April's Fic Journal

Undisclosed Desires (7/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:32:26 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Desires

Characters: Jyuushiro Ukitake, Stark, Kenpachi Zaraki, Shunsui Kyouraku, Nanao Ise, etc.

Pairings: Zaraki/Ukitake, Kyouraku/Ukitake, Ukitake/Stark, and some others in the background.

Rating: R for language, some violence and slash in later sections.

Author’s Note, etc.: See Part One.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six

*

The first time he’d been sick in Stark’s presence was a week after Zaraki had left. He hadn’t been doing anything too strenuous, but after being in good health for about a month, it was only to be expected. He doubled over, coughing and grimacing as the Espada knelt next to him, watching and not knowing what to do, until Hanatarou Yamada came running across the training grounds to tend to him.

He spent that day in bed and Stark read to him from one of the books Ichigo Kurosaki had given him several months ago. They couldn’t make much sense of the cultural references given their shared lack of human world experience, but just having someone there was soothing.

Whenever Ukitake nodded off, even if it was only for a few minutes before another coughing spell, he could feel Stark’s reiatsu winding gently around and over him like a cocoon. He felt guilty when he dreamt about Kyouraku and even worse when he woke up to flowers from his best friend. But only Unohana and Stark stayed, and when he started coughing, Stark kept his arms around him. It had been a long, long time since anyone else outside of Kaien had done that.

The next day he woke up to find Stark lying on the end of his bed, and he wondered why the arrancar seemed to eager to touch him or protect him when he wasn’t paying attention. Asking about it seemed unkind, and he wasn’t sure how Stark would have felt about being touched by someone so ill so he just watched him for awhile.

When the sickness seemed content to stay, Ukitake began quietly gathering up his things to go to Ugendou when Stark went off to the Fourth Division to ask about the sort of treatments that were to be administered to him.

Or, more honestly, the shinigami had only attempted to pack for the trip. After awhile, he woke up to find himself lying flat on his mattress with Lilinette hovering over him. She was livid and he had to endure her yelling at him and organizing all of his scattered belongings.

“You stupid old man,” she growled out, following this sentiment up with curses that even Zaraki would have found to be inventive and imaginative. This meant Stark was upset too although he’d done a better job of hiding it. “You could kill yourself. You have to rest.”

And rest he did. In fact, he slept most of the way to his estate, and wasn’t entirely sure how Stark had even found it until, upon waking, he noticed Lieutenant Hisagi standing in the doorway and eying him intently.

While he wasn’t in uniform per se, Ukitake was relieved to see he wasn’t just wearing a yukata but a lightweight kimono and hakuma with a haori jacket. All of it was navy blue instead of black. His eyes hurt too much for him to make out the tiny detailed designs on the fabric so the older Captain stared up groggily at Ninth Division’s temporary leader instead. “My Third Seats?”

“Your hollow wasn’t too keen on them coming with.”

“He’s… Well, I suppose he is.”

“I’m not judging,” Hisagi insisted, holding up his hands. “I just wanted to make sure this was what you wanted.”

Ukitake exhaled thoughtfully. “It is and it isn’t. He’s not going to want to leave.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Thank you for showing him the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

Surprisingly Hisagi stayed there, Ukitake reached up and rearranged the bag of ice on his forehead before trying to think of reasons why. The younger shinigami had never been inclined to speak to him before, and the one time he offered, he had inadvertently wounded his pride. Or reminded him of a connection he’d lost.

“But?”

Rubbing fingers over scars and the blue stripe over his nose, Hisagi shrugged. “There was a time… You wanted to talk to me and I said I was busy.”

“I remember,” Ukitake murmured when nothing else was said. He coughed sharply and pulled himself upright. “Is there something troubling you?”

Looking ashamed to be asking anything of a sick man, Hisagi shrugged again. “I was wrong. I can make time.”

“Hm. And Lieutenant Kira?”

His expression changed to one of relief and his posture straightened again even as the fingers of one hand brushed over the hilt and tsuba of Kazeshini. “I think he’d like that. He… needs direction.”

“All right. But he needs to ask.”

“When he does you’ll—”

Offering up a reassuring smile, Ukitake replied: “Of course I will. Any of the Captains would be happy to listen. We do understand, you know.” They hadn’t suffered the same exact betrayal as the two of you, but they had suffered a betrayal and it had been at the hands of the same people.

Hisagi reluctantly nodded. “Yes, but it’s better if it’s someone who will listen. It’s better if that someone is you.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you.”

Ukitake closed his eyes, knowing Hisagi would leave and not minding all that much even if it did leave him alone. Well, as alone as one could be with an Espada prowling around his familial estate.

Sometime later, he felt the right sleeve on his haori jacket being yanked, and he slowly opened his eyes.

“There’s medicine for you. Tea too,” Stark muttered, pulling the legs out on a small tray and setting it gently over Ukitake’s lap once the shinigami nodded. “You’re all right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Beyond the obvious?” Stark asked before shaking his head. “You don’t make a lot of noise when you sleep.”

“I see.” Ukitake rolled his eyes when the arrancar made a motion for him to deal with what was there on the tray in front of him. “I will be here for quite some time, you know,” he commented before picking up the capsules and swallowing them down with warm watery ginger and honey.

The tray was moved, and when he was done with the mug, Stark took that away as well. “I’ll get you some ice.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes closing. Eventually, he felt cold cubes press against his forehead. “It’s nice of you to be here, but there’s probably more enjoyable tasks to be had elsewhere.”

“Someone should be here with you.”

“I’m often here on my own.”

“No.”

Ukitake slowly opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “No?”

“You shouldn’t be. I won’t leave.”

Ukitake coughed quietly instead of laughing. He would have preferred to chuckle, but some things were beyond his control. No, many things were beyond his control. That Stark was proving to be one of them was a relief. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have thought of asking you to.”

The concern etched onto Stark’s features was one of the many reasons why being alone might have made them both happier. Ukitake couldn’t help thinking of Stark’s own worries about dying quickly. Would he really want to be with someone who was sick a good portion of the time?

“Don’t talk,” the arrancar said.

“I’ll cough either way.”

“Then…”

“It will end in time,” Ukitake promised, fairly certain that it was one he could keep. “You will get to look after me until you’ve had your fill.”

“Like everyone else?” The tone was bitter and protective, but at least it wasn’t laced with jealousy. “I don’t think so.”

“Ah, your concern is touching but you’ll only upset yourself. Don’t think so poorly of others,” Ukitake suggested. He set the bag of ice down on the tray next to the bed and let his fingers brush over Stark’s forehead. “They haven’t abandoned me, and I am not being sent here for any other reason than my own comfort.”

Stark’s jaw tightened and he looked extremely skeptical.

“Illnesses are unpleasant things,” the Captain soothed, letting his fingers slid down over Stark’s cheek to his chin. “It’s hard for them. It’s hard for me. I suspect it will be hard for you too.”

“Why? You’re not unpleasant.”

You really are young, aren’t you? “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to make this hard for you,” Stark admitted quietly, looking away before sighing as Ukitake caressed his neck. He allowed it for a few minutes before catching Ukitake’s fingers with his own. His fingers were cold, but not unpleasantly so. Lately the Espada had abandoned his gloves, no longer caring much if anyone found the number one on his hand to be significant or not. He tended to dress like the other lower-ranking shinigami too, but at the moment he appeared to be in release form even if his guns weren’t drawn and so far Ukitake had yet to notice any spirit wolves lurking around or under his bed.

“I find that I want to touch you all the time though,” he murmured sadly, stroking the back of Ukitake’s hand.

“You can. I won’t get you sick. Or, at least, I don’t think I will.” Considering the similarities between arrancars, Vaizards, and shinigami as well as the guests he’d had in Ugendou and how chaste their interactions had been… Well, Stark was certainly safe.

“I didn’t think you would,” Stark insisted, and Ukitake felt oddly relieved. Maybe loneliness was catching even if his sickness wasn’t. “I just wanted to touch you.”

“Feel free,” Ukitake gently offered. “And you have in the past, Stark. Didn’t you carry me here?”

“No. He wouldn’t let me.”

“Hisagi means well.”

Stark shrugged. “I don’t take that personally. It’s not me he’s upset with.”

“That’s good of you,” Ukitake assured him. “And you’re right.”

“I know what it’s like to be…” Stark searched for a word before tightening his grip on Ukitake’s fingers and then releasing them. He shifted a bit so that he looked away from the bed and over towards the painted screens in the corner near one of the large windows. “I know what it feels like to feel the way he does.”

“Come here,” Ukitake decided, tugging Stark closer to him and putting his arms around Stark's neck. He thought it was kinder to give Stark a small bit of privacy in terms of facial expressions and instead of turning him around, the shinigami merely rested his head against his shoulder.

“Do you know… I don’t think poorly of anyone, but even so I think highly of you,” he whispered. “I don’t understand you completely yet. There are few people I do understand that well, but what I do understand, I appreciate. I like being with you.”

“I still bother you. What I am… My reiatsu…”

Ukitake’s fingers brushed over the jawbone fused to Stark’s neckline. “That’s part of not understanding you completely. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you with me.”

“So it won’t bother you if I’m here?”

Nuzzling lightly at his shoulder, Ukitake smiled to himself. “Not at all. I think I need someone here this time anyway. And apparently you’ve chased everyone else away.”

“I don’t like how they fuss over you. Like you’re broken.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“Yes. I’m always going to be sick.”

Stark ducked his head and kissed at Ukitake’s arms. “Perhaps. To me it seems like you always get better. That to me… That indicates strength. That means you’ll last.”

“It always means something will be wrong with me,” the shinigami carefully explained.

Stark barked out a somewhat vicious-sounding laugh before shaking his head. “Look at what I am. I don’t care.”

Eying him thoughtfully, Ukitake frowned. “But you think I care what you are? That I judge you?”

“I think it matters. I think it might… influence your acceptance of me.” ‘Influence’ clearly was a last minute substitute for ‘taint.’

“I think it doesn’t change who you are. I think I like all of you. Both parts of you.”

“I like all of you too.”

“I’ve noticed. It means a lot to me.”

“It annoys you though.”

Ukitake blinked and tilted his head as he looked over Stark’s shoulder. “What?” he asked, turning Stark’s face towards his. “Oh. The way you follow me around all the time? I sort of enjoy that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s you. I’m getting used to you.”

Stark just grunted, tugging away lightly with his eyes trained on the floor. They were hard to read, what with the eyepiece over the left one. But his energy had changed a bit, and it had become harsher and darker. And it wasn’t lashing out so much as turning and spiraling inwards. He had a tendency to view himself unfairly. Ukitake had noticed that both from watching him on his own and watching him with Lilinette.

Sighing quietly, he let his own spiritual pressure wash lightly and protectively over Stark’s as he kissed his cheek. Sick or not, he could manage to provide the Espada with some comfort.

“Perhaps,” he mused aloud as he lightly worked to move some of his energy past some of Stark’s defenses, “well, it is likely that I read too much and while this won’t prove useful to you in any sort of fight… Did you know you have two charka points right where your mask and your hollow hole are?”

“Do I?” His tense posture and soft voice gave away very little.

“This is your throat chakra,” Ukitake explained, letting his fingers wander over the teeth on Stark’s jawbone. “And down here… That’s your heart chakra. One honors communication and the other honors the heart.”

“They’re no use to me,” Stark snapped. “They’re blocked. Or gone.”

“No. They’re just different. You’re not human and you’re not a shinigami.”

“So?”

“So. Why would that difference mean you don’t have a heart when it’s clear that you do?”

Stark broke free of his grip, physical and otherwise, and got to his feet. “It’s not safe to think like that.”

Ukitake coughed quietly and curled up against the pillows behind him, not willing to pursue him. Not because it wasn’t safe, but because he didn’t want Stark to try to convince him that it should have been dangerous. “But I do.”

“And if I hurt you?” Stark growled out, turning around slowly. “What will you think then?”

“I’m old. You don’t think I’ve been hurt?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stark cautioned.

“Then don’t,” Ukitake challenged.

His fists clenched tightly and stayed that way. “Then don’t… When I’m upset don’t do that unless you mean it then.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Try to make me feel better.”

“Then stop trying to take care of me if you won’t let me even try to do the same,” he suggested.

“I can’t help it.”

“Neither can I, and I don’t want to,” Ukitake admitted, looking about as surprised as Stark did. “We’re sort of in this together whether we meant to be or not, ne? To withhold parts of myself from you seems pointless.”

“I don’t want that,” Stark admitted. “I want to have… I want that connection to you. It feels… I like how it feels.”

Breathing out shakily, Ukitake let his reiatsu coil back around Stark’s. Not shoving, not pushing. Just mingling there with the hollow’s strange, spiritual energy, and accepting it. The arrancar looked sad and stricken, and Ukitake felt sufficiently motivated to hold out his hands to Stark.

“Connecting on that level to someone else who isn’t part of yourself?” the shinigami asked. “Getting back what you give to another? That’s perfectly understandable.”

Stark held out for a few more seconds before moving back. More than likely he was worried that the offer would be retracted. Poor thing. But he’d learn. “It’s not something we’re allowed,” he mumbled as Ukitake hugged him.

“By who?”

“By anyone.”

Ukitake wasn’t one for cursing, but he nearly did. “Well, it’s something I’m going to give you. You give it to me in so many sweet, sneaky ways when you think I’m not looking.”

Stark’s expression eased up slightly, looking more sheepish than anything else. “About that… I couldn’t prevent it. You needed it.”

“So do you. Don’t argue. I don’t want to be forced to settle for stealth affection or watching you pine for me when you’re standing right next to me.”

Sighing gently, the arrancar shrugged defeat. “Fine. A decent portion of my affection for you will be overt.”

“Thank you. Now I want more tea and then you can sleep here with me. Since you’re so fond of naps.”

Stark’s eyes lit up and Ukitake managed a weak laugh. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do. And when I’m better we’ll do something else that isn’t probably going to mean as much to you as a nap, but it’ll come close.”

“…Really?”

“Mm.”

Stark kissed his cheek and then his neck and then his cheek again.

“This is very sweet and all, but I still want tea,” Ukitake interrupted, pushing Stark away playfully before the Espada could start kissing his neck again.

Stark laughed even as he gave the shinigami a few more kisses before grumbling when Ukitake pinched his arm “Right. I’ll go get that.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s about damn time,” a third voice loudly declared as Stark picked up his tray and headed out of the room. “Honestly. You’re both such fucking morons.”

Ukitake colored when he was on his own and sighed. Kami-sama, he was never going to get used to having a talking gun around.

The next day when he woke up, he found his arms around Stark. The Espada was in a similar position, but one of his hands was buried in Ukitake’s hair and so was his face. Despite the fact that they were overdressed, it was an improvement.

*

Undisclosed Desires (6/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:28:33 GMT

Undisclosed Desires (5/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:25:24 GMT

Undisclosed Desires (4/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:22:41 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Desires

Characters: Jyuushiro Ukitake, Stark, Kenpachi Zaraki, Shunsui Kyouraku, Nanao Ise, etc.

Pairings: Zaraki/Ukitake, Kyouraku/Ukitake, Ukitake/Stark, and some others in the background.

Rating: R for language, some violence and slash in later sections.

Author’s Note, etc.: See Part One.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

*

Kyouraku gave Zaraki a small nod before noticing that Jyuushirou wasn’t with him. If he had been the type to get frustrated and show it, he would have looked keenly irritated. These multiple and unforeseen delays were wearing on his already worn nerves.

Shoving Ikkaku in the other Captain’s direction, Zaraki flash-stepped over to where Rose and Love were assisting Mastumoto in dealing with Ichimaru. The man sure got around.

“Well?” Kyouraku drawled as if he was already bored and completely unconcerned. “Is something on your mind that you’d like to share with me?”

“He needed to talk to that arrancar guy.”

“Talking,” he repeated before laughing gruffly. “I see.”

“Yare, yare,” the Third Seat said, holding up his hands. “Talking is what Captain Ukitake said. I know very little about anything that happened or is happening.”

“Which is only surprising if you don’t know him,” another voice chimed in. Zaraki’s Fifth Seat. “How about you know nothing somewhere else, ne?”

Ikkaku nodded.

Kyouraku waved them away and sighed heavily on his own.

Another one of those segmented holes appeared in the sky overhead. A garganta made up of blocked segments of darkness that looked like teeth ripping into fabric, which brought back some pleasant if somewhat distracting memories. They faded away as quickly as the empty void once two familiar forms stepped out. Kaname and Ukitake. No Stark or that girl who followed him around or turned into a cero gun depending on the situation.

After all of this ended, he really hoped they would be rid of Aizen and his two main helpers.

“That must have been some talk,” he muttered before flash-stepping over to Unohana.

The loss of his hat was proving to be the very least of his worries.

“I’m taking them now,” he informed her and snatched at the hilt of his friend’s zanpakutou just as a gloved hand grabbed them.

Stark. Kyouraku looked up. His expression softened minutely when he saw that the Espada was in his release form already. Still, the hollow was taking really bad care of Jyuushirou. That wasn’t exactly forgivable, but it wasn’t unforgivable. It wasn’t like Ukitake needed all that much looking after.

Unohana gave both of them a thoughtful look before returning to her patients. “If you are going to fight, kindly do not do so here,” she called over her shoulder. Before returning to healing, she patted Hanatarou Yamada’s shoulder. Everyone else in Fourth Division was always so jumpy.

