Tony Stark was able to finesse the Ultimates away from Fury and SHIELD, yet still kept his government contracts showed that he had some diplomatic nous. Also, Tony seemed to know his way around women and who knows, these things might just be.

Tony stopped short, hovering low enough for Steve to still breathe. If he went any higher, the chill would adversely affect his companion. With a swallow, he focused on the scene before him. The sensors in his helmet scanning the forms that loomed before them, enveloping the harbour in shadow. 300 metres, his suit reported,, the sensors alerting Stark to their distress. No wonder, the power scale was off the chart. Close up, the armour wasn't solid, the effect was more like an outline holding the swirls of atmospheric matter, stars and galaxies in the Milky Way together.

For the first time in a long time, Tony felt small.

As if he were on a raft three metres square, in the pacific somewhere, just floating and seeing nothing but blue sea and sky. There was power here. Overwhelming. Ineffable. To try and call them, to even try and figure what they were would drive him mad. He knew this as much as he knew that water froze at zero degrees Celsius.

"Jesus," he heard Steve's soft oath. Tony could sympathise. He felt it too.

The air around them grew close, Tony's suit sensors blooped at the increasing millibars of pressure. They hovered there, time slowing down to the flow of honey, and before Steve could open his mouth to ask, well- anything- they spoke. No, not spoke, sang, their voices layered and sensual like kisses on cheeks, emotion translucent as onion skins. It wasn't words for their ears, but waves that buffeted their bodies.


We are Innominate. We wake. said one. We closed our eyes and slept when the universe was new

Someone has ripped the mantle-

Made us stir. Not fully awake.

We must be sated. Mantle must be redrawn. To sleep. To form. To wake when the universe is reborn.

"Well," Tony said, managing to keep his voice smooth despite the sound distortion of his speaker, still hanging on to Steve. "That's helpful."

Energy is needed. Present warriors to cleave. Soldier, trader. Complete on wax'd moon

Need to slumber. Must make us slumber. Enough power to slumber. Sleep/form Or wake before time. Force universe to be reborn

We must slumber. To wake when universe is reborn.

"Ma'am," Steve made to ask, his voice incredulous. Tony knew Steve well enough by now, to know when he was caught off guard. He'd lower his voice a pitch, and become suddenly very still. "You're trying to say?"

Tony swallowed, trying not to express his surprise. Oh no, he thought. Oh no, no, no.

We watch. Wait to form. To sleep..

Tony did not realise how deathly heavy the silence was, not until he heard Clint's dry chuckle in the radio by his ear. "Well," Clint said, voice ripe with wry amusement. "That's not something you hear every day."



Tony's shudder brought him back to the present, absently exchanging pleasantries in French to Yves - Director of Stark International in France- as he dictated strategy.

Really? Sex with... Steve Rogers? No offence, but couldn't it have been with Janet Pym instead? She might lay eggs in silk sheets, devour his entire stock of drafting pencils, the enzymes in her spit turning the wooden pulp into paper. Kinky, but Tony had... experience in kink. Or even darling Wanda. No. knowing Peitro, her brother would demand to watch.

There must be a way to get out of this, Tony thought. He was too rich and too savvy not to be able to Welsh out on a deal. Taking his phone from the pocket of his slacks, he called his secretary. "Pepper, darling," he said, voice as smooth as cream. "Please get me all you can on the entities called The Innominate."




Thor drew his wind breaker a bit closer to his person. The wind was a sharp slap on the face today, the sky leaden and overcast, in addition to the twilight pall cast over the city. He did not mean for the weather to be reflective of his mood, on top of the Celestial bodies floating over the harbour. Sighting the Empire diner, he went in, found a table and sat down. The tables were cheap plastic, not the oak from the Enchanted Forest, and the menus were laminated.

Well, since he was here, he could eat.

"Your order sir?" a voice asked. It was cracked, gravelly, as if the user had a twenty a day smoking habit for the past fifteen years.

"Yes, please. One of your sloppy joes and - Loki."

"Hello, brother." Loki smiled, the eyes of the waitress all dark and liquid. "I recommend the apple pie."

"Enough, Loki. I am in no mood for sport," Thor said, glaring at his brother. Loki stood there, clad in uniform and apron. Her pencil hovering over her pad to take his order. "The figures over the bay, are those by your hand?"