Lieutenant Kotesu opened her mouth to say something before coloring and deciding against it. She ran to catch up to her Captain looking more like baby giraffe than anything else.

“I can give him these,” Stark said at the same time that Kyouraku murmured: “You are not even close to being on the list of troublesome hollows I’d like to deal with right now. But you could be if you don’t let go of those.”

“I can give them to him.”

“Yes, but you haven’t.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled both of them but what surprised Kyouraku was the panel opening up in the air in front of them much like the larger garganta. The screen showed static but the voice was undeniably Aizen’s.

The former Captain’s face eventually flickered on the screen, eying them curiously before speaking. “I’m being told this is a friend of yours, Primera.”

At which point the static returned and the screen closed in on itself.

Looking up, Kyouraku could see Ukitake and Aizen… Well, it wasn’t talking but it wasn’t fighting. Not yet anyway. Kaname stepped in the way of Shinji and seemed to be holding his own well enough.

“I’ll give this to him,” Stark said again, tugging the zanpakutou away. “You won’t be able to get as close as I can.”

Kyouraku grabbed his arm instead of attempting to reclaim Ukitake’s weapon. That done, he yanked sharply hauling him close and nearly off-balance. “You better or I’ll give you both of mine. Do you understand?”

“You’re strange.”

Shrugging, Kyouraku released him. “This has been a very trying day.”

He watched the Espada vanish. The screen quickly followed suit, folding in on itself, but not before he caught a glimpse of Aizen’s face. And the bastard’s smirking lips.

*

Ukitake did not feel hypnotized although he certainly felt ill. Not just because of being around Aizen although he couldn’t say being around the former Captain was a pleasant experience. And listening to him gloat in a cultured, deceptively charming way made everything that was harder to bear.

In that respect, he had appreciated Kaname’s stoic silence even if the former Captain was clearly still harboring delusions of grandeur and superiority. They had exchanged perhaps five syllables before and after his forced exit from Hueco Mundo, a somewhat embarrassing and slightly humiliating experience. Ukitake could not remember a time he’d been caught without Sougyo no Kotowari somewhere nearby. The only blessing came from being only too aware that he himself was not at fault. However, this blessing had many suspicions and concerns attached even if very few of them pertained to Stark.

“I hope you weren’t too offended when I commented on your arrogance,” Aizen remarked in a placid, silky tone as if he didn’t have the blade of Kyouka Suigetsu inches away from Ukitake’s throat. As if the Rikujoukourou placed on him by Kaname wasn’t enough to keep him where he was.

But all of this seemed to be for show. If properly armed, they might have had a decent enough battle, but Aizen seemed to be perfectly incapable of perceiving anyone as a threat to his plans at the moment. Perhaps rightly so. Aizen’s reiatsu seemed different now. Stronger. And the Captain’s wasn’t completely up to the challenge.

“Sousuke-san, your opinion matters as about much to me as…”

“As?”

“I honestly am having trouble thinking of anything that matters as little as your opinion.”

“This fight has been rather drawn out, hasn’t it? Don’t worry. I will end it soon.”

Rounds of cero flashed between them and Kaname and Shinji still fighting to their left. The Vaizard’s killing intent didn’t waver nor did the blasts divert the former Captain’s focus in anyway. And then they were obscured by smoke and occasionally he could hear Shinji loudly rattling off an attack.

Although Ukitake hadn’t heard anyone say much of anything what with Aizen talking directly into his ear, he was fairly certain this was the Primera’s cero metralleta. Once the smoke cleared, he saw he wasn’t wrong although… the wolf pack was new. Later on he would need to find out just how much had he slept through.

“Ah, Stark. You’re as slow to arrive as usual. But you come bearing gifts.”

“This is not for you.”

Aizen made a soft tsk-ing sound before sighing. “Your ingratitude is both expected and foolish.”

“Hi hi, Captain Ukitake. Naa, nice outfit. Interestin’ to see ya slumming just like the rest of us,” Gin commented once he appeared in front of Aizen. He seemed remarkably unfazed by the pistol grazing his left temple. He shooed the gun away with several long fingers and shook his head. “Naa. Watch where ya point that, Stark.”

Stark grunted.

“Move, Gin,” was Aizen’s advice.

Ichimaru complied almost immediately but not before muttering: “Damned kids. Oh look. It’s another familiar face.” He flash-stepped off to annoy someone else.

Aizen’s eyes flickered in his second’s retreating form before resting again on Stark and Ukitake once more.

“Now it seems we’re all here,” the shinigami who fancied himself to be both a god and a king looked very much like one as murmured contentedly before moving his zanpakutou. He lightly stroked Ukitake’s chin with one finger before eying Stark to gauge his reaction.

Stark’s stance was a bit more rigid, but he looked as battle-ready as he had only minutes ago. Whether he liked fighting or not, he was willing to do so. More than at the moment. He had probably pulled out all the stops and brought out all the tricks he had that corresponded directly to his resurrección.

This seemed readily apparent enough, but most of Ukitake’s thoughts felt very muddled. He sensed that it had something with Aizen but not his abilities, which seemed slightly distressing, and he was trying to piece together why that was.

To some degree, he wouldn’t have been able to tell but he didn’t feel as if he’d lost touch with any aspect of reality. He hadn’t even been made to study Aizen’s zanpakutou. He just felt exhausted. Drained. Maybe this wasn’t exactly Rikujoukourou but something similar of a higher number? He still couldn’t believe Aizen’s reiatsu could actively cripple his own, but no matter what other reasons Ukitake tried to come to, that seemed to be the only one that made sense in spite of being a completely illogical conclusion to reach.

“Why would that matter, Aizen-san?” Stark wanted to know. “That’s not your goal any more than he is.”

Clearly even a high-ranking Espada did nothing to trouble him. Aizen stood there looking pretty happy with the current situation. The wolves surrounding them registered by their impact and presence seemed to about as significant to him as the arrival of some fruit flies.

“Now that might be subject for debate. Ukitake, for all his illnesses, is quite a threat. I can’t imagine why you yourself are focusing so completely on him, but then… Wolves and coyotes have that tendency, don’t they? Similar in nature to a dog with a bone, I should think.”

“Leave it alone,” Stark testily objected.

“If you like,” Aizen kindly offered, looking nonplused by Stark’s tone. “But if you think I was unaware of your actions, Primera, you will have to think again. I had a feeling our mutual friend would end up needing some help in arriving here in a timely manner once you took him out of harm’s way.”

He waved a hand when Stark’s frown intensified. But like Kyouraku the Espada didn’t seem to be one for getting too bent out of shape even when provoked. “All for noble reasons, I’m sure. But imagine my astonishment when he failed to arrive here at all for hours on end.”

“How can this concern you? Why would you even want me here?”

Aizen shook his head. “Distaste for one’s maker is rather cliché. I had such high hopes for you, Stark.”

“You want to cut some kind of deal for him,” Stark muttered, completely ignoring Aizen’s observations. “So do it. Make me an offer and then let me sleep on it.”

“Be quiet and think. Look at your new playmates. Your allies, if one can call them that. Vaizards, the few Espada managed to be of any use to me and survive by shirking both role and purpose… The Thirteen Captains and all of their foot soldiers… Everyone is here.”

“This is boring,” Lilinette complained, and Stark seemed inclined to agree. But Ukitake gave this some thought, and glanced over at Shinji. Yes, a lot of them were there. A lot of people he never expected to see, and yet… Foggy as his mind was, he could easily come up with four names of former shinigami and the name of one Quincy whose spiritual pressure was absent from the Soul Society replica of Karakura Town.

“No,” Ukitake wearily managed even as he struggled unsuccessfully to break out of the Kidou.

“Hm?”

“Not everyone is here.” And suddenly his hoarse tone was being broadcasted throughout fake Karakura Town. Broadcasting via garganta... Was that really something Aizen knew how to do?

“You knew that,” the Captain added and Aizen closed his eyes in appreciation before nodding. “That’s important to you.”

“Hm.” Aizen’s smile gave little away and yet it gave nearly everything away. “What else?” As if this was all a lecture or some sort of Zen koan Ukitake had been assigned to decipher.

“You said you wanted a vacant throne. This one isn’t vacant.”

“No, it’s not.”

“And your reiatsu is wrong. Or would be wrong. If you were Aizen. But you’re not him.”

Aizen who wasn’t Aizen at all laughed and patted his cheek. “Very good.”

“…I should have known,” Stark commented with a sigh before eying the other man thoughtfully. “I really hate fighting.”

Nearly everyone else who could stand seemed to be moving in their direction in a hurry. The wolves scattered, disappearing in small bursts as Shinji dealt Kaname another blow followed by a blinding red cero and then ducked past him.

“Who is he then?” the Vaizard demanded even as he examined the Kidou binding.

Ukitake shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Stark looked down as his guns before looking up again. “No one important.”

“And yet far more important than you.”

In the distance and in the quiet that seemed to last even as everyone began piecing things together, Ukitake could hear something that sounded very much like Mayuri cursing loudly and demanding a garganta. Someone else must have been cursing him right back.

“It might be that I owe you one after all, Stark,” the shinigami or Espada or hollow murmured. “Or, at any rate, your libido. You were never fit for your ranking. If time permitted I would show you why.”

“Confused,” the stranger murmured.

Stark fired off a warning shot.

“Jealous then? No, perhaps not.”

He stumbled a bit when the hilt of Ichimaru’s sword slammed into his back. “Ya couldn’t wait five more minutes? Ya couldn’t let ‘em think ya was holding back?”

“Silence.”

Ichimaru snorted before moving away. “Sou. Method actin’. Well I’m leavin’. Ya do what ya please.”

Kaname was already making his own garganta, and both of them disappeared even as Not-Aizen spoke again.

“Bind, Murciélago.”

Black rain fell around them, dissolving his illusionary form and making short of work of the rods of light holding Ukitake in place.

“Fuck,” Shinji murmured. He grabbed at the shinigami’s hand and hauled him away as the torrent of raw, brutal spiritual energy poured onto them and the shinigami able to move quick enough were still flocking to the area. Their hands were all resting on their weapons, but it seemed that none of them could think of a single thing to do until the pressure slowly began to decrease.

The reiatsu rain continued to fall, droplets of spiritual pressure spiked with killing intent. Ukitake wrestled out of the Vaizard’s grip, and headed back towards it.

“Hey! You can’t seriously want to go back over there.”

“Stark’s still standing over there,” Ukitake said, pulling away.

“Now’s not the time to care about—”

“And he has my zanpakutou.”

“So he does,” Shinji noticed, grimacing with his large mouth as he finally let go. “Well, good luck.”

“Thank you,” Ukitake murmured, hoping they’d have more time to catch up later. For the time being, he focused on flash-stepping over to Stark. He arrived at the arrancar’s side just as the rain stopped.

Around that time, bat-like wings unfurled revealing another arrancar. This one was horned with long fingernails and a triangular face. It was armed with a spiky javelin. A weapon he quickly used on Stark, driving it straight through the hole in his sternum even as the Espada shoved Ukitake away from him.

Ukitake grabbed his zanpakutou and winced when he turned around to see the javelin was still through the hollow hole, pining Stark there in the air.

“What… Fuck, what was that for?” Stark demanded in a raspy tone.

The Espada said nothing. Like a grim executioner, he summoned up another energy spear. This one pierced through Stark’s hand and his number tattoo forcing him to drop one of his guns. Lilinette began howling and then screaming at him.

No one moved. Whether it was because they didn’t know what to do or because they didn’t see the point in interfering with a fight between two Espada hardly mattered. It felt wrong despite the fact that it made perfect sense.

Ukitake wanted to say something… No, anything comforting or reassuring or protective in even a small way for Stark and Lilinette’s sake, but understanding the urgency of the situation, he prepared his shikai instead. Under his breath, he chanted the words.

“A reminder,” the creature stated flatly. This other Espada’s face remaining blank in spite of the marking on his face that seemed to imitate tears. “That is all. Cero Oscuras.”

“Sougyo no Kotowari.” Ukitake felt his hands trembling violently as the energy traveled through his left sword down into the five dangling charms. The shaking was even worse as he shot that energy back at the Espada with his right blade.

The energy zoomed at the arrancar who held out one hand and caught the cero with his reiatsu. It fell through his fingers like so much black oily water. “You were worth waiting for,” it said.

“Who are you?”

“Cuarto Espada. Ulquiorra Cifer.”

“You… You did this to your own kind?”

“Aizen is still very much around, Captain Ukitake. My orders are my orders.”

“Why?”

“I believe you know why,” Ulquiorra murmured, spreading its—his-- wings wide and tilting his head as black, empty segments of space appeared behind him. He stepped in, expression remaining bored and neutral even as the sky began to close again.

“If there was more time… The things I would show you,” was the last thing he said.

And for awhile it was over.

*

Undisclosed Desires (3/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:18:13 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Desires

Characters: Jyuushiro Ukitake, Stark, Kenpachi Zaraki, Shunsui Kyouraku, Nanao Ise, etc.

Pairings: Zaraki/Ukitake, Kyouraku/Ukitake, Ukitake/Stark, and some others in the background.

Rating: R for language, some violence and slash in later sections.

Author’s Note, etc.: See Part One.

Part One
Part Two

Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

*

Stark was the first person to roll into view. Next was Grimmjow who didn’t seem to want to be too close to anyone if his grimace was anything to go by. Over to the left of both arrancar and sitting on a large boulder, was Third Seat Ikkaku who looked like he’d seen better days. His gaze kept lighting on one person after another although his eyes seemed to gravitate more towards Yachiru than anything else. The girls -- Whether they were children or not was difficult to ascertain, but Ukitake was content to think of both Yachiru and Lilinette as little girls -- were squabbling over something, and some small bodies seemed to litter the landscape. Animals or small hollows. It was hard to say.

And they were, of course, not what drew his attention. The Captain of the Thirteenth Division was more interested in both of the arrancar standing there. They looked bored with each other, the scene playing out before them, and everything else as well.

Just why Grimmjow was standing next to another albeit higher-ranking Espada was an enigma. Loyalty or a sense of camaraderie was not very likely to be a motivating factor. Which brought many other questions to mind such as what was motivating Stark and what sort of answer to that question would satisfy Ukitake or the rest of Soul Society?

Ukitake was as capable as any other shinigami when it came to assessing and recognizing his own abilities and limits. He was a skilled fighter. He was a good gardener. He was fair and open-minded, but practical and focused on honor. He had heard from others or deduced via other means that he was considered to be attractive and far more so than most of the other Captains. But he would have scarcely expected many of those qualities he possessed to be a sufficient reason to abandon what many would have considered to a relatively important cause.

And if it was, what did that say about Stark or his priorities?

Was the Primera concerned about what might become of him or any other surviving Espada? Was he indifferent instead or merely cautious enough to maintain the sort of pessimistic fatalism that working with Aizen must have required? Or, like so many of his brother- and sister-creatures, was Stark simply propelled forward by baser instincts?

Ukitake sighed heavily, which caused the other Captain to stop walking. “Can you go back first?” he asked, deciding that the only way to probably get anywhere was to make Stark talk to him without an audience. The first time, at least.

Zaraki looked over at him skeptically. “And this doesn’t waste my time or yours because…?”

“Because I want to talk to him. Alone.”

“That girl won’t go without him.”

“I know that. She is him.”

“The fuck?”

“Technically. It’s complicated.”

Zaraki waved a hand. He wasn’t big on dealing with anything that wasn’t straightforward in some way or directly related to the two of them. The latter was something he’d had to compromise on years ago, and he still didn’t like it all that much. “Spare me the details.”

“I will.”

“But you want me to leave.”

Smiling warmly, Ukitake patted Zaraki’s arm. “As you so shrewdly observed, I’m wasting enough of my own time.”

“I told you about that, didn’t I?”

The patting turned into gentle petting as Ukitake leaned up and kissed his cheek. There was a small choking sound coming from the direction of Ikkaku’s boulder. “Hm? You told me about how you like to waste my time?”

Zaraki ground his sharp teeth, putting his arms on Ukitake’s shoulder and almost shoving him before glancing over at Stark. Then he decided against it, which was somewhat disappointing. “About being mushy around my men.”

“Men? Only two people from your Division are here, and only one of them is male.”

“Whatever.”

Chuckling as he considered Ikkaku’s confused face, Ukitake wrapped his arms around the taller Captain’s neck and nuzzled at Zaraki’s shoulder. “Will you leave then?”

“Shit, don’t do that!”

Releasing his gentle grip, the older Captain smirked. “You know you love it.”

“I know it’s embarrassing as fuck!”

“So leave.”

“Yeah, but if I have to come back, I’m showing that Stark guy just how busy you already are when it comes to sex.”

“And relationships,” Ukitake sternly added. “Give me a kiss and then make yourself scarce, ne?”

“Yeah, yeah. Bastard,” Zaraki murmured, but his tone was amused and appreciative. They kissed and then he did shove Ukitake slightly as he stalked past him. “Ikkaku, get your lazy ass over here.”

Thrilled by the return to normalcy, the Third Seat offered up the sloppiest of salutes as he came jogging over to them. “Right. Sorry, Captain.”

“Shut up,” Zaraki growled, shoving Ikkaku forward. “Yachiru, get over here. Say goodbye. We’re going back.”

A blurry pink thing zoomed over to Ukitake at an ever-increasing speed, but he was able to snatch Yachiru up before she could throw herself at him, and therefore, directly at his injuries. She had a gift for finding them, and at the moment he wasn’t sure he was quite up for her accidentally clutching or kicking at his bandages.

Snuggling up to him happily, she grinned up and looked expectant. “Candy later?”

“Later,” he agreed.

“You better not die before then,” she cautioned before squirming and holding her little hands out to Zaraki. “Promise.”

“I promise I won’t die before you get enough candy to satisfy you.”

“That’s never,” she said solemnly. “So get better.”

He nodded in similar fashion, as charmed by her as ever. “Of course.”

She wiggled her fingers until Zaraki scooped her up. She climbed over him until she got to his back, and then she waved from her spot on his shoulder. “Bye then! Ken-chan will miss you.”

Ken-chan, on the hand, rolled his eyes and smacked Ikkaku upside the head as he stalked forward. “Let’s get this freak show on the road, for fuck’s sake…”

Grimmjow and Stark, who had only recently been joined by a sulky Lilinette, warily watched the Captain approach them, but eventually they relaxed their stances and nodded a bit. They exchanged a few calm words before Stark ambled over to Ukitake.

Lilinette kicked at the sand and Stark’s heels as he passed her. She shouted something, but the wind muffled it. The remaining shinigami imagined he wasn’t meant to hear it anyway.

Even after the others left, Lilinette didn’t follow him over.

“Is everything all right?”

“We fight a lot,” Stark offered up as explanation.

“But everything is…”

“It’s fine. That other Captain said you had to tell me something important.”

Ukitake sighed. “No, it’s… Well, maybe it is important, but it’s not something I need to tell you.”

“I know you’re seeing that other one. And your friend back on the other side.”

“Sort of obvious, huh?”

Stark nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Why are you helping us?”

The Espada’s brow furrowed, and Ukitake found that he liked Stark having some reaction outside of weary acceptance or indifference. “We’ve discussed this. I thought you understood.”

“I do to some degree, but why help me? Why make this your problem?”

“Where else are we going to go?” Stark was including Lilinette in this whether she wanted to be or not. The Captain liked that too.

“That’s a very good question.”

“Will you be this suspicious of the Vaizards?”

“To be honest, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“I don’t care about the rest of them,” Stark grumbled. “I want to know what you’ll do.”

“I don’t… It’s hard to say.”

“Pretend it’s easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Ukitake began, holding up a hand to prevent himself from being interrupted or badgered further. “And yet I’m tired of suspecting everyone of something and realizing I’m wrong about them.”

“Sometimes you’re not.”

“That’s true, which is why…” Ukitake took a deep breath. “I can’t afford to trust Aizen. No one I’m allied with can. So I don’t know how to trust you. You attacked us.”

“I was provoked.”

“You’re provoking me right now.”

“And you’re taking it rather well,” Stark complimented.

Ukitake’s lips curved into a rueful smile.

Stark yawned and looked away. “There’s such a big picture for you guys. Aizen too. He’s always plotting and always thinking. He’s always picking at things. He’s so focused on this big, big world he wants to make.”

“And for you?”

“I just want to take some naps without these fights interrupting them.”

“Which you can do with us?”

“No. With you… I could go places if I worked with you. If you… If they allow me to live.”

Ukitake frowned, wondering why Stark would want to take such a big gamble. For his own sake? For Lilinette’s? But then perhaps it shouldn’t have been so surprising that even hollows wouldn’t want to live in a world of Aizen’s making. This Hueco Mundo had been here long before Aizen. The world felt old even if Stark, Grimmjow, and the other Espada felt brand-new.

“We can’t go anywhere,” Stark continued. “Unless he lets us. Even before he was here, we were limited. This is our world. We don’t leave.”

“But you’ve moved up in terms of—”

Stark shrugged, still looking away. “We can advance in rank. We can become the most important thing here, but traveling? Having long-term goals? Having any of the things you people have all the time… That doesn’t work out here.”

“Why?”

“We die.”

“We die—”

“Not as quickly. Not the way we do.”

“What way is that?”

“Alone.”

Ukitake found himself thinking of Kaien. His Lieutenant hadn’t died alone but whenever he thought of death, he thought about that rainy, bloody moment in time. He thought about how the only fact relating to the loss that comforted him was that Kaien hadn’t been alone.

“So you are trying to make me a long-term goal?” he quietly asked.

Stark snorted. “No. You’d be a nice perk though. I think you’re strong and flawed. I like that.”

“…I see.”

Quietly, Stark added: “I’d like to have someone who would miss me if I died. I don’t want to be like the others.”

“Surely the rest of you—”

The Espada’s grey eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t fucking care less about them. I wish I did some times, but it’s not in me.”

“But you care about me?”

“Not exactly,” the Espada admitted, and his honesty came as both a relief and a sharp disappointment. “I could. I want to. Because you’re different. You’re not stuck.”

“I don’t know what Aizen has told you about shinigami, Stark, but we’re hardly a cure to what ails you. We’re pretty set in our ways too.”

“But you move forward. Not in circles.”

“So you helped me to help yourself,” Ukitake decided, not minding that this was the case. It was a motivation that wasn’t suspicious; reason that made sense and seemed logical. “You think I’m somehow your ticket out of here?”

“I think you could help me. I think the ones that matter listen to you.”

Ukitake looked down, wishing he wasn’t being trusted with something like this. Stark had little to lose, but he still had something to lose. Why did everything seem so difficult all of a sudden? Why couldn’t their enemies be normal hollows with little in terms of intelligence and no features resembling that of a shinigami or a human?

“I… I’ll see what I can do.”

“And I could give you something you want just like you can give me something I want.”

Ukitake looked up sharply and frowned. “Is that what you— You think— I would never ask that of anyone.”

Stark blinked. “It’s… No, I mean… We can help your people. Lilinette and I.”

The shinigami’s eyes narrowed and the Espada looked confused but also intrigued. “That better be what you meant. I really will see what I can do.”

“For me and for—”

“Of course. For Lilinette too,” Ukitake insisted.

“Thank you,” Stark managed, looking uncertain. He hesitated than reached a hand out, lightly snatching at white locks and watching them fall through his gloved fingers. “I can’t say I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I am thankful.”

“You’re welcome. It will take time, but I think your actions… Most of your actions will help you and her in terms of being accepted by us. Assuming you intend to continue with these current actions of non-violence and assistance.”

Stark chuckled briefly but nodded, playing with more strands of hair. Ukitake allowed it, but he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to or not. What Stark wanted from him seemed all too clear and yet too opaque for him to figure out. “And if I’m good can…Never mind.”

Ukitake blinked as Stark’s hand moved away again. “Hn?”

“I want to do things with you,” the arrancar admitted as his fingers slowly returned to Ukitake’s hair. “Just you. Not because I owe you anything, but because of what I said earlier. I do think I could care for you.”

“You don’t have to be good for that.” Stark smirked and Ukitake shook his head. “But don’t… Just because I’m seeing more than one person… We’d have to see how it goes, all right?”

The Captain was careful not to jump when Stark leaned in. He chastely kissed his cheek before whispering in his ear: “I don’t mind sharing you if I can have you.”

It felt as if the world had suddenly become very, very small. There was just the two of them and the shifting sand with a black and white landscape hovering around them. Closing in on them the longer they stood there.

It was wrong being in a world altered and shaped by Aizen. But here was this sad, strange desert hollow wrapping both arms around him, and it was too new even if it felt right. Hollows were always hungry, and having that strange intent focused on him in a way that had very little to do with a fight went against centuries of experience.

Even in this quiet moment, the Primera had an impressive reiatsu that seemed capable of engulfing the things around him. When it found Ukitake’s reiatsu to be up to the challenge, it worked on surrounding it. Cradling it in a deceptively soothing way. Coaxing his reiatsu into joining, and if not joining, then surrendering unconditionally. Sand and salt water mixing together forming quicksand. It proved to be too much, and he found that he was suddenly desperate for some room of his own.

“That will take time too,” Ukitake told him before almost stumbling away.

“How much time?”

“A lot of time and patience,” the shinigami decided. “You’ll have to work for it. It’s not… These things can’t be rushed or forced, Stark. Feelings are not instant.”

“You’re angry.”

“No, I’m…” He sighed, after yawning. “Don’t read anything into this. I’m just tired.”

Stark considered this in stony silence before nodding sympathetically. “No one ever appreciates the value of naps until battle fatigue sets in.”

Managing a sad smile, Ukitake looked away. “Even so, you will give me time?”

“What you’re asking for… How can I deny you time if that is all you require in order to try and accept me? It is only sensible.”

“But?”

Stark offered up a wistful smile. “But I wish you weren’t so sensible.”

“Do you wish I’d stay here with you?”

Stark’s gloved hands clenched into fists and he stared up at the sky above them. “No, but I do wish I could stay here.”

“He’s taken this place away from you,” Ukitake stated sadly.

There was so little he understood about Stark. How could the Espada possibly think he’d be able to care for someone so foreign to what he knew? How could any hollow be in such an unbearable position that they would agree to accept judgment from shinigami to escape his own home?

One of the Espada’s hands opened and the palm came to rest on his shoulder. “Do you feel bad for me?”

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

First he’d rejected the curious exploration of the arrancar’s reiatsu. It had been aggressive, but it hadn’t been meant to spook him the way it had or else he wouldn’t have been able to break off contact. Then there was the fact that Ukitake’s manner of rejecting hadn’t been very kind or gentle. If anything it had been just as forceful.

To make matters worse, now the shinigami was busy pitying him while Stark was striving to be kind. The notion of anyone having to settle for pity in the hopes of kindling any other kind emotions in another was depressing. The notion of being that other person lacking in that sort of emotion was difficult to bear.

“I need to talk to Lilinette and then we can go.”

“All right,” he replied, staring down at the sand.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Stark murmured without moving away.

“I asked you to.”

“I didn’t mind. Please believe that. I don’t blame you, and I’ll try not to expect anything from you.”

Ukitake nodded woodenly as Stark kissed his cheek.

“You shouldn’t be under the misconception that you’re now obligated to feel anything, Jyuushirou.”

Ukitake looked up and nodded again.

Stark seemed to be debating something before he spoke. “I can see that you are anyway. But what you’re feeling… It’s not just pity. I know you think it is, but it’s more than that.”

Ukitake found himself reaching up to squeeze Stark’s hand, and biting his lip to keep from apologizing again once the Espada finally pulled away.

*

Undisclosed Desires (2/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:14:57 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Desires

Characters: Jyuushiro Ukitake, Stark, Kenpachi Zaraki, Shunsui Kyouraku, Nanao Ise, etc.

Pairings: Zaraki/Ukitake, Kyouraku/Ukitake, Ukitake/Stark, and some others in the background.

Rating: R for language, some violence and slash in later sections.

Author’s Note, etc.: See Part One.

Part One

Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

*

“The fuck if he’s staying here with you.”

Ukitake grimaced as he eased out of sleep and worked to assess the situation with his eyes closed. He must have been badly injured to have managed to ignore this for as long as he had. The air around him was all but smothered by warring reiatsu.

Three of them, he noted. One very familiar because it was Kenpachi Zaraki. One vaguely familiar because he’d shared a bed with Stark. And the other… He couldn’t tell who it was, only that it was similar in some rudimentary and primal way to Stark’s. They were a similar sort of creature then, but this couldn’t have been Lilinette. Her spiritual force wasn’t this dense or deadly.

“Did I ask you to bring him back here?”

“If we’re switching sides, we’re switching sides, Primera.” The third voice was about as respectful of rank as the first voice was.

Zaraki’s snort was as derisive and amused as usual. “That so? Well, we need still all thirteen of our Captains. Ain’t no reason for either one of you to be coddling one of the oldest.”

Ukitake might have feigned sleep for a bit longer, but Zaraki’s remark wasn’t accurate so much as it was insulting. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone in their right mind to think he was being coddled.

“I will happily go back,” he murmured as he got to a sitting position and opened his eyes.

“Doesn’t look like much,” a very blue and very battered arrancar mumbled. He was a bloody mess, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps there were more similarities than one between this second hollow and Zaraki, and the creature simply liked it that way.

“That’s funny,” Ukitake added, gingerly rising to his feet. He was perfectly capable of not showing his relief as he worked to find his balance. Stark was standing near to him, but thankfully made no move to aid him in his task. Espada with ulterior motives or not, Ukitake would have hated to repay his kindness with a shove. “Neither do you.”

Zaraki barked out a laugh. But even after he lowered his eye patch, the Captain remained where he was leaning in the generous doorframe of the room itself.

Stark smirked faintly as he glanced over at the other arrancar.

The other arrancar just rolled his eyes. “Pretty’s useless around here.”

“Just because he’d win first place in a beauty contest against the three of us don’t make him useless,” Zaraki pointed out. “You good?”

Ukitake signed feeling every year of his age as he considered the Captain of the Eleventh Division’s question. “I suppose.” He looked back over at the startlingly blue arrancar. “Do you have a name?”

“Grimmjow. Sexta Espada. Or was. Kinda pointless now when most of them are dead, ne?”

“Rank can still be of value, but I do see your point,” Ukitake politely replied, which seemed to surprise the other man. Well, there was no need to be rude, and he could hardly come to any conclusions about a stranger he’d only just met. “You fought with us or against us earlier today?”

“I doubt it was today. And it wasn’t for or with anyone.”

“He fought Kurosaki,” Zaraki helpfully supplied in a wistful tone.

“And Nnoitra Jiruga.”

“I was getting there,” Zaraki snapped. “Wasn’t about to forget him now was I?”

If the headache Ukitake was getting was any indication, the three of them were getting along about as well as one might have wished for considering the Captain’s abrasive tendencies. Perhaps if any alliances were to be cemented, Grimmjow would be assigned to his squad.

“All of this can be explained to me later,” he decided. “Where do you need me to go?”

“Same place we’re going. Back to it. Although I reckon most of it is over with.”

“Why did they send you?” Ukitake asked, realizing the question might have seemed rude, but Zaraki’s laughter meant he understood what he meant. It seemed like poor planning to send a powerful force to be reckoned with back into Hueco Mundo.

“Because I can be sent on my own, and my condition ain’t no where close to critical.”

“I can bring him along after I locate Lilinette.”

“Do that now then. We’ll wait.”

“Even though she’s with your lieutenant?”

“Damn straight. You better hurry before my lieutenant puts her to work coloring pictures of unicorns then.”

Stark frowned at Zaraki, but seemed to realize that arguing wasn’t prudent. And when he left , he left with Grimmjow dogging his footsteps. Even from a distance away, the Sexta could be heard cursing and laughing. If Stark said anything in reply, his low murmurs didn’t carry back.

The Captain waited a moment before moving over. “Lemme look at you,” he murmured, closing the distance between them and staring down at the older Captain before lightly taking his wrist and turning him slightly to the right.

“Damn there’s a lot to look at. What the hell’s this? A yukata made of rice paper?” Zaraki was leering, but it was something Ukitake had grown accustomed to. It only made him blush faintly if he considered the many ridiculous differences between them.

Refusing to do so, Ukitake settled for chuckling wearily. “Stop it.”

Zaraki pulled away after raking large fingers through Ukitake’s hair and petting his cheek. He wandered over to the sliding doors of a small closet and slamming them open. “We ought to find you something else. Any more people start pawing at ya, and you’ll have yourself a harem.”

“At best I have two men.”

“At worst?”

“I… At worst, I suppose I vaguely have two men.”

“You definitely have me. In a vague way.”

“What a relief,” Ukitake teased.

Flashing a somewhat manic grin over his shoulder, the other Captain threw some white clothes at him. “Everything’s black and white ‘round here. Damn place makes me think I’m color blind.”

Not bothering with false modesty, Ukitake removed the obi belt from around his waist and changed. “You’re a man who enjoys his gray areas?”

“I enjoy certain areas, that’s for sure.”

“Hm.”

“When this is over I was hoping we could… you know. Do what we do.”

Ukitake’s lips curved up into a sly smirk, and he briefly was amused by Zaraki’s hungry reaction to it. “Fuck?”

Zaraki barked out a laugh, looking pleased and slightly startled. “Yeah. I was trying to think of a nice word for it. You like nice words.”

“I like ‘em rough around the edges too,” the older Captain promised.

“You like that Stark guy? I think he’s mooning over you worse than Kyouraku.”

“Shunsui doesn’t moon,” Ukitake pointed out. Now that he was finished with the white hakuma, he slipped on the jacket. It must have been an extra uniform of Stark’s but it fit him well enough. Zaraki’s open eye was trained on him and, while making an effort to ignore his intense scrutiny, Ukitake adjusted his collar while waiting for Zaraki to say what was on his mind.

Scowling, the shinigami rummaged around for a sash. Holding it out to Ukitake, he shook his head. "You look like his pet now."

"We wear white too."

"Not like this we don't," he grumbled, tugging Ukitake towards him with the belt. Without any additional preamble, roughly claiming his lips. "Bastard shoulda kept your clothes."

Reaching up, Ukitake patted his cheek once the kiss was over. "Now, now,” he soothed, pulling the strip of fabric out of Zaraki’s grip. The jacket didn’t seem willing to stay completely closed on it’s own. “I imagine he felt that he was doing me a favor by disposing of them before I woke up again."

"Favor, my ass. Undressing you with his eyes is one thing, and who could blame him?" Ukitake assumed this was both a compliment and a personal observation about the arrancar Stark would have had to choose from. "But the fucker's seen as much of you as I have. Probably groped you too."

"I hardly think that seeing me naked or molesting me was a priority when I was bleeding all over the place," was the only wry reply Ukitake could think of. "And all over him."