"You wound me most grievously with your accusations. Especially since it was your team mate's fair hand that caused the rip in the universe."

Dumbstruck, Thor could only glare, and Loki touched the pencil to his lips as if trying to hide his smile. "How was I to know that Wanda would awaken The Innominate? Those who seek sex as tribute to slumber, and how failure to get such tribute from first sighted mighty warriors may force Ragnarök? That might involve me skewing her powers somewhat. Such delicious chaos."

"You have no idea what you've done!" Thor was scandalised. "If Ragnarök comes, you will die."

"So will you, brother. So will you. And Odin and Heimdall. The art of chaos calls for great sacrifices. I'm only a servant of its whims." Loki grinned openly this time, the air of malevolence swirled around them as distinct and substantial as a heavy cloak. "There is no fealty between Stark and Rogers, a mutual dislike on each man's side. Will they ever put that aside, for even intent? The world might not be enough. The cherry pie is on special. Care for that instead?"



"So, that's it then," Tony said, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of scotch as he observed the figures across the bay. The sky was still the unsettling purple-red tint of twilight, as the silent figures blocked out the sun, and cast a shadow on the entire Northern seaboard.

"According to lore The Innominate are related to a race called... The Celestials. But unlike those guys who are supposed to watch the planets for millenia -then judge if the planets are found wanting -these humanoids sleep. They only wake when disturbed by strong energies, and can only be soothed by other strong energies."

"And if you two don't?" Clint said, as he cleaned the barrel of his gun, its dissembled parts spread on the sofa where he was seated. Himself, Tony and Steve were in Stark's office apartments. Steve was standing in front of the wide television screen, remote in hand, intermittently flicking through various channels.

"Götterdäammerung."

Clint whistled. "So, can't we use Wanda's hex powers, since she's the one that inadvertently set this off in the first place?"

"No, Wanda's powers work on probability," Tony explained. " She would have to be in the same situation, with the same odds like the last time. By our calculations it would be 1 in 4-"

"That's not so bad."

"Billion."

"Oh." Clint said, casting an eye at Steve, who was still standing in front of the television, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Strange," Steve mused. "I've been listening to the radio and watching the television for the past two days, and there's been nothing about the Innominate. The media has not reported anything about it at all."

There was a studied stillness that descended the room. For a long moment, there was no noise but a merry jingle relating to washing detergent on the television.

"Stark."

"I did it," Tony admitted. "That little cloister of Marconi radio stations that I acquired last year? Well, they came in handy after all."

"And TV?"

"I have pull," Tony said. "So I got the thing buried. Media wide black out. Newspapers too. Dismissed as natural phenomena. A three day eclipse. It's amazing what the public will believe."

"So," Steve started, voice arctic. "You've decided to deceive America, not telling them the bogey men are at the door?"

"Let's not get into this now, Steve." Tony said, his voice soft, but no less as intense as his team mate's.

"How can you defend the indefensible?"

"In 1938 Orson Welles did a radio drama on HG Wells' War of The Worlds," Tony began. "There was mass hysteria at the time. Panic on the streets, people thinking the invasion was real. That was a radio show. Can you imagine what the streets would be like if they actually know what -" Tony broke off to gesture in the direction of The Innominate - "those were and what they wanted?"

"This is not the America I signed up to serve for."

"That America died fifty seven years ago."

There was a quick, indrawn breath from Steve, as he clenched his hands into fists. Tony raised an eyebrow in challenge. Clint shifted, just in case he had to jump in between the two men if need be.

"I'll give you that one," Steve spat acidly. "Let it be known that I'm not happy with this, Stark."

"So noted," Tony murmured, draining his glass. Steve tossed the remote on the sofa and stormed out of the apartment, leaving a buzzing silence in his wake.

"Hey," Clint's voice carried over the quick snaps of assembling his weapon. "If you two are supposed to be making nice, it will help if you tried not to kill each other?"

Tony looked at Clint, who finished reassembling his gun, and was holding it up to eye level, checking its rear and barrel sights. Satisfied, he then put it away. Out of all of them, Tony thought, Clint might just be the one with the most freedom. No great works to leave behind, no family... what kept him going? Was it the knowledge that one day he would die by some-one's hand (more than likely by his own)? Or the fact that since everything was taken from him, he had nothing to lose?

"You don't have to do this, you know." Clint said.

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to offer yourself as some sort of ... sacrificial virgin," Clint was plainly amused at the thought. " Because you're not. Your days are numbered. Like every one else's. Thor can't stop this, so why try? Why not just sell ringside seats to the end of the world, with The Ride of the Valkyries soundtrack thrown in?"

Tony gave Clint a sharp glance, not wanting to admit that the idea sounded entirely too alluring. Bacchanal in the face of Armageddon. Today we drink, for tomorrow we die. Tony sighed. Why was everything self indulgent such a temptation? Just the returns on that little event would be impressive, and - "I need a drink," he said.



"There's no other way out of this?"

Steve and Tony were seated on the sofa with a pile of reports, and a sleek mobile phone place on the low coffee table before them. Then, because it was Tony, there was a bottle of Jim Beam and an empty tumbler.

On any other night, one would be hard pressed not to enjoy the view - 270 degrees of panoramic views, the lit figure of the Statue of Liberty in the distance, the grid of lights on the mainland reflecting into the water. Why, there was even a full moon tonight - even if it were unseen.

Their immediate surroundings weren't shabby either. Sophisticated lighting techniques were employed to throw the room into quiet shadows and corners, the only spot of bright light was off to the side. This made it bright enough for them to read their notes, but without the harsh glare. Italian marble floors, the colour of sun baked earth, the odd and colourful objects d'art in the forms of enamelled vases as tall as the average woman. There was a three foot high model globe of the world built from semi-precious materials. The sofa they were seated on - if you could call it a sofa - was long and sleek, its smooth lines a direct contrast to the almost overstuffed brocaded surface.

Tony scrubbed his face with his hands, while Steve looked on. Stark as usual, in his default 'dress code' (if you could call it that) of a dusky lavender robe and white boxers. Steve had yet to go to bed, so he was in his shirt and sweatpants. It was five am at Tony Stark's apartments and both of them were staying there because it afforded the best view of Upper Bay, Manhattan. The forms shimmered over the horizon like some eerie form of aurora borealis, containing the mysteries of life and the universe within.

Steve almost missed fighting the Chitauri. Almost.

"No," Tony snapped, as he looked up from a report in his hand, the annoyance in his voice at himself apparent. "Math is useless. There's no science for this. No earthly sort of measurement. If you want to take a stab at this, by all means, please do."

Steve picked up a report and idly flipped through. There was typewritten prose, with Stark's neat handwriting in the margins at some key points. That was one thing that he never expected of Stark. Tidy penmanship.

"So we have to, uh..." he gestured helplessly.

"It'll seem." Tony said. "But at least there's something in it for you. I've been voted People's Sexiest Man Of The Year three consecutive times."

Steve gave him a sharp look. Tony shrugged his shoulders. "It's true," Tony said, tone matter of fact. "I am sexy."

"Stark." The word was heavy with baffled frustration. "Get serious. We don't even like each other and- what now?" Steve found himself the recipient of a pitying look.

"You've never had sex with anyone you didn't like?"

"No, why would I?" Steve was feeling aggrieved enough to defend himself. " Besides, we're guys."

"You're such an innocent abroad, Rogers."

"You're such a sozzled libertine, Stark."

"You know that men can have sex right? With each other?"

Steve was hard pressed not to punch the man. "I'm not a rube, Stark. I know. I lived in barracks. Fought a war. I knew guys who did."

"That's something."

"When I signed up for service to my country, this is not what I had in mind."

"Tell me about it," Tony said, leaning back in the sofa, pressing his pointer finger on his lower lip. "I did this gig to slip into my flying metal pyjamas of death, and wave at pretty girls. In between drinks, of course."

"Of course."


Another block of quiet, a tad longer this time.

This was it. Steve noted. Tony Stark finally met a problem that he could not seduce, think his way out of, or throw money at. For the past two days he had waited for Stark to crack the code, to do some soft shuffling and get them out of here. To find some loophole. There was none.

It all came back to him then. Again. Love for country, because that's all he had left. All he was sure of. This was closely followed by duty, with resentment tainting the pleasure of it. Bitterness, ah. Steve found himself almost choking on it.

"What's one more hardship?"

Tony was no stranger to inventive invectives directed at his person but still. "Hardship?"

"No offence."

"None taken."

A few more beats of strained silence, before Tony leaned over to pour himself a slug of bourbon. Took a sip, and felt a bit calmer as he went through their options. This had gone on long enough.