Zaraki inhaled sharply before shaking his head with the same ferocity. "Fucking Kurosaki. I miss out on all the fun."

"If it's any consolation, I don't recall much of what happened."

The distance between them wasn't very great, but it seemed to shrink down into nothingness. Zaraki was smirking now, of course, but a second before that, his eyebrow had been twitching. "You're just asking for it."

"Asking for what?"

Zaraki continued smirking in typical predatory fashion as he pushed fabric out of his way, biting with sharp canines into the smooth skin he found lurking directly beneath it. The somewhat startled groan that made up the bulk of Ukitake's reaction would have probably surprised several of the other Captains and scandalized both of his Third Seats.

"That. And more besides, seems like," he grumbled before licking and sucking at the mark he'd left behind.

Ukitake sighed happily before managing a short chuckle, tilting his neck encouragingly before tugging Zaraki's hands onto his skin as well. "Only seems like?"

"Fuck. Look at you. If it didn't mean missing out on getting to beating the shit out of Aizen with everyone else, I'd say we should barricade the door and make your boy toy baby-sit."

"Mm," Ukitake mused, appreciative of the thought if not Zaraki's timing or derogatory remarks in regards to the currently absent Espada. "I'm also recovering from a critical injury."

He toyed with the edge of the bandages before moving back a bit and fixing the collar of Ukitake's current outfit. "Hell, that wasn't much of anything. Ya got a scratch." Ukitake eyed him thoughtfully. "Yare, yare. A big ole scratch. If it makes you feel better."

"I'm glad you weren't concerned for my well being."

"If that was all it took to kill ya, I'da had to rethink a bunch of things."

"Mostly your technique, I should think."

"When I fight with you, I'm not fighting for keeps."

"I don't mind."

"Yeah, well... You probably should eat something," Zaraki murmured, as he looked around the room. He wasn't big on talking about things that involved his being nice or admitting to others that fighting wasn't all he cared about even if he did care about fighting more than anything else. While looking for distractions, his eyes lit upon the tray Jyuushirou had been content to ignore. Before the older Captain could say anything, Zaraki was shoving a bowl of rice and cooked vegetables in his face.

"If you insist." Cold was a step up from stale, and food wasn't something he ate for any other reason than expending spiritual energy on a regular basis took a decent amount out of a shinigami. And at least feeding him wouldn't take as long as say preparing a meal for the head of Division Eleven.

Zaraki didn't bother monitoring the situation, which was good of him. Ukitake imagined that even after the resolution of the on-going battle a lot of well-meaning cooing and clutching awaited him.

"Speaking of techniques," Ukitake began when he was halfway finished with his meal. The cold rice and vegetables would have been better if there was any tea to be had. "Where is my zanpakutou?"

"Should be with Retsu."

He nodded. "Good."

"Decent place for it, I guess, but it should have come here with you."

He nodded again and Zaraki snorted before stalking over to him, forcing his eyes upwards by grabbing at his chin. "Hey. As soon as we get back, she'll hand it to you."

Ukitake blinked a little before smiling a bit as Zaraki forcefully ruffled his hair and moved away again. The somewhat feral Captain's attempts at comforting were always amusingly touching if occasionally hard on the poor soul receiving that bit of rough comfort. "Thank you. I'm sure she will. Regardless, we should probably join the others. Assuming there's others left to join outside of "

"Ya don't think she'll listen, huh?"

The only people Yachiru tended to listen to were Zaraki and people bribing her. "It's doubtful. I don't think she's going to like that you're not with them either." But no loud cries of pain seemed to be coming from outside of the room so she couldn't have bitten anyone's hand or ear off yet.

"Best to avoid them getting maimed, I guess. Seeing as we're friends and all." Zaraki said the word 'friends' as though it caused him physical pain to do so, but then he probably preferred having as many enemies as possible.

"Why is she with you here anyway?"

"Kid's a thorn in my side. Plus she's worried about you."

"That's sweet of her."

"Sweet? She's a lot of things. Altruistic ain't one of them. Where else is she gonna get candy from if you kick it? No one in my Division's thick enough to hook her up with any sugar."

Ukitake smiled and shrugged as they walked down one long corridor after another. He could imagine why Stark and even that Grimmjow weren't too upset about the idea of relocating. Outside, there was no sun or much of anything apart of slowly shifting desert sands.

"By then, she's long gone. What she does with candy or after consuming it beyond my control," he observed. The older Captain had never really witnessed what happened after he generously offered up candy to the Eleventh Division’s lieutenant first hand, but he'd received plenty of glares from both Eleventh Division’s Third and Fifth Seat for reasons that were probably directly related to said distribution. The bite marks on Madarame's head could only be interpreted pretty good indication of Yachiru having had too much sugar. Either that or he had a pet shark.

Swinging his zanpakutou over his shoulder casually, Zaraki eyed Ukitake with interest. "Here you are feeding some kid's habit, and everyone keeps on thinking you're this nice, sickly wet blanket."

Ukitake smirked up at him. "That isn't the case?"

"Fuck no. You're dangerous."

"I'd never encourage her to harass you."

"What would be the point? Ain't no sense setting a burning house on fire now is there?"

*

“All this talk about my better half has distracted me from the real task at hand.”

Ise snorted. “Which would be?”

“My straw hat is missing.”

“Hn.”

“My hair pins as well.”

“And this is cause for alarm rather than celebration?”

His lips twisted downwards as he eyed his second in command. “Nanao-chan. The ladies love it.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward before glancing back at the battlefield and frowning. This in of itself was nothing remarkable, but Kyouraku could tell she was focused on someone else.

Not just any someone else either. Gin Ichimaru grinning like a demented fox as he blocked a round of blows from his former lieutenant. It was fortunate indeed that the wounded shinigami had been moved several hours ago to a more remote location.

While he knew how Ukitake would approach the situation, Kyouraku couldn’t imagine standing there and watching current lieutenant Kira attempt to deal with him on his own.

It was true that Kira was not exactly a match for a Captain let alone a psychotic one, but the fact that he had been doing an admiral job of fighting on a consistent basis as well as healing couldn’t be overlooked. Therefore, one could only conclude that his stamina, at least, far exceeded that of most shinigami, which only served to make Kira’s previous role as Ichimaru’s second that much sadder. To have so much tolerance and to be forced to tolerate so much… How depressing. Kyouraku made a mental note to see if the boy was at least having a less gloomy time of it without the fox-faced bastard having a regular cameo in the story of his life.

On the other hand, Ichimaru hardly seemed eager to do permanent damage of any sort outside of mental. Perhaps unsurprising since he had sided with man capable of a great deal of damage and mindfuckery all on his own. Kyouraku had rarely paid enough attention to the Third Division’s Captain so his fighting style was relatively baffling and somewhat insulting to the poor shinigami facing off against him.

He blocked blows and put Shinsou to good use only when it seemed obvious that Kira would dodge or block said attacks with his Kidou. He was laughing, and while the sound might have been familiar, it was clear that his lieutenant was not only having a miserable time of it, but also somewhat spooked.

“Well, he never was particularly subtle.” What with the fact that you never saw his eyes and that he was always smiling that repulsive baby-eating smile of his.

“He has your hat.”

“He does, and I highly doubt Lieutenant Kira will understand the value of it.”

“You’re still recovering.”

“A fair point. But he has my hat.”

“I could intercede.”

“That is one possibility.”

“Then let me.” She moved forward, reaching up into the folds of her sleeve. “My Kidou is better than either one of theirs.”

This was a fact that could not be debated and yet… “Would you feel slighted if I asked you to let me handle this and asked you to find another fight?”

Ise stilled. Her hand moved away and the neutral look she gave him which might have put a lesser shinigami at ease, but knowing her one knew that it only meant he needed to proceed with caution. “It would depend upon your reasoning.”

“He’s wearing my hat.” If she’d been hoping he would say he needed the fight to distract him from thinking too much about any serious issues that had yet to resolve themselves, Ise was going to be hoping for a long time to come.

She studied him carefully before nodding. “But I will find other fights.”

“There’s plenty to choose from.”

“And I will win them.”

“As always I’m glad to have you on my side,” he assured her.

With another nod, Nanao flash-stepped away.

Flash-stepping over to the former Captain and current Lieutenant of the Third Division, Kyouraku caught part of their conversation.

“Ya disappoint me, Izuru. Only a little, mind. Always knew you had a soft spot for me.”

Kira brought Wabisuke up and flash-stepped away. “Scattered bones of beasts, tone of clanging spears--” He winched as Shinsou went through his shoulder.

“I don’t really like that one, but I sure appreciate all the effort you’re going to. Welcoming me home with lightning cannons… Sweet gesture.”

“Who said anything about welcoming you home?”

After deflecting another heavy and far more menacing than previously executed swing of Kira’s zanpakutou, Ichimaru looked over his shoulder and chuckled.

“Oops, Izuru. Hold that thought, will ya? We got company,” Ichimaru drawled, sick smile still spread out over his features. The introduction a new powerful reiatsu seemed to confuse Kira, and while he was blocking a sharp thrust of Ichimaru’s zanpakutou, the former Captain grabbed his wrist.

“Ta what do we owe the pleasure, Cap’n?” he added purposefully making his accent that much more apparent. Kira seemed fixated on the L-shaped curve of his blade as if he couldn’t remember what to do with it.

Shaking his head, Kyouraku began the process of preparing his zanpakutou.. “You fight the same way you live. Without honor.”

Ichimaru proceeded to pout. “Naa, that’s not very nice.”

Nice or not, the statement seemed to help Kira further his resolve. He seemed to be taking a quiet deep breath in, and steeling himself to do what had to be done.

“It’s accurate. Watching you is making my stomach churn. And then there’s my hat to consider.”

As if only now remembering that the straw hat was on his head, Ichimaru smiled rakishly and tilted the brim. “Well now. Might be a matter of opinion, but I kinda think it suits me.”

“Take it off and let him go.”

“Sou-ka. Far be it for me to argue with an old man.” He offered up a lazy salute with Shinsou and there was a sickening snap as he broke one of his Lieutenant’s wrists. Wabisuke fell and Kira stifled a gasp.

“Naa, Izuru,” Ichimaru murmured, rubbing his long fingers over Kira’s skin and the broken bone underneath it. “Ya gotta work on stealth.”

Before Kyouraku could begin his Shikai, Kira punched his former Captain in the face with… Well, quite frankly a greater show of force or initiative than either Captain probably would have given him credit for.

And although he himself was wincing at the speed of the hit, Ichimaru spat up a decent amount of blood and laughed as he shoved Kira away. “There ya go. That’s a start, but ya gotta hate me to get stronger. Ya ain’t never gonna kill me if you don’t put your heart into it, Izuru.”

“Heads up, asshole. Reap, Kazeshini.”

Kyouraku sighed, watching whirling sickle blades make short work of his hat as Ichimaru disappeared from view. He was starting to wonder why he’d even bothered coming over.

They all looked around like drowning tourists keeping a lookout for a shark until it became obvious Gin Ichimaru had moved on to find someone else to play with. Or pick on, fox-faced bully that he was.

Kira’s downcast eyes considered both the Captain and the other Lieutenant. “Thank you, Captain Kyouraku.”

For what? “Now, now. Let’s not waste a perfectly good display of gratitude on account of me standing here,” he suggested with cheerfulness that wasn’t forced.

Kyouraku had a feeling Ukitake would have been more solemn and more understanding. More… Whatever it was that this boy needed. Kyouraku didn’t want to have someone else to look after. He wasn’t sure if that made him much better than Ichimaru in some respects.

The Lieutenant wasn’t much for smiling, but he did nod in a serene enough fashion before cradling his injured hand.

“I can find Wabisuke for you. For now, let’s see your wrist,” Hisagi suggested, making no effort to acknowledge the Captain standing to his right. He seemed somewhat embarrassed to be there, and unsure how to proceed as far as Kira was concerned. Well, that made two of them.

“It will mend. Until then it will remind me of my failure here today,” Kira murmured. An interesting sentiment that might have seemed noble if not for the fact that the tone was hardly zen-like. If anything, it was remarkably self-deprecating.

“I sort of doubt anything that happens here today will remind us of success, Kira,” His sempai corrected, looking a little pained to be at a loss for comforting phrases. But they were all running on very little energy and sleep. Sympathetic statements would have to wait.

“Hn. Shouldn’t you be handling Tousen?”

Hisagi shook his head. “He’s headed back to Hueco Mundo.” The grimace that followed this echoed Kyouraku’s and Kira’s. They had all known this wasn’t the end or anything remotely similar to it, but it was still disheartening to know that nothing would be decided or ended once this battle was completely over with. And both Lieutenants could have desperately used something in the way of a resolution.

“I’m not worth his time, and there’s justice to give out somewhere else. Apparently one of the Espada is helping us now?”

“Stark,” Kyouraku supplied. At last, a decent reason to explain his continued eaves-dropping. They were just far more interesting than the prospect of another fight. All the same, he was probably interfering with their… Whatever it was. “Get your wrist seen to, Kira.”

The order, at least, seemed to help the Lieutenant. He was used to those, no doubt. “I will.”

“I’ll get your zanpakutou if that is acceptable to you.”

“I… Thank you.”

“No more of that,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “And, Hisagi, I think Captain Unohana is coming over here to speak to you.”

Hisagi cursed under his breath, but allowed Kira to drag him in that direction with his good hand. Well, at least they seemed to have each other. They’d recover from this. Slower than Kira’s wrist, but whether they believed it or not, their Captains would only define them for so much longer. And then one day they’d be Captains too..

Kyouraku found that watching them made him feel old and tired and depressed. Everything had a time and a season. All cycles repeated themselves eventually. And then, of course, there was still his hat to consider.

*

Undisclosed Desires (1/7)

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:11:04 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Desires

Characters: Jyuushiro Ukitake, Stark, Kenpachi Zaraki, Shunsui Kyouraku, Nanao Ise, etc.

Pairings: Zaraki/Ukitake, Kyouraku/Ukitake, Ukitake/Stark, and some others in the background.

Rating: R for language, some violence and slash in later sections.

Summary: Captain Ukitake finds himself focusing more on recovering in addition to possible truces and alliances than fights as he spends time alone with Stark. Kyouraku ultimately has his hands full waiting for his friend's safe return and assisting others while Zaraki forces his way back to Hueco Mundo from the fake Karakura Town battlefield.

However, as the Winter War seems to wind down, Aizen has a fair more sinister and less straightforward goal in mind. And it might just be that the differences between shinigami and
arrancar are not so great as appearances might suggest.

Author’s Note: For the sake of clarification, I have written this fic using primarily the last names of the characters because that seemed to flow better. I think it’s because they all have titles and ranks and use each other’s last names more often anyway. In addition, the title of this fic comes from a Muse song by the same name.

Thanks to kittydesade for pointing this challenge out, joyinthedance for looking it over, hedonisticated and ravens_rising for putting up with me and looking it over, scarlite for letting me bounce ideas off of her like ten seconds after the first time we chatted, and fic writers and/or Bleach fans on my f-list. <3 You're all awesome and supportive.

Disclaimer: I own no one. As far as spoilers go, this was written before the latest Stark chapters of Bleach, and so, it deviates greatly from the way the battle over the fake Karakura Town seems to be playing out in the manga.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven

*

Having suffered greatly from a wide variety of complaints and most regularly from his own recurring illness throughout the course of his life, Ukitake was accustomed to waking up in pain. He was not, however, accustomed to having his chest run through by an arrancar with very little in terms of intelligence. Then again, Aizen wasn’t interested in any intelligence outside or in addition to his own. Wonderweiss’ value came from his raw power.

Blinking his eyes several times, he decided the pain was more tolerable than he’d expected. In fact, it felt more like an ache than anything else. Surely he’d sustained considerable damage in spite of his age and strength. Weakly, he sought at the wound, confused to find his fingers resting on bandages when by all rights they should have been sticky from congealed blood. His outfit had changed too, but with sheets and blankets surrounding him, Ukitake couldn’t quite make the effort to see what it was. Not his haori and not his kimono. Not even his hakama. A yukata perhaps?

Above him was a white ceiling instead of a sky, and underneath him was a mattress. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t horrible.

How many hours or days had passed was hard to estimate. He didn’t know, but Ukitake certainly felt that the battle over the fake Karakura Town and the future of the Soul Society couldn’t have possibly ended already. Nor could the matter have been resolved in any neat fashion. Even if it was, Ukitake was fairly certain he wasn’t in Soul Society. For one thing, his zanpakutou was nowhere nearby. For another, the neat work on his bandages and the fact that the wound underneath them was healed over meant Unohana had looked after him herself.

Then there was vaguely familiar reiatsu of the man entering the room to consider. Stark.

“Good,” the Espada murmured before yawning. “You’re awake.”

Sitting up took some effort, but Ukitake managed it and he managed a few more blinks when he was handed a mug.

“Drink.”

“What’s—”

“Drink first. That Captain said you’d need it.”

“Poison?” The shingami asked, mostly because he felt obligated to be suspicious of the arranacar who had taken Shunsui out of the fight. He sincerely hoped his friend’s recovery had been more speedy than his own.

“Water. And it would be a little stupid to be suspicious of me now, wouldn’t it? I could have left you in a puddle of your own blood if I wanted you dead.”

Which left the question of what did Stark want, but there were several more pressing concerns.

“Then this is…”

“My home, yes. The Lieutenant who attempted to see to your needs insisted he wasn’t up for the job, and that the better healers could be found here.”