"We should get a move on with this as it were." Tony's voice was neutral and sure, as if he were negotiating the rights to his own name. "Our friends await."

"That's it?" Steve found himself wanting to laugh. "That's how you get the ladies?"

It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to point out that this situation was not easy for him either. But you know what? They were wasting time, and the secret to good business was the efficient use of resources. He was literally losing money trying to make kissy time with Captain Underpants here.

There were certain times when negotiations were just useless. Resolute, Tony went for the kill. It was a slick move, an arm on the back of the sofa just so, and a slide to the right and bingo. Tony gave himself points for execution, only for his head to snap back as their noses bumped into each other.

Tony cursed long, low and fluently.

"Smooth move, Stark."

"Shut up, Rogers. Lie back and think of Betsy Ross or something."

Steve leaned back to look at his teammate. They were not close enough to do that, but close enough for him to note the sweep of eyelashes, the faint laugh lines around the eyes. Tony Stark was a man who lived hard, played harder.

"This isn't working."

Tony moved just a fraction into Steve's space, his eyes alive with mirth, and Steve steeled himself for the insult. "You're acting like a blushing virgin in the back seat of a car. Are you telling me that you're crazy enough to try and disable a prototype hydrogen bomb, but you can't bring yourself to do this?"

"It won't work."

"You're so right," Tony's smile was pleasant and cool, a direct counterpoint to his sudden anger. For the past three days, he literally put his company on ignore to focus on the problem in front of them, and Steve was cock blocking (an unfortunate and ironic choice of word, he knew) progress.

Fuck you, Tony thought viciously, feeling light headed from temper spiking in his gut. Fuck you and the flagpole that you should be ran up on.

However, his manner was cool, almost cordial. He gave Steve's shoulder a squeeze before he moved to get up.

"It must be nice, picking and choosing which aspects of patriotism you want. I don't need to be here," Tony continued, in the same vein, although it cost him to be pleasant. "But I'm willing to stick it out, and I'm not the one wrapped in Old Glory, bleeding 'All American' values. Stay or go, Steve. But don't waste my time."

Tony moved his hand away, only to feel his wrist and forearm trapped in Steve's grip. Steve's hands were big, just like the rest of him. Before Tony registered the fact that fuck muscle and bone jostling against each other hurt, he found himself most unceremoniously dragged down with an inelegant 'plop' on the sofa. The set of Steve's face was grim. His features were taut, his eyes steely. Next time, Tony thought, I won't push so hard. Perhaps next - and all coherent thoughts were scattered like leaves in a stiff draught when Steve's mouth and body was on his. Pressing Tony into the sofa. His flesh exploding into goose pimples under the roughness of Steve's touch, as he felt his robe being torn from his body.

Usually, when it came to matters of the flesh, and acquiring said pleasures of the flesh, Tony appreciated style and careful planning. Customarily, something on this side of polish. Snow falling outside the windows of a Chalét in Vaud, perhaps, blanketing the outside surroundings into the twee picture perfection of a Currier & Ives print. There would be degrees of luxury: the flush of warmth from the crackle of fire in the hearth; pure linens smelling of spring, champagne bubbles dancing on one's tongue, tickling the blood. Food so exquisite, you had to nibble at its edges. After those appetites were sated, you flowed into others. Of bodies falling into bed, against each other, movements punctuated by soft laughter.

This experience was far from what Tony was used to.

There was the jolt of new flesh, the sensation of Steve's stubble against his cheek. The heat and tautness of Steve's abdomen against his, and the bunched material of Steve's shirt between them, as Tony clawed at Steve's shirt. His inner thighs tingling from the rough material of Steve's sweatpants, before Steve moved just so and before he could focus on the surprise of Steve's arousal on his, there was the pressure of Steve's fingers on his cock. Tony might have whimpered. Probably. Might have shuddered a breath when Steve moved his fingers again. Steve drew his head back, just a fraction, so that their eyes met. Steve's eyes were still cool, his smile sardonic.

"Is this what you wanted, Stark?"

Tony gave as good as he got, using his hand to loosen the drawstring on Steve's sweatpants, and cupped him. He did not break the stare, not at all, as he gently scraped his nails against the heat and throb Steve's arousal, before palming it. He took perverse delight hearing Steve's breath hitch, and seeing his mouth slacken.