“Why did you get involved?”

Stark’s lips twisted in what looked like a thoughtful grimace. “Hn. That’s right. You slept through some key fights.”

“And?” He found himself scooting further back on the mattress as the Primera sat on the end of it. Stark looked more amused by the action than anything else.

“Let’s keep it simple. Let’s say I prefer the way your people treat your allies.”

“So you’re seeking to became one?”

“I’m in the process of doing so, I should think. First I brought you here then I brought several Captains there. And the rest of the motley crew stranded here. To that effect, that Inoue girl insisted I make sure you get better.”

Ukitake’s eyes widened and he found himself drinking a few more sips. There was no reason for this Espada to lie about such things. He didn’t seem to be the type although certainly other arrancars would have derived pleasure from such manipulations.

His help must have been more than a little unexpected, and yet it must have come as something of a blessing. On one hand, Soul Society could hardly afford to turn away help, but on the other it would not last for much longer if its leaders did not put more stock on believing what could be gleaned from first experiences and appearances. In that respect, Ukitake felt that Stark wasn’t the worst arrancar he could be stuck with or forced to rely upon. Of all the warriors in Aizen’s sizable army, Stark had seemed the most uninterested in fighting and the only one who showed any reluctance in killing.

And even Yama-ji would have to overlook a great deal for someone willing to use Gargantua for the purpose of aiding Soul Society against Sousuke Aizen.

Stark looked both amused and pleased by the shinigami’s startled look. “I’m tempted to say she told me to give you a hug for her just to see your reaction to that. I hope you don’t faint when I say some people called Vaizards showed up.”

Ukitake looked surprised before rolling his eyes. “Is that even true?”

“It is. I’m sure you’ll see them soon.”

Ever since the arrival of Ichigo Kurosaki, the battles the shinigami engaged in seemed to grow more and more numerous and convoluted. And processing the rest of that information would have to wait, because Ukitake had one more question, and the more he knew about the others currently engaged in battle, the more he needed to be given an answer. “What of Shunsui Kyouraku? The shinigami you—”

Looking horribly inconvenienced and put out, Stark sighed wearily as if he’d had to explain himself several times already. In all likelihood, he must have had to so to be given so much trust and faith by shinigami who were nearly out of such luxuries.

“I did not enjoy that. Such tactics are necessary and yet regrettable. But then such practices are fairly common place in wars and on battle grounds, as you well know.”

“I wasn’t placing blame. I just need to know…” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and continuing. “I want to know his current condition. If you’re my ally, you should tell me.”

Stark reached a hand out and patted Ukitake’s. “I see I’ve alarmed you, but you’ll be glad to know such concerns are unwarranted. Rest assured that I remember him very well beyond the injuries he sustained. Injuries he has begun to recover from, and swiftly too.”

Ukitake nodded, not trusting himself to say anything for a few seconds. Then he asked:
“Does this bring me up to the present?”

“Just about.”

“You didn’t need to help me to be considered an ally.”

“Yeah? I don’t know about that. Lilinette said she wasn’t going to think well of me for leaving you where you were.”

Ukitake felt his mouth turn up into a small smile. She probably wanted to be the one to finish off herself someday, and in that case, the shinigami was likely to live for a very, very long time if not indefinitely.

But returning his focus to his current conversation, the good-natured Captain found that he could only frown in consternation. “Touching as that is, more important things were… are happening. I could have been healed there.”

Stark shrugged his shoulders before looking back over at Ukitake. “Maybe. Or maybe I personally didn’t think it was right to leave you there just because everyone else was okay with it.”

“Why?”

Stretching languidly and without any preamble whatsoever, Stark laid back on the bed. He did so while still leaving a considerable distance between them, but he didn’t seem troubled by the notion of sharing a bed with someone he’d been fighting earlier that day. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather talk when you’re more up to the challenge.”

“I can… It’s not important that you let me recover here.”

“I’m supposed to make you rest a bit more than bring you on through. They might need you again, but odds are they might not. You’ve helped out already.”

Sighing heavily, he sipped at the drink and leaned forward gingerly letting his hair fall over his face as he accepted this as fact. Ukitake knew from experience that battles were waged and won well enough by others while he stayed in bed. This, of course, stung mightily, but a shinigami could learn to live with slightly battered pride so long as his honor was not questioned or besmirched. A shinigami, he knew, could live through more things than a shinigami often wished to. And Ukitake didn’t have to like it for it to make sense.

A gloved hand smoothed back some of his hair, and Ukitake glanced down at Stark who had apparently wormed his way further up the bed while the Captain had allowed himself to teeter on the brink of wallowing in self-pity.

“Hey. No one could think less of you from needing some time to recover from the chest wound you got.”

Having the hand of an Espada so far in his personal space ought to have upset him, but Ukitake found that he might not have minded so much if the hand hadn’t been covered by cloth. Whether this was because he’d once again come close to a final death or because Stark bore such a strange resemblance to Shunsui was hard to say.

“You’re not like me,” the arrancar added.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no good at fighting for long stretches of time,” Stark pointed out with a thin smirk “I’m useless after awhile if I don’t take a nap.”

Ukitake snorted. “Is that so?”

“Very much so. And the exact opposite’s true for Lilinette.”

“That must be frustrating.”

“Nah, more like annoying and inconvenient.”

“Hm.”

Smirking again in a lazy feline fashion, Stark moved further up the bed until he was propping an elbow on one of the pillows next to Ukitake. “Anyway, hear me out. Maybe this whole rest thing will take longer than you’d like, but I for one could use it.”

Laughing, the Captain shook his head. “Are you suggesting that in order to make myself feel better, I should blame the extended delay on you instead of my body? I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t mind much. So. Sound fair to you, shinigami?”

“Jyuushirou.”

“Jyuushirou,” Stark repeated slowly in a way that would have made Ukitake blush if he’d been a few centuries younger. Instead he simply smiled. “I like that. And for the record I think your body’s just fine.”

“One would think that a closer examination would be in order for someone to reach that conclusion.”

Stark chuckled and rolled onto his side facing away from him. If he’d known him better or for longer, the Captain would have been half-tempted to pull on his shoulder until he rolled in the opposite direction. “That’s because you think I just dumped you on that one Captain and left while she took care of you. What a naïve ex-enemy you are, shinigami.”

“Jyuushirou.”

At that, the Espada did move over until they were facing one another. “Believe me, Jyuushirou. The last thing I plan on doing is forgetting your name.”

*

Ise kept alternating between looking after him, and lecturing him as he walked around. Kyouraku had never been the type to sit still for long unlike Jyuushirou who could sit still for hours. Jyuushirou… Well, if he possessed any common sense at all, he was hopefully sitting very still and resting.

“With all due respect, I told you all that chasing tail was going to come back and haunt you in the end. Maybe if you’d focused more on him, he wouldn’t be in Hueco Mundo.” Ah. Fifteen minutes of pampering seemed to be up once again.

Truth be told, the Eighth Division Captain couldn’t even bring himself to mind. If asked, he would have gestured all around them. He would have insisted that too much fighting was going on, and too many old familiar faces were showing up for him to pay much attention to the established routine between them. Just as Kyouraku would have blamed all of the tightness in his chest on the cero wounds he’d suffered.

“Maa, Nanao-chan,” he muttered, stopping only when he found his kimono. It wasn’t fit to wear thanks to his wounds and more than likely Ukitake’s as well, but unlike his friend, the garment was immediately retrievable. His straw hat on the other hand… Where on earth had that wandered off to?

“…Are you even listening to me?”

“No.” Kyouraku delighted in tormenting her with honesty. “I’ve lost track. Are you talking about Lisa or Jyuushirou now?”

“We ought to be discussing Captain Ukitake.” Ise had yet to express her thoughts on seeing former lieutenant Yadomaru. If decades of experience were to be trusted, she was unlikely to be forthcoming with said sentiments any time soon. “I’m talking about your friend being missing in action.”

“My dearest friend is missing the action, but he is not missing. He can’t be missing. I haven’t misplaced him. Nor has anyone else.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“I was concerned, but he’s on the mend now. Retsu has said as much. If you’re done playing nursemaid, you could fight, you know. Relieve one of those poor, helpless girls fighting that Haribel, why don’t you?”

Ise frowned. “You can barely walk in a straight line. Of course I’m not much of a nursemaid since that isn’t my job, but I can’t possibly do better than those well-trained shinigami you so foolishly dismiss as ‘poor, helpless girls.’ One of them is Rukia Kuchiki, by the way.”

“Is that so? Oh dear. My dearest friend would be most displeased to hear of me dismissing her so readily.”

“Indeed.”

“Regardless, while I do appreciate your concerns, and while I am not one to second guess Jyuushirou’s abilities… I cannot think of a good reason why an Espada would use garganta to assist us simply to have some time alone with him.”

“…You can’t think of one?”

Kyouraku blinked, inwardly thinking he would need to have to speak to this Stark privately once the other Captain returned. But for the most part he proceeded to cast admiring looks at his lieutenant and congratulate himself on doing such a remarkable job on corrupting her. “My, my. What a dirty mind you have, Nanao-chan.”

She scowled before taking her glasses off to clean them. Kindly, her Captain decided not to point out her blushing or how flawless the lenses had been up to that moment.

Instead, Kyouraku made an effort to fill the silence. “Just because that’s the first thing I would do if I mastered garganta doesn’t mean that everyone else would use it simply for the pleasures of ravishing a very attractive shinigami.”

“Hn. Well, yes, it would be a bit far-fetched. However, it could be one of the reasons for all we know.”

“For all we know, our beloved Captain is seducing him right now as he makes a speedy recovery.”

Ise put her glasses back on. “I hardly think—”

“I call him Casanova for a reason,” he interrupted, giving her a wink.

She stood there no doubt silently seething while he walked further, wincing a little at the blood he found not too far from where he’d located his hat. It was only to be expected, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to make it disappear somehow. To wave it out of existence with one hand the way Ukitake had deflected that arrancar girl’s cero with one flick of his wrist.

Kyouraku had never liked all of the blood that came with knowing Jyuushirou. He had grown accustomed and accepting of the illness his friend and lover suffered from seeing as there was no danger of losing Ukitake forever to said disease or a happy chance of locating a cure. He loved him a great deal. More than he loved most people certainly. And more honestly.

“Don’t think of me as heartless or purposefully flippant when it comes to this, Nanao-chan,” he murmured without looking up or over at his lieutenant. “I would like him to return. Of course I would. But not if that means him bleeding here again. Once was enough.”

“After what happened you think this Stark guy can be charged to look after his well being?”

Ironically Kyouraku imagined that having someone new looking after him might be a benefit for Ukitake. Someone who wasn’t tired or desensitized or used to it would be refreshing if nothing else.

“I choose to trust him.”

“All right. Assuming I believe that to be the case… Why would you trust him?”

“Maa, Nanao-chan. Lacking as I am in the ability to ravish our fair Captain at any given notice via garganta, I have no other choice.”

“And?”

“And to dwell on my suspicions or yours would only serve to upset you and me. That would hardly accomplish much.”

“At the moment.”

“At the moment,” he agreed, glancing up at the heavens where fighting continued. Vaizards who were once former captains were being joined by the Captains who had been so successfully left out of too much of the fight. The other Captains were recovering, having been left in the same shape as he was. If not worse.

“Besides,” Kyouraku continued, “I might need to fight again soon and so now is not the time. When and if that changes, I know I can count on you to—”

“Of course you can,” she snapped, hitting him lightly on the shoulder before marching past him. “Really. That much ought to go without saying.”

*

A Promise You Can Keep

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 01:08:59 GMT

Title: A Promise You Can Keep by cruelest_month
Characters: Shinji and Jushiro with appearances from Stark, Lilynette, Kira and Shunsui among others.
Summary: A familiar face can improve virtually any given scenario.

Rating: PG-13 – Conversations and a few swears. If you squint, there’s pre-slash. Sort of.
Disclaimer: For fun, not profit.

Author's Note: There was a prompt on bringthehappy (Bleach ; Ukitake, Shinji ; promise) that wouldn’t leave me alone. And thus this fic was written.

It does contain possible spoilers as well as a potential way for the battle in the latest chapters to end.

*

There were a lot of things that Shinji Hirako had never imagined himself doing again, but his second and more successful confrontation with Aizen had always been inevitable. That it wasn’t the final showdown didn’t come as much of a surprise either. Either way, Shinji hadn’t cared. The battle was the one thing he’d been looking forward to, regardless of its resolution or lack thereof.

He hadn’t expected, however, to fight alongside any shinigami in order to do so. He hadn’t expected to be able to talk to anyone as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t ignored him for at least a hundred years.

So while he didn’t regret helping them at all, that still didn’t mean that everything was forgiven. The aid that several of the shinigami had willingly provided had been a nice surprise, the time out that arrived was welcome, and the hasty retreat Aizen left on was a relief considering the literal pile of broken soul reapers he’d left behind, but none of that turned injuries and neglect into bygones. It didn’t change lame-ass rules in place that would keep them out of the Society they’d protected for at least another hundred years.

Flash stepping his way past those he could not allow himself to talk to let alone completely forgive, Shinji stood with his zanpakuto across his shoulders watching a vice-captain he didn’t know (even if he’d heard part of his name at one point during that day) patch a very still and quiet Ukitake back together. Too bad that creeper fox-faced bastard had been on a first name basis with the blond. If he’d had eavesdropped and heard a last name, Shinji would have something to call the 3rd squad member other than Oi, you.

While keeping a somewhat impromptu vigil, Shinji scanned the rubble and other injured shinigami in the air and on the ground thoughtfully. There was still no sign of Ichigo and his little friends, but maybe they’d all gone back to their real home only time would tell. In the mean time, Hirako’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed members of his own crew conversing with people they knew as well as people none of them could have possibly met before.

In Kensei’s case, he could accept that the ongoing interaction with a dark-haired and scarred shinigami was a result of idle curiosity. It wasn’t often that you met someone with your tattoo on his face.

The rest of them— Idiots. Talking to people who didn’t give them the time of day before now. — well, they weren’t exactly the smartest fish in the pond.

Several arrancar remained along them, most in critical condition, and currently Urahara and Mayuri were arguing over who would get to tinker with them. Regardless of the insults traded, they both seemed about as happy to see one another as they were capable of expressing. This was to be the first of many arguments, Shinji imagined, between them and between others.

The only arrancars still literally standing remained close together some short distance away. The male kept his distance and protectively stood between everyone else and the young girl he’d arrived with. Stark. The sort of name you’d expect Aizen to give to someone. It said nothing, did nothing, and sounded like crap.

Shinji figured they could take those two with them maybe if it came to them getting dissected by a psychopath or doing chores at Uruhara’s store. They’d be spared by someone ultimately though. Because they couldn’t possibly be any more annoying than than just about everyone else assembled there including most of the vaizards. A century later, and Hiyori and Mashiro still got on his nerves.

When one considered that Stark and the girl (whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember) were two halves of a whole, the idea that self-sacrifice for a cause that seemed doomed to fail had proved to be an unlikely option for Stark to take was not surprising. Maybe he’d been willing to stand there and take cero upon cero with no regard for his own well-being, if he hadn’t been so keen on protecting the girl that made up the other half of him. Besides, no one liked being cannon fodder.

“You’d probably hear everyone plotting and bickering a little better if you came a bit closer,” he called out before prodding Izuru Whoever with the hilt of his zanpakuto. “How’s it going down there?”

“Hirako-san… It would be easier if you were more patient.”

“Tch.” Shinji looked back over at Stark who was all but glaring at him. Eventually he yawned and shrugged, a bit too lazy to maintain a grudge for long, perhaps.

Then again, why would he? Sure, other Espada were suffering now since healing them was a priority, but that didn’t mean it would make a big difference to Stark.

Aizen wasn’t big on making friends and so there was no doubt that the value of friendship among comrades hadn’t been a teaching worth imparting to his creations. The Primera Espada was better off than most though. Stuck with that kid, he’d had to learn to tolerate someone if not care about someone in addition to himself.

Aizen wouldn’t have noticed because there were two parts of the same person. He wouldn’t have imagined that would have much of an impact because Aizen’s only real weakness was his ability to profoundly underestimate the mental prowess of everyone outside of himself. Like these creatures had been fashioned to look like shinigami, for example. One could argue they had, therefore, been fashioned in Aizen’s own image, and that Shinji’s former vice-captain ought to have understand what that meant better than everyone else. It made them smart, deadly, disloyal, and completely fucked in the head.

Pausing yet another short distance away, Stark looked over to where Lisa was doing her best to ignore Shunsui’s overeager advances despite his injuries, and then down without saying much of anything.

“I know, right? Some friend,” Shinji observed coolly before crouching down. “How much longer?”

Izuru Something eyed him testily before wiping at his forehead. The vaizard didn’t feel bad for being a pain, but he did appreciate the fact that the vice-captain was definitely having one hell of a day. He wasn’t alone in that, but having to nearly confront his former captain… Well, Izuru had lucked out which was more than Shinji could say of half of the people assembled there.

“Not much, but… Moving him will be difficult.”

Stark continued to stand there silently while the girl crouched down too and eyed Ukitake with an uncertain expression on her features as if she couldn’t decide if she was worried or if she wanted to kick him in the face.

“He’ll be fine,” the male arrancar muttered around the same time as Shinji said “I can help out.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your continued concern, Hirako-san—“

“Call me Shinji. We’re all temporarily friends.”

Izuru sighed. “Not that I don’t appreciate your continued concern, Shinji-san, but why are you so eager to help?”

“I made myself a promise.”

“Hn.”

Clearly Vice-captain Izuru was hard to impress. He didn’t even seem to want to know more information than that, and he certainly didn’t seem inclined to introduce himself. Then again, a lot of his old friends had come to call recently, so maybe Izuru didn’t want to make any new ones.

The little girl arrancar looked up after an awkward minute had passed, tilting her head expectantly. “What kind of promise?”

“That if I ever ended up back here, I’d give myself a chance to talk to someone I missed.”

“And?”

“He may not look like much with a hole through his chest, but this guy’s one of the only people I missed.”

“Why?”

“We got along. He’s a good guy. All honorable and kind and stuff like that. What you see is what you get with him. You’ll realize how important that is when you’re older.”

She scowled and folded her arms, but let it go. It had been quite a day for her too and after so much fighting, she probably didn’t feel much like bickering. Maybe later then.

“He’ll be fine,” Izuru insisted in a somewhat kinder tone although he didn’t seem to know who to direct that comment to. It was easy to tell he wasn’t really 4th division anymore, but at least he wasn’t as big a wimp as half of that squad still seemed to be. They also had lousy timing seeing as they were only just starting to filter in and fix people.

“I don’t doubt that,” Shinji agreed straightening up and eying Stark. “What’s your deal?”

“She wanted to see how he’s doing.”

“I see. You didn’t care one way or the other.”

Stark simply shrugged and for once, Shinji left it at that. Whatever was going on there wasn’t something the Espada had sorted out for himself.

“That’s all right,” he added, patting the guy on the back and smirking widely at the confused reaction that gesture received.

*

“Is this really gonna hold?” he asked for the fourteenth time.

Izuru just stared at him and walked on ahead.

Shinji made a face behind his back and stared down at the Captain he was carrying. For a while there, he’d thought maybe he’d have to draw straws with the arrancars, but Stark and his other half seemed content to wander around with them. How much longer they actually had wanted to stay was hard to say, but they didn’t really have anywhere to go.

But he wasn’t really concerned about their problems. The vaizard was a little preoccupied with looking over his unconscious friend. Hopefully whatever healing and bandaging had been done would last and he wouldn’t end up with blood all over himself. Especially not all over his yellow shirt. Next time he went into battle, he was going back to black.

“He doesn’t have a fever, right?”

Izuru huffed and turned around. “He is fine, Hirako-san. He would probably be better if you kept quiet.”

Another somewhat hoarse voice chimed in: “I’m fine right now… Where am I exactly?”

Shinji glanced down and smirked. “Hello again.”

Ukitake managed a feeble smile before lightly tracing his fingers over the bandages covering a considerable portion of his torso as if they were old friends. His moves were sluggish, but not as slow as they might have been. Sure, the Captain was in bad shape, but he hadn’t been sick yet. Obviously that made a difference.

“You will need to rest, but you should be on the mend,” Izuru murmured quietly in a respectful tone that he probably hadn’t had a chance to use in hours. He certainly hadn’t used it much around the vaizard and the arrancars.

“Thank you, Kira-fukutaichou” the older man replied and that seemed to be enough for the vice-captain.

Kira nodded, bowing slightly at the waist, and then continued walking. He sure was sullen and emo. Whatever. Eventually Shinji would talk to him again though. No sense letting a perfectly good last name go to waste.

If Ukitake was fazed at all by being carried around by someone who he hadn’t seen in over a hundred years, it didn’t really show. The smile that stayed on his lips was a little sadder around the edges, but they’d both gotten older and seen quite a bit. Too much, really. So it was hard to ascertain as to whether or not Shinji was a contributing factor.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Not long. You missed a lot of fighting,” Shinji said, bringing him up a little closer to his chest as he continued moving towards the others. All of the vaizards were all in one piece so… Everything was all right for the time being even if they’d have to leave soon enough. The idea of visiting appealed to him, but the idea of pretending anything that had transpired previously was acceptable was anything but.

“I’m sure there will be more soon enough. Where is--”

Shinji snorted. “Where you’d expect him to be.”

Instead of looking even slightly annoyed, Ukitake just laughed briefly, pain flashing in his eyes from the coughing that followed. “Ah. Well, that’s only to be expected.”

Shinji felt compelled to nod even though he didn’t think it was. But then it probably hadn’t occurred to Kyoraku that his friend could have died. “He did take a cero for you,” he added more as a reminder to himself than to Jushiro.

“He did. I’ll thank him later when I’m feeling more grateful.”

The vaizard chuckled before deciding he ought to bring the shinigami further up to date on how things had progressed since he’d been taken out of the game. “The arrancar that did it is still around. Stark.”

“That’s all right too.”

“Is it?”

“There was a little girl with him. Is she…?”

Shinji nodded again. “She’s still around. And very loud too.”

Ukitake had always liked children or, at least, the younger-looking shinigami so it only figured that the trend had continued long after Shinji had left the Soul Society behind. It wasn’t in a stranger with candy and great big van sort of way although it certainly seemed like that from time to time. The reason Jushiro was so animated around young people was probably that the sickly Captain was never going to have any children of his own, because he wasn’t selfish enough to risk passing his disease onto someone else. Shinji was pretty sure there were other reasons, but it didn’t pay to secondguess a friend’s sexual orientation. And regardless of the whys, Ukitake probably felt a little lonely as result seeing as he was one of the few guys in the Soul Society who would have made for a good father.

“Then. I’m glad. The damage they did… It could have been worse.”

Forgiveness was an interesting thing. Shinji found that he sort of hated it. “So he gets a second chance then? You guys will let him hang out here with you?”

Ukitake sighed quietly and reached up slowly. He tentatively patted Shinji’s cheek once then one more time. “I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it… He gets to live. Sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes it isn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“Ain’t no big thing,” the vaizard replied in an effort to lighten the mood. “We like to show off.”

“After everything that happened, it could be considered one. That is, I consider it to be one. What you did… That was…

“Very awesome of me?” Shinji teased.

“Very honorable of you.”

“You’re such an old man, aren’t you?”

“And you’re still constantly interrupting people.”

Shinji made a face. “…Tch.”

Satisfied, Ukitake smiled and continued. “Anyway, I for one am grateful for your assistance. And I’m glad to see you.”

He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, well, it’s just… a once-in-a-lifetime deal slash bail-out. I doubt it’ll happen again.”

Frowning a little, the shinigami sighed and glanced around as if trying to find something else to focus on instead of Shinji’s face. “We live a long time.”

“Yeah.”

Eventually Ukitake looked back up at him. “At least… Stay long enough for tea?”

The look on his face made the vaizard feel like he’d just killed a baby rabbit or maimed a small deer. “All right, old man. I’ll stay for tea.”

“Thank you,” was said so quietly that Shinji almost didn’t hear the words leaving Ukitake’s mouth.

After that, it didn’t take a genius to realize what the Captain had assumed, and as interesting as it was to actually be able to upset someone with denying him his company, Shinji didn’t have the heart or stomach to prolong the agony. So he sighed a little himself before shrugging as best he could with Ukitake still in his arms.

“Just for the record and because I think you’re still a little brain-addled from being used as some mental kid’s hand puppet, I’ll visit you.” Whether his kind was wanted there or not, Shinji felt like he was owed some kind of visitation rights anyway. He’d saved all of their asses. If he wanted to visit and drink tea, he’d damn well visit and take as many tea biscuits as he could fit into his rather large mouth. “Just the same, you’re on your own next time that shit-head comes to call.”

“Ah.” Jushiro’s smile indicated that he didn’t believe that for a second, but he was wise enough not to say anything about it.

That was the worst part right there. The knowing that if any of the stupid shinigami got attacked again, the vaizards would probably show up. If only to rub it in their faces that they couldn’t look after themselves properly. Of course, Shinji would claim it was for Ichigo or some nonsense like that, but it would be for other reasons he was never going to own up to. And that was enough. It would have to be.

“But not every day,” he grumbled as if he was being horribly inconvenienced and only visiting out of some kind of obligation. Then again, Shinji did have that promise he’d made to himself. He figured he ought to keep it. “I have better things to do.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m not trimming bonsai during these visits that might happen once a month if I feel like honoring you with my presence on a semi-regular basis.”

Ukitake nodded his approval and smirked gently. “I wouldn’t dream of asking such an important person to do that.”

“And you have to make the kind of tea I like.”

“If they still make it. That herb might have gone extinct.”

Scowling, Shinji stopped mid-stride and glared down. “Stop looking all happy about this. You’re damned lucky you’re an invalid right now.”

“I suppose so.”

“You better know so,” he corrected. “Now let’s go get that tea stuff over with. Then we’ll see about me finding someone else to dump you on.”

The captain just yawned a bit and when he spoke it sounded like he was biting back laughter. “Did I mention how nice it is to see that you haven’t changed?”

Shinji sighed but didn’t argue choosing to chuckle instead. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t mind much when Ukitake joined in. “Yeah, well… Right back atcha.”

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 19:49:45 GMT

It's been awhile, but it's definitely time for another round of fic requests.

For once, I feel like I can do this because I've really narrowed down what I'm willing to write about for a change. I'm sorry if this leaves people out.

---

Fic requests:

Fandoms: Naruto and Bleach

Will write: gen or slash only unless you're requesting something pertaining to Tsunade/Jiraiya.

Guidelines:

- Comment with two to five different requests for drabbles or fics you'd like, and I'll hopefully be able to write at least one of them.

Who knows, you might get lucky and I'll write all of your requests.

- You can give me any kind of prompt you like (lyric, idea, setting, word, etc.) but please don't just comment with names or a pairing.

---

Receiving Comfort

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 07:53:39 GMT

Title: Receiving Comfort by cruelest_month
Characters: Kurt Wagner, Bruce Banner, Logan and Tony Stark. Brief mentions of Pepper Potts and Captain America (Steve Rogers).
Summary: The second time Bruce meets Kurt is a lot more rewarding than the first.

Rating: PG - conversations and one kiss (Bruce/Kurt)
Disclaimer: For fun, not profit.
Author's Note: Written almost entirely for lex_of_green. It's unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. You don't necessarily need to read it to understand this fic, but this ficlet did come first. Unlike that ficlet, this takes place in a somewhat not-too-distant future where the Avengers are established in the movie-verse.

Bruce and Tony are pretty much movie-verse. However, Kurt and Logan are mostly based on the comics because their relationship is different in the movies than the comics. I also should point out that I love Tony Stark to pieces, but he's Tony Stark and sometimes he can be annoying. If that thought comes as a surprise you, you might not what to read this fic.

-

New York City, Stark Tower, 9:33 pm
Days without incident: 57

A considerable amount of time had passed, but Bruce still recognized Kurt when he saw him again. It would have been difficult to forget someone blue and for Bruce it would have been equally as difficult to forget someone kind.

But seeing him there in the building where the Avengers would end up working made Bruce nervous. He didn’t want Kurt to know what he was. He didn’t want to explain it again. He didn’t want to lose someone before he even got a chance to know him.

Sticking to the corners of the room, Bruce watched other people’s reactions with a frown. They were much more friendly to Wolverine than Kurt although Logan seemed to not like anyone too much. Why Tony wanted that guy on the team was anyone’s guess. Some of them even seemed visibly relieved when Kurt quietly explained that he was only visiting the city and would be leaving soon.

Surprisingly, Pepper Potts was the nicest of the people that spoke to him and she seemed to accept
the fact that he was blue readily enough. Captain America was polite too if distant at first. He seemed to be concerned by the thick German accent at first before smiling in a genuine fashion. Steve wasn’t good at pretending to be nice. He either was or he wasn’t.

“You done staring, pal?”

Bruce only realized the question was being directed at him once Wolverine was in his personal space and he found himself forcing back panic.

“Nein, Logan. It is nothing. I already know him,” Kurt said, gently setting a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Tch, you must be nicer to your new team mates.”

Wolverine’s lips twitched even as he unclenched his fists. “It’s all bullshit anyway.” He continued to eye Bruce grimly even as he shrugged off Nightcrawler’s hand and stalked away to get another beer.

Kurt simply smiled as if the entire situation had been pleasant instead of awkward and vaguely tense. “Hello, Bruce.”

“I… Hello.”

“You have found others like you then? I am glad.”

“In a way. It’s… I’m still different.”

He nodded, understanding flashing in his strange yellow eyes. “It can be difficult. I still scare some of Xavier’s younger students back home.”

“I scare people most of the time.”

Kurt laughed gently and steered Bruce further away from most of the people in the room, which was fine with Bruce. “How on earth could you manage to do that?”

“I’m the Hulk. You know, the big green guy?”

Frowning, the mutant tilted his head and looked thoughtfully curious. “Really? You are Bruce Banner then. I suppose that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

He scratched his head with one three-fingered hand. “But you are not… Forgive me, but I cannot see how you would scare people now. You are not green and you are quite shy, ja? What is there to be afraid of now?”

Bruce sighed, looking away. “I could get angry. I can’t control it.”

“Everyone gets angry and a lot of people can’t control their tempers. I suspect that, despite being very fetching, even Fräulein Potts can get quite frustrated with her employer. Logan is a good man as well and a friend of mine, but he is quite angry all of the time.”

“It’s not the same,” Bruce muttered, careful to keep from even sounding slightly annoyed. That tended to scare people.

His tail waved in an almost dismissive fashion as the mutant shrugged. Bruce forced back a small, relieved smile. “At any rate, I am glad to see you, Bruce Banner. You look much more rested and healthier as well.”

Bruce started to say something until he noticed that Stark was heading over. Then he just felt like leaving or trying to convince Kurt to go away.

Tony wasn't going to take a hint if he wasn't given one though, so it wasn't all the surprising when he only stopped once he was standing next to the pair of them. “Making friends, Bruce?”

“Um. Sort of,” he mumbled, and he felt a little bad about his own lack of enthusiasm.

Kurt’s reaction was hard to gauge. Mostly he just looked thoughtful. “Hello.”

“Hi there. I’m Tony Stark and I’m guessing you’re Kurt Wagner. You’re not here to join up, are you?”

Kurt laughed. “No, I do not think I would do wonders for your group’s image.”

“Fair point, but hey, we brought Logan in, and I’m on the team so it’s not like we’re that worried.”

Of course. Tony was perfectly willing to be charming to other people. Just not to Bruce. If he'd liked Tony, he would have cared. Just the same, Bruce wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting Tony to say or do, but he was positive it hadn’t been to hold a polite almost flirty conversation with a blue mutant. He couldn’t tell if the man was being sincere either or somehow mocking both of them. One of the many reasons he wasn’t very fond of Stark.

“So you’re from Germany. I think Logan said... Munich, right?”

The mutant glanced over at Bruce before turning back to Tony. “Ja. I was in the circus,” he said very softly, his tail flicked from side to side nervously. Tony just smiled encouragingly, apparently keen on exercising more tact than normal. Or maybe the alcohol was making him mellow. “But I’ve been here in the states for a few years now.”

“How do you like?”

“Oh, I think it’s very nice. It is somewhat easier here for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. People here stare, but I have more friends and it is… I am happier, I think.”

“Well, that’s good. It’s probably not easy being blue, but you’re a nice shade.”

Kurt smiled, looking more at ease. But then most people liked receiving compliments. “Thank you.”

Bruce was pretty sure he had no reason to be jealous. He couldn’t even think about why he cared, but the more they talked, the more he wanted to wring Tony’s neck. Dwelling on it would inevitably lead to disaster, but he couldn’t just watch them and he couldn’t bring himself to be a jerk in front of Kurt who had obviously never met Tony Stark before. Eventually, he got to his feet and told Tony he wanted to talk to him.

“You’re being rude,” Tony cheerfully informed him. “Are you feeling left out? Is that it? All right, it’s not easy being green either, but I was trying to avoid sounding like Kermit the Frog. Are we done because I’m really hoping—”

“I know how you operate, Stark. You look like you're being nice, but you’re not,” Bruce quietly accused. “How about you just—”

“Save your conspiracy theories for someone who cares, Bruce. All that I’m doing is noticing the obvious. Your new friend’s a mutant. Weird-looking maybe but he’s also kind of cute. And I’ve never slept with someone blue before. What do you think my chances are?”

“Look, I… You can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Tony asked, pouring himself another drink. “Know what my chances are? All right.”

Bruce glared at Tony. “You can’t just do that.”

“Do what? He’s a guy like any other guy. He must have needs…” Tony took a sip and studied Bruce carefully before grimacing. “I don't know what kind of creep you think I am, but it’s not like I’d force Kurt to do anything.”

“I don’t care. Leave him alone.”

He took another drink as Bruce fidgeted and looked away. “Oh. Wow. You know, that never occurred to me.”

“What are...?" Bruce trailed off and rolled his eyes. "You know what? Forget it. On second thought, I don't want to know.”

Tony grinned, lightly turning Bruce around. “No, hey, if you’re fooling around with him, that’s fine. I mean, it makes sense. You’re both sort of unusual. It’s a nice color combination. Sadly, the odds of it working out are fairly miniscule though. I mean, let's face it, Banner. He’s got a personality and you don’t.”

Bruce pulled away and fought to take in a deep breath. He didn't want to get angry here. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Something soft touched his other arm. If the hand hadn't been blue, he would have shaken off, but he didn’t want to be rude. He wasn’t mad at Kurt, after all.

Kurt glanced at both men before letting go of Bruce and frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“Your boyfriend’s telling me to back off,” Tony murmured with a smirk before starting to walk away. “Have a nice night, Kurt.”