"If I'm holding your ... person," at this, Tony made it a point to drop his gaze to the space where they were joined, then brought his eyes to Steve's again. "The least you can do is call me Tony."

Tony got no answer for that remark. Well, not verbal anyway.

Steve moved his hand from the space between them, from groin, past Tony's stomach, to chest, fingers skimming against the sweat slicked body of Stark's underneath him. Steve took his time, despite the fact that his hands trembled, his body rocked by tremors. He refused to break before Tony did. He was still smarting from the slap of Tony's words before. He tried to steel himself against Tony's hands as they tugged and pulled at his trousers, or Tony's hips doing a slow roll against his. It was all that Steve could do not to lose it.

Finally, he got his hand to Tony's shoulder, but before he could do anything, Tony held his wrist, and guided Steve's pointer and middle finger to his mouth, and there was the impression of suction, and moist heat around his fingers. The action eliciting a sympathetic ache on his cock, and Steve clamped down on a moan. Tony's eyes were on Steve's face, his pupils blown, and it was just so- he wouldn't last if Stark kept it up. Another shift, their mouths met. There was the slide of Tony's tongue against his, the smoke of bourbon on his breath. His fingers fell from Tony's mouth, to the space between Tony's shoulder. Steve's hand rested there, half on skin, half on the brocade pattern of the sofa under his fingertips. His other hand down Tony's boxers, fingers stroking bare hip, instinctively splaying to hold it in place as Tony rocked against him and the jittery sobs of Tony's breath in his mouth. The sudden whipcord tension as his groin arched against Steve's. Impressions of of light and heat before his own vision greyed.


Steve closed his eyes for a bit, only to be woken up a few hours later by the sharp beams of sunlight flooding Tony's apartment, and a clear horizon. The sky seemed bluer somehow, without the tint of twilight there. For the first time in three days, Manhattan wasn't in shadow.

"I think we did it," Tony declared triumphantly, as he twisted under Steve. "Break out the Bollinger."

"Hmmph," Steve said, his face buried in the space between Tony's neck and shoulder, trying to block out the reach of day. There might something to this dislike sex after all.

"They've disappeared. The Innominate," Tony said, wriggling from under Steve, taking his warmth and solid shelter away. Before Steve could even say another word, Tony had already made his way to window, that framed the now clear harbour, with phone in hand.

"But we didn't..." Steve broke off, cleared his throat to say it, but he couldn't. "Didn't."

"No," Tony's voice was thoughtful, as he stroked his van dyke. "I guess the intent just had to be there. Magic, forces. Primal stuff. It's all hocus pocus to me, but people have built religions on it. Kellner. Reuss. Crowley. Congratulations Steve, you did it for the red, white and blue."

Steve was still trying to make sense of what happened. Still trying to remember the last time he ever felt so angry and yet... Giving up, he said, "So, we saved the world again."

"It's a bit old hat, no?" Tony agreed, and just when Steve opened his mouth to answer, the phone rang. Distracted, Tony put it on loud speaker.

"We're still alive." Clint's voice came over the speaker, and Steve was surprised at Clint's dour tone.

"And a cheerful good morning to you too, Eeyore." Tony quipped.

"So, I'm assuming that both of you did-?"

"No." Steve's voice ground out from the couch. "Not at all."

"Too bad Stark," Clint's voice was sympathetic. "I know that you were negotiating the rights for pay per view and web streaming, just in case."

That stopped Steve short, and he froze, waiting to hear more.

"I'll speak to you later," Tony said as he disconnected the call. "I have to direct the media response to this."

Steve was already up, adjusting his clothes into some sort of order. He gave himself a count of ten before he was sure he would not throw Stark through the tempered glass.

"Negotiating the rights, Tony? To what exactly?"

Tony had the nerve to look unabashed as he walked over to the coffee table, stepped over the scattered files and reached for the bourbon and his tumbler glass.

"I negotiated the merchandising rights for everything. The end of the world, and a highlight reel if we were forced to do this in public."

What?

"It'd have been tasteful," Tony defended himself, before taking a sip from his rocks glass. "Controlled."

Steve gave Tony a fulminating look, then delivered his verdict. "You're such an asshole."

There was nothing for Tony to do but to admit the truth. "I know," he said.

Fin.
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The Triskelion - Everything Ultimates

August 2009

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