“Kurt blinked owlishly before staring up at Bruce. “He is deliberately trying to upset you,” he observed and then ducked his head. “I suppose it is obvious, but I am surprised. He is your team mate.”

“That’s how things are…” Bruce trailed off helplessly and glanced over at the door leading out to the balcony. “I need to go outside.”

“Fresh air,” Kurt agreed before leading the way there. “It might help you. I… I realize he is trying to be unkind to you, but I was not.”

“I know,” Bruce admitted once he was out by the railing. He glanced down before sighing heavily.

“Please do not be distressed,” the other man insisted, perching on the railing and smiling in a surprisingly reassuring fashion for someone who vaguely resembled a fuzzy gargoyle. “He is wrong, I think. You must have a personality if I like you, yes?”

Bruce couldn’t help thinking that Tony was right about that, at least. Kurt was a nice shade of blue. Kurt was also sort of cute. Not that it mattered much. He should have just let Kurt go off with Tony or anyone else. Bruce didn’t have much to offer in terms of companionship or anything else. He couldn’t get words out and he couldn’t express himself most of the time. “He’s probably right and you don’t have to say things like that. It won’t help.”

Kurt had to look really obviously confused and wounded before Bruce figured out what it sounded like he was saying.

“I don’t mean...”

“No, it is all right. I suppose…”

Bruce took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “No, Kurt, I like you just fine. The thing is I don’t have much… There’s not much to me. I’m just a mess.”

“Oh,” Kurt murmured, moving a little closer. “I think you are troubled, but that you don’t seem to realize most people are. Having difficulties and doubts makes you human like anyone else, Bruce. It does not make you less worthy of receiving what other people receive.”

What other people receive. Bruce looked away from the edge and from Kurt. “It’s too dangerous for me to… If you want you could go back inside. Tony’s not a bad guy, really.”

“Bruce.”

“If you wanted to go talk to him, you should. It’s not my place to tell anyone else what to do. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“Bruce.”

He allowed himself to be turned around and he didn’t really protest when Kurt rested a few fingers on his chin to force him to look up.

“You really spend far too much time alone, and sadly I suspect you don’t like your own company. I do not know what it is you think will happen if someone were to value you more highly than they would other people, but I would like to be with you and not with Tony. I would like to…” Kurt sighed and moved his fingers away. “Well, it is selfish.”

Bruce debated what to say, but eventually he asked “What would you want to do?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

He managed a tired, strained smile. “So far seeing you has been the only nice part of this whole evening. So unless you wanted to shove me off the balcony, I doubt anything you wanted could be that bad.”

Kurt chuckled quietly, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I didn’t expect to see you again. I am glad that I did.”

“I’m glad you did too, and you still have to tell me.”

Kurt’s shoulders slumped forward as he shook his head again. “I know what I look like.”

For the first time, it really occurred to Bruce that none of this could be easy for Kurt. He was just better at putting other people at ease than Bruce was. Kurt had a way of making himself small or sitting on his haunches or smiling in a way that hid his teeth and made people want to smile back.

But regardless of natural charm or charisma, making friends or making anything else was probably hard for someone who looked so unusual. Knowing what it was like all too well, Bruce thought it was awful that Kurt had needs he wasn’t ever going to express or act on. Even Tony had pointed out that even a mutant guy was a guy like any other guy.

“It's okay for you to tell me,” Bruce began, “You might scare dumb kids who don’t know any better, but you don’t scare me.”

“If I asked…”

“Even if I said no, I’m not going to throw you off the balcony. Besides, you can teleport, right?”

“There is that,” Kurt admitted with a small smile. “Very well. I would like to kiss you.”

“Me?”

“Are you really so surprised?”

“I figured you’d rather—”

Kurt chuckled. “Nein. While he is handsome and perhaps slightly charming, I do not find myself interested in spending too much time around Tony Stark. I prefer your company.”

That didn’t make any sense to Bruce, but he decided not to push his luck. “All right. If you want to then… I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me.”

He didn’t get a chance to say much more than that before Kurt was leaning up to kiss him. And he kissed back, careful not to get too excited but enjoying the feeling of how soft Kurt’s skin was. He didn’t let go because he didn’t want Kurt to fall off and he couldn’t push away which was good. Eventually the kiss ended and the mutant just smiled at him.

Bruce moved back a little and Kurt stayed put even though his tail lightly wrapped itself around Bruce’s arm. “How long are you in town?”

Kurt grinned playfully, showing just the points of his canines before tilting his head. “A few nights, but the school is not far from here. With the proper motivation, I’d be willing to return.”

Bruce struggled to come up with anything suitably alluring or enticing. “What would that be?”

Kurt laughed and took his tail back before rising to his feet. He gracefully jumped down to the balcony floor and touched Bruce's cheek. “You, of course. I like you. I should like to see more of Logan as well, but you’re good reason whether you think so or not.”

He just smiled shyly and didn’t bother arguing. “Well, it probably wouldn’t hurt for me to give you more of a reason to show up, I guess,” Bruce murmured. After making sure whatever they did on the poorly-lit balcony was going to continue to go mostly unnoticed and observed, he kissed the other man again. He didn't actually care if Stark saw, for once, but it was no one else's business what they did as long as they both enjoyed it.

-

[Fic] Table Manners

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 23:42:14 GMT

Table Manners: a Watchmen/Dark Knight crossover
by cruelest_month

Characters: The Comedian and the Joker
Rating: PG-13 - violence, swearing, mentions of sex
Summary: No matter who you are, dining with the Joker can be a trying experience.

Disclaimer: For fun, not profit. Don't own them.
Warning: This isn't nice or normal. Honest. However, there are no spoilers for the recent movie in this fic.
Author's Note: It's something I've been considering anyway while bouncing ideas off th_esaurus, but flwrpwr_vampyre mentioned wanting to read a fic about the Joker and Eddie eating together. And the Joker being a normal eater. And possibly liking macaroni and cheese. This is sort of like that and, well, the Joker eats sort of normally for him?

-

Dinner usually means Eddie’s eating when the Joker happens to stop by. Nothing’s planned and Eddie hardly looks up from what he’s eating. He keeps nursing his beer, nodding in acknowledgment once he’s greeted and then that’s about it. After eying Eddie’s food hopefully and getting nowhere, the Joker raids the kitchen. Most nights he lucks out and finishes boiling noodles or steaming vegetables before Eddie’s done eating.

If not, it’s never like Eddie’s wandered off too far seeing as it’s his damn apartment. After dinner he tends to kill a few beers and watch some television, but the boob tube’s gone downhill over the years. Only jack and shit’s ever on. The jokes aren’t funny and only fake people laugh at them. The married couples have no reason to stay together by the end of every episode and somehow they do. The single people have no reason not to go out back and shoot themselves and yet they keep on trucking.

That night he’s not even halfway through his steak. Eddie’s still recovering from a shoulder wound. Some new bullet made of some new metal and it cut right through him. The damage left behind is a week or so away from healing completely. It hurts and it itches. The last thing he wants is company, but he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t even mentioned being injured. It’s none of the Joker’s fucking business.

There’s not much to eat. The Joker eventually finds a blue box and makes himself macaroni and cheese. For some reason, it actually looks good once he’s sitting there eating it. But when he tries taking some of it, he gets a fork in the back of his hand.

Not a deep wound, but it fucking hurts. It surprises him. It shouldn’t, but it does. The worst part is he must have looked it because the Joker’s laughing at him.

“Ah, ah, ah. You didn’t make it,” the Joker points out smugly, “and you didn’t say please.”

Eddie eyes the wound angrily and then the blood dripping off of the Joker’s fork. Surprisingly, the other man primly wipes it off on a napkin before going back to eating.

He pushes up from the table and the only reason he doesn’t break the other man’s jaw is the Joker would like that. He heads over to the threshold instead, going out into the living room.

“Hmm. Where are you going?”

“To take a piss,” Eddie snarls out. “If I come back to find all my food’s gone missing and you’re still here, I’m taking you to Arkham.”

Once he’s on his own, he wipes off his hand, bandages it, and wonders when the last time he got a tetanus shot was. He only heads back into the other room after using the john. The hell if Eddie’s leaving the bathroom without putting it to good use.

He comes back to find a meager piece of flank steak sitting there on his plate and the Joker smirking.

“Poor choices of words,” the clown explains.

The Comedian finds himself smirking because it’s mildly amusing. It needs a little improvement though. He thinks it’s a heck of a lot funnier after he smacks the Joker upside the head and takes his bowl of mac and cheese. “Fuck you.”

The problem with hitting him is it doesn’t do much, but that doesn’t stop Eddie from finding it satisfying. It’s not like with other criminals or other people. Other people ask you to stop or tell you to leave them alone. They attack you first and tell you to hold back later on. Eddie doesn’t do anything he’s not prepared to deal with himself. If someone hits him first, he hits back harder. If someone comes at him with a weapon and doesn’t finish him off, he finishes them off. But there’s the difference of intentions. Eddie knows the Joker’s not actually out for much blood. Just a little bit. Just a hint. Just a taste.

The Joker dishes out whatever he can take and whatever happens to him comes as no surprise and he doesn’t mind. He knows it’ll be worse than whatever he’s done, but he’s not afraid. He doesn’t cringe. He just waits for it. He knows it’s dangerous and he knows it’ll get him killed someday but it’s like he’s counting on it. He’s not afraid because he knows the consequences and embraces them like old friends.

After that, the greedy bastard sulks as Eddie sits back down across the table from him. They stare at each other for a while until the Joker shrugs. “That’s inevitable,” he drawls, handing over his fork and eying Eddie thoughtfully.

He continues not to say much as he eats the noodles. The cheese isn’t really anything like cheese, but that’s all right. It could be sawdust and bolts and Eddie would eat it happily because originally it wasn’t his.

The Joker’s sensible in his own way. He just can’t handle rules or direct orders. If he’s given one, he is compelled to do the exact opposite. The thing is Eddie can’t resist setting him up. But that’s not a big deal to either one of them.

What the Joker ultimately hates and resents more than anything else is being ignored. He can’t stand it and it makes him restless.

A few seconds tick by slowly and Eddie’s finished up the bowl. He gets another beer out of the fridge and haphazardly tosses the bowl into the sink. The clatter’s muted because it lands on top of other dishes. It’s not that the apartment is dirty. It’s just very lived in and not very clean. The fuck if Eddie cares.

The Joker drums his hands on the edge of the table. “Why are you so glum, chum?”

The Comedian snorts and takes a few deep gulps before setting the bottle down hard on the table. “Some asshole stuck a fork into my hand.”

The drumming stops and the Joker smirks, leaning across the table. “Oh dear. Tell me. What are you going to do to him?”

“Well,” Eddie says in a cheerful, conspiratorial tone, “I was thinking of throwing him out the window after this beer. Unless he manages to change my mind somehow.” He makes a show of looking at the clock up over the stove. “He’s got fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not very long,” the Joker replies, checking his pocket watch and shaking his head. Because it’s a game now. “I certainly hope he doesn’t disappoint.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

He snaps it closed and tucks it back into his vest before shrugging. “While we’re waiting, would you like to see a magic trick?”

“Go ahead.”

The Joker pulls up his sleeves and makes a few grand gestures before picking up the sliver left on the neglected plate still sitting in front of Eddie. He pops it into his mouth and grins. “There. I just made your steak disappear.”

To his credit, Eddie tries not to laugh. This magic trick is just about the stupidest thing he’s ever seen, but he ends up chuckling briefly. Shaking his head, but it doesn’t do much to make his mirth any less genuine.

“I think he still has thirteen minutes,” the Joker kindly points out.

“Looks like it. I think I might let him off the hook.”

He laughs then, and pats Eddie’s uninjured hand before getting up. “How generous.”

“That’s just how I am,” Eddie says with a shrug, swallowing more beer before getting to his feet. “You wanna watch TV?”

“Only if there’s cartoons.”

Of course. Never mind that the shitty shows the Joker likes are just about Eddie’s least favorite thing in the world to watch. “You little shit,” he mutters, but he can’t help sounding a bit affectionate as he tosses the other plate in with all the other dishes. “Fine, we can watch cartoons.”

“I think I can make it worth your while.”

“How do you figure?”

The Joker grins before sitting down on the arm of the couch so that he can lean on Eddie once the other man sits down. “Oh, the usual way. Like I said earlier, Eddie… Some things are inevitable.”

-

Olfactory Senses Working Overtime

Tue, 05 Aug 2008 01:39:06 GMT

By cruelest_month

For simmysim: "Tony smells good, but he smells even better when he smells like Logan."

Rating: PG-13 - Humor fic mostly. Some swearing, some kissing and such.
Author's Note: Takes place in the Married-in-Vegas 'verse.

After the third or fourth time it happened, Tony decided he’d had just about enough of it. He didn’t care if they were married or not, he was so tired of running into Logan’s enemies and hearing the same old corny line.

He decided the best time to try to broach the subject was after Logan’s fourth bottle of beer. Tony tried to look pitiful which was sort of easy to do what with his arm in a sling and the fact that he’d been feeling sorry for himself all day long.

“Okay, we need to have a talk.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” the mutant pointed out but he took the fifth beer anyway and motioned for Tony to sit down next to him on the couch. It was supposed to be white, but Logan put his feet up on it so often it was slowly turning gray.

He really hated when Logan beckoned him over to things he once had been the sole owner of. Sadly it was only one of the many things Logan did that drove him crazy. The worst part of being stuck with someone was eventually you either learned to love their quirks or you wanted to yell at them every single time they told you to do something or acted like they owned your living room.

“I’m fine,” Tony insisted.

“No, you’re not.”

“Anyway, just shut up and listen. You need to stop whatever it is you do that gets your scent all over me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Permission to speak?”

“Fine.”

“How exactly are we going to avoid that?”

“You're going to have to figure something out. It’s look like they can tell.”

“Baby, we got married in Vegas. It was all over the news. In every newspaper. In every magazine.”

“Yeah, well, it’s sort of embarrassing.”

“Really. You’re just figuring that out.”

“No, I mean… Every single goddamn time they point out that I smell like you and then move on to kicking ass… It’s not doing much for my image.”

“Hate to break it to you, princess, but they’re not doing it because you smell. They’re doing it to bother me.”

“But they might think I’m less important if I… You’re laughing.”

Logan smirked and tried to stifle the sound. “Sorry.”

“Your bastard nemesis Sabretooth beats me up in a back alley somewhere and you laugh about it.”

“You got a few scratches, tough guy. In the parking lot of a department store. Somehow I think you’ll live. Besides, I showed up before he could pry you out of the suit. He just banged up your arm a bit.”

“I felt like a sardine in a can,” Tony murmured, glaring when Logan chuckled. “Stop it. It hurt.”

“Yeah, okay, I know, but the thing is you come in here to argue with me about what? Nuzzling? The fact that you keep taking my shirts and wearing them on days when you want to look like a trucker? I mean, how is that my fault? Is the bed off-limits now, darlin’? You gonna build me a dog house out back?”

“Yeah, right on the cliff,” Tony muttered. “And some of this is your fault. You’re the serial nuzzler around here. I don’t come near you most of the time with the intention of marking my territory.”

“Again, ridiculous argument. I’m not lifting my leg or anything.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Which is why I’m not doing it,” Logan repeated. “I’m merely expressing my affection in a non-verbal, adult way that inevitably leads to biting and sex so I’m not sure why the hell you’re complaining about it.”

“Whatever.”

He sighed, still looking vaguely amused and smug. “The old cliché holds true. Married life ruins everything and you’re turning into a prude. Pretty soon I’ll be drinking at bars and bitching about you. Calling you my old lady while drinking even more beer than I normally do.”

“I hate you.”

Logan straightened up, taking a swig of beer and shrugging. He used that action as an excuse to put his arm over the back of the couch and around Tony’s shoulder. “I’m only telling you this to be kind. All you’re doing right now is encouraging me to do whatever I’m doing twice as much.”

Tony grimaced because there was no use arguing with that.

“I like you smelling like me. It makes it easier to find you when you get lost, and it actually saves you a lot more trouble than you realize. Sure, the big bad guys mess with you a bit more, but I’m actually saving you the hassle of dealing with the lesser known minor league losers who are constantly after me.”

Tony wasn’t even sure what part of that to object to or disagree with the most. “Just a minute. When do I ever get lost?”

“Try all the time.”

“Just so you know? I’m double-checking that random factoid with Pepper.”

“That’s fine. She keeps track of how often we lose track of you.”

“…I don’t pay her for that,” Tony grumbled.

“That’s not the point. The point is I don’t just find you all the time because I have some magical mutant power that enables me to pine in your exact geographical location no matter what the circumstances. I can’t come up with coordinates and directions simply by missing you and your snappy comebacks. I ain’t got no Stark sense either, and if I did, I’d try to lose it pretty damn quickly.”

“So you just have…”

“A keen sense of smell and some really nice nails, sweetheart. I don’t get why you’re complaining. Most people would be grateful.”

“Oh, definitely. Most people love smelling like pine needles and wet dog all the time.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“I know. It’s just accurate.”

Logan glared at him. “You’re not funny either.”

He glared right back. “Neither are you. At least tell me you’re bullshitting me about finding me based on smell.”

“Usually I can figure out where you are using Jarvis anyway, but I like tracking the natural way. I can’t say it’s always easy and it wouldn’t work well if you wound up far away.”

“I’m not your prey though. It’s not like you’re out in Lapland trying to find a lost reindeer. You can trust Jarvis.”

“He’s a machine. He can break and he could probably lie,” Logan pointed out. “I had a back-up plan a few weeks ago. I tried to get Pepper to inject you with one of those GPS things, but she wouldn’t. Offered her a really nice raise too. It didn’t pan out.”

“…Are you serious?”

“I figured it was a dumb idea anyway. I’m better off getting you a collar.”

Why the hell did he almost like that idea? Tony frowned and gave Logan a particularly unkind look. “You’re a jackass.”

“Maybe I also like to do it because I like it. You smell good anyway, but maybe I just like it better when we smell the same. Maybe I like knowing other people know you’re mine and they’re better off leaving you alone.”

“Except for these asshole bad guys.”

“In a perfect world, there would be less of them,” Logan agreed with a sigh. “I can’t do much about them other than kill them or beat the shit out of them. Which I do.”

“I know, but I hate that every single time you have to come and save me from whatever it is. And I think you enjoy it. I think you like me getting into trouble.”

“I like getting to bail you out of it,” Logan murmured, tugging Tony closer and biting at his neck.

“I don’t like when you’re getting hurt all that much, but it’s sort of cute how useless you are in a fight without your gadgets and robot friends.”

He was quiet for a moment, distracted by Logan’s fingers unbuttoning his shirt then brushing over his chest and the arc reactor. “Okay, for the last time, Logan. It’s a suit not a robot friend.”

“Fine, it’s your suit,” Logan allowed, tugging lightly with his teeth on one ear lobe before kissing his way down Tony’s neck.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You’re still a jerk.”

“And you’re still married to me.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tony insisted before groaning quietly as Logan bit him again. “But, you know, keep doing that if you want.”

By the time Logan was done with him, he forgot what they’d even argued about and he felt a little better about his injuries.

The next time it happened, Tony decided that maybe getting inevitably beaten up by some idiot who knew Wolverine wasn’t too bad once it was all over and Logan had taken out yet another idiot evil mutant. Then again, it was hard to make rational or logical decisions about anything with a concussion.

Maintaining Appearances

Tue, 05 Aug 2008 01:35:18 GMT

Maintaining Appearances: a Watchmen/Dark Knight crossover
by cruelest_month

Characters: Comedian/Joker, Batman
Rating: R - violence, swearing, mentions of sex
Summary: The Comedian and the Joker run into Batman. Unsurprisingly that sort of ruins everything.

Disclaimer: For fun, not profit. Don't own them.
Warning: This isn't nice or normal. Honest. However, there are no spoilers for the recent movie in this fic.
Author's Note: Crazy Quilt's an old Batman villain. I picked his name because it was amusing to me. And really I'm hoping this fic is better than I think it is. As usual this is mostly for th_esaurus, but seriously thank you for reading this to the people who have been. I know it's nuts, but I still really enjoy the idea of it.

The Joker can and will fall asleep anywhere. Half of the time when they meet up, he’s sleeping on a bench somewhere or in an old boxcar. Sometimes there’s animals and sometimes there isn’t. When there are animals, Eddie ends up having to wound one or two to get them to stop attacking him. They don’t know any better and so Eddie tries not to kill them. They’re always half-starved almost feral mutts. It’s a waste of bullets and a waste of time.

Tonight there’s three and one of them is ghost white with odd mismatched eyes. That one in particular is out for blood. He comes pretty close to breaking its neck before it whines pitifully and lopes off to another section of the roof.

“I don’t know why the fuck I bother.”

“Oh, they’re just having a good time,” the Joker insists. “They just want to play with you.”

“Like they did with whatever poor bastards you fed to them?”

“Prostitutes this time. Too cheap for them, I suppose.”

Prostitutes. Great. Eddie doesn’t ask and he wonders if the footage from butchering them will end up on some of his DVDs or VHS tapes again. He won’t know until he forces the Joker to watch a movie with him again. “Anybody I know?”

“Oh, it’s possible. You wouldn’t recognize them now, of course.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

On some level, Eddie knows he ought to care. Not because he even remembers the names of the whores of Gotham he takes home when he’s in the mood, but because a good guy ought to mind that people he fucks end up dying and turned into Purina puppy chow. He’s okay with it though. It doesn’t mean much to him. It doesn’t mean he likes the dogs any, but it doesn’t mean he cares.

The Joker just looks pleased with himself. For once he’s not wearing much make up, so when he kisses Eddie, he gets a few seconds of tongue before getting shoved aside.

“Oh come on,” he whines. "Come on, Eddie. Let it go for once."

"Just get the makeup off.”

The Joker rolls his eyes and disappeared into the building. He returns about a handful of minutes later with his hair and face dripping water all over the ugly cement roof. The white stuff’s gone and the red is too and the black’s dripping down from his eyes. Eddie knows he can push him to go back inside, but the chances of the Joker coming back out are virtually non-existent. Not if he’s been killing prostitutes again.

So Eddie takes what he can get as long as the Joker doesn’t expect to be thanked for the minimal effort he puts into fixing up his appearance. He wipes at the other man’s face, getting rid of some of the inky black makeup, and then kisses him properly. “Committed any other crimes I should know about?”

“Blew up a bridge. There were very few casualties. I’m suffering from a creative block,” he confessed with a rueful smile. It’s not a very sincere smile. Once they move further along with their evening plans, Eddie’s pretty sure the other man will just be miserable for a while. He’s used to it though. He doesn’t even mind much. It’s not exactly surprising that the Joker has mood swings.

“Rough week, huh?” Eddie considers kissing him again as he unbuttons the Joker’s vest, but he notices a flash of black first and ends up punching him in the face.

The dogs are barking by that point and the white howls. The Joker looks a little confused, but recovers himself enough to laugh. “And there he is. The Batman.”

Eddie doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want to laugh. He wants to punch Batman in the face and get back to what he was doing. The last thing he wants is to have to take the Joker to Arkham like this.

But it’s sort of his job. So Eddie shrugs an apology before grabbing the other man’s wrist and glancing around. “Jesus, Batman, get a life, will ya? If I need your help I shine a flashlight.”

Batman makes short work of the dogs and glowers at both of them. The Joker just looks amused, but moves back a little so he’s mostly behind Eddie.

“I’m taking him in. Right now.”

Eddie scowls. “What the hell’s the difference? I got him first.” Sure, he’s got to take the Joker in, but he figures he could enjoy half an hour of the other man’s time before doing that if the Batman takes a hike.

“It’s my city and we talked about this.”

“Uh huh. Because killing people is only something that effects you, right?”

The Joker glances over at Batman and chuckles. “As entertaining as you boys are, I could always pick one of you. What about a quick round of eeny, meeny, miny moe? That seems fair to me.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Batman asks.

“Well, I—”

“Not you,” he rasps and stares at the Comedian. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie hates that voice so goddamn much. “I’m here because you’re too slow. As usual.”

“Every time you take him in, he gets out about four days later. On average.”

“Every time you take him in, he gets out about the same time. Jesus, if you’re so concerned about him fucking up, maybe you should try a better method than dumping him somewhere.”

Arkham—”

“Is a joke. You know it, I know it and he sure as hell spends enough time laughing about it.”

“He has a point,” the Joker says in a truly obnoxious singsong voice. Eddie wishes he had more sense. If he did, he’d actually try to leave instead of happily standing there and watching. “What about torture? I would probably feel more discouraged to break the law if I got hit every now and again. Or you could just break one leg. I’d be a lot less mobile.”

The Batman eyes him coldly before shaking his head dismissively.

“Both maybe? Then I’d have to use a wheelchair to cause mischief.”

Eddie sighs. “See? Even he’s got better ideas.”

“How did you even find him?”

“We met up here,” the Joker says and Eddie controls the impulse to punch him again. “To have sex. You see, Eddie’s been—”

So much for the impulse. The Joker giggles even after his nose starts bleeding, and Eddie wants to throttle him. He just knows in a few weeks, the Joker will wax nostalgic about this.

“Aw, why are you so shy about it? He probably already knows.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie growls out, hitting the Joker again. And again. He slings him over his shoulder once he’s out. It won’t last long, but it at least establishes who exactly is bringing whom in for a pointless stint in Arkham.

“I’ve had a long day already, Batman, and I have the situation completely under control. As for locating him, I have my methods. I don’t see why I have to tell you what they are. If it makes you feel better, none of them involve a bat-catapult or any other pieces of trademark bat-crap you happen to have lying around.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“How about the point being I’m making your life a little easier this week by helping you out with a dangerous criminal who smiles too much? Can’t you just pretend to be normal and thank me already? You have about eighty bad guys. Fuck off and go apprehend Crazy Quilt or something if you’re so goddamn worried.”

“This time, but if this keeps happening—”

“If this keeps happening, you can thank me and fuck off same as always. I don’t see what the problem is. Learn to share.”

“Next time, I’m taking him in.”

“Why is there always a next time with you?” Eddie asks. “Look, you and him can get married next time for all I care. In the mean time, go away.”

He finally leaves and Eddie wants to break someone’s face real bad. Not the Joker’s face, but someone else’s. Instead, he heads back towards the building, cursing under his breath.

“You would care,” the Joker groggily points out once he’s on the third or fourth stair well.

Eddie likes it better when they meet at his place, but abandoned buildings are all over Gotham and sometimes the change of scene is nice. He doesn’t want to do it again though. Next time, they’re meeting at his place. Batman never leaves Gotham and would probably have a heart attack if he learned that sometimes the Joker did. “Hm?”

“If I married Batman.”

“Well, he’s about as likely to marry you as anyone else.”

“For a change of pace… I don’t know. Maybe you could try being nice.”

Eddie sighs and sets him down, eying the nose thoughtfully. It’s probably not broken. He doesn’t say or do much just lets the other man kiss him for a bit before biting at his throat.

“Can’t you just forget to take me in?”

“After that big fucking song and dance number out there? No way. I have to take you in or he’ll be riding my ass for the next two weeks.”

“Mmhm. And… That’s a problem?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it is.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I will be in a second,” Eddie tells him, working on taking off both of their clothes.

“You better be,” the Joker mutters.

“You can get out soon. It’ll be just like last time so you already know what to do. Just wait eight days.”

“Oh goody. I’ll be sure to mark that on my special calendar. So… How many prostitutes will that be?” As if the Joker’s resigned to killing them as a special favor to Eddie. As if he has to do it. Maybe he does.

Eddie tells himself he’s doing this only as a favor to the desperate married men of Gotham, but it’s a complete and utter lie. “None,” he decides and hurriedly adds: “The way I see it, they’re hardly ever worth the money they want. Besides, I broke your face and you had a shitty week. You can wait eight days and so can I.”

The Joker’s more enthusiastic after that. Not very focused and not very interested in keeping still, but more enthusiastic. Eight days isn’t a big commitment except that Eddie doesn’t remember ever offering to wait for anyone for more than an hour in his life. He doesn’t say anything much after that. Either the Joker knows or he doesn’t. Eddie hopes he doesn’t have a clue.

Half an hour turns into an hour, which turns into two hours. They don’t even have much sex. He’s too wound up and too angry and the Joker’s too spacey to do much besides laugh a lot when they’re both left unsatisfied. Eddie smokes instead, and lets the Joker sleep with his head in his lap for about an hour and a half.

After that, Eddie does that he’s supposed to do. It’s only eight days. A number he has to keep repeating to the other man until they get to the station. And it’s not even a big deal. It’s only some psycho clown he shouldn’t even be around for more than five seconds at a time let alone fuck. Eddie knows that, but it doesn’t make handing the Joker over to MCU any easier.

Also for those who do read this (you brave, brave few), if you have any prompts or things you'd like to read in regards to this mad AU crack, let me know.

Goes with the Territory

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 16:19:17 GMT

Goes with the Territory: a Watchmen/Dark Knight crossover.
Characters: Comedian/Joker, Batman
Rating: R - violence, swearing, sex
Summary: The Comedian meets the Batman. Words and blows are exchanged, and later Eddie tells the Joker about it.

Disclaimer: For fun, not profit. Don't own them.
Warning: This isn't nice or normal. Honest. However, there are no spoilers for the recent movie in this fic.
Author's Note: Sort of a prompt from th_esaurus. The Comedian meets the Batman

He doesn't mind talking to the Batman all that much at first. The guy's too green to figure out that Eddie's fucking the Joker, but it irks Eddie that the guy thinks he can tell him what to do.

The fight goes on longer than Eddie would have expected and while his fingers twitch even now and then for one of his guns, he knows there's no way he can get rid of Batman. Not yet.

He knows plenty of other moves though. Eddie lands the first punch and most of the other ones after that, shoulders sagging a little as the Batman finally stays down. He kicks the other man in the ribs for good measure and wonders what sort of pathetic pretty boy lurks under the mask.

When he’s satisfied, Eddie wipes his hand on his leg and wishes he'd drawn more blood. He takes out his Zippo and a cigar. Lips curving into a small smile, he atches as Batman slowly rises as he flicks a finger over the thumbwheel. "You might want to watch what you say to me, kid, and you might want to look at a map. Figure out what's yours and what isn't."

There's a whoosh of the cape and Eddie just looks unimpressed. He wishes he'd stuck his foot into the other man's windpipe. "Fuck you," he growls out, setting the end of his cigar ablaze. “This is windproof.”

"Gotham City is—"

So much nagging and for what? "Honey, get off my back. I don’t want to fight with you. I don't want any part of your city. I can't help it if I live nearby."

"Then stop interfering."

"How is it interfering? If your bad guys leave town, they become my problem. They become everyone's problem," is Eddie's flippant response. "In the mean time, do something about your throat. Gargle some saltwater." He gets that the man has an identity to hide, but back in the old days they managed that just fine without sounding brain-damaged.

Batman sighs, shaking his head and wandering over to the edge of the building. He leans forward with his foot on the edge of the building looking like a gargoyle. A gargoyle with a busted nose.

Eddie feels vaguely proud of himself, and makes no effort not to look it when the other man glances back after staring up at the sky. Someone’s turned on a Bat-signal. Doesn’t matter who it is. Like a dumb dog, Batman’s got to go and heed his summons. In the old days, heroes took order from people who mattered.

Batman just says "This isn't over" before jumping off.

"Cute," the Comedian mutters. "If I had a nickel for every time I hear that..."

He doesn't care enough to glance over the edge. He doesn't give a shit whether the guy flies right or plummets straight down. It's all the same after awhile.

The cigar’s not even halfway used up and he’s not wasting it, so Eddie stays there and smokes for a bit before heading into the abandoned building. As if he needs a newbie telling him what to do. If he needs a lecture, he can call up plenty of other useless superheroes.

-

"You get put back in Arkham, and I'm not bailing you out."

This is after they have sex twice.

The Comedian comes back from his moonlight chat with Batman to find the Joker sleeping on his couch. He doesn’t even really pause to wake him up just strips the other man efficiently and at some point the clown’s eyes open. He isn’t surprised or even startled. The Joker simply yawns and laughs a bit before kissing him.

Eddie doesn’t even shed most of his own costume. He just fucks him right up against the wall and then again on the couch.

The Joker grins widely afterwards, and waits like some sort of benevolent king for more information as Eddie peels off his mask. He has an appropriately long chuckle when he hears about the conversation. He doesn't take anything seriously so he looks amused at the prospect of Eddie leaving him to rot, which Eddie is perfectly willing to do except, of course, that he isn't.

"I mean it," the Comedian repeats, zipping up his fly, refastening his belt, and getting to his feet. "No grenades or smoke bombs. Not a knife. Not even a phone call.”

The Joker shrugs, walking a few fingers over the back of the couch before hopping up to his feet. “What about a file baked into a cake?”

“Fuck no. Next time you're stupid enough to get caught, they can ship your ass off to some village in Peru for all I care."

"Now really, Mr. Blake," he murmurs, wandering over and putting his hands all over Eddie's chest before resting them on his belt. As always he's unhelpful and as clingy as a lamprey. "Is my fault you didn't finish him off?"

Eddie grunts. He doesn't bother saying he's on Batman's side because he isn't. He doesn't care if Gotham burns down to the ground or flourishes for the next hundred years.

The Joker's hands eventually undo the clasp, and in a rare moment of usefulness, he starts dealing with the other straps in his way. "Did you enjoy it at least? Did you savor every single second of… discomfort?"

His hands move faster as he asks questions and eventually there's nothing in the way of his fingers. He wraps them around Eddie's cock and strokes languidly as he draws out every word. "How many times did you hit him? What kind of weapons? How did he look afterwards? A mess? Was there blood?”

“Maybe four times. Bare hands. Might have broke his nose," he admits with a smirk.

The Joker bites at Eddie’s neck and groans quietly, fingers tightening then moving somewhat faster. “Very nice. Next time, I want to watch.”

He eyes the Joker thoughtfully before rolling his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, this and that. I’m a fan of this myself. Do you have a preference?"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me to leave Batman alone?"

"No, I don't think so. Let’s share Batman," the Joker decides.

He doesn't bother pointing out that he has no plans to kill Batman. He lets the Joker make little plans of his own, and even listens to them as the Joker traces little shapes all over his arms.

This is after they've fucked a few more times. This is around the time Eddie just wants to smoke, but he nods as he lights up and offers some input in between kisses. He can afford to be tolerant. He has no one else who would approve of or understand how pleasant a victory it would be to hear Batman’s cartilage crack under his gloved hands. And beating up Gotham's caped crusader has been the highlight of his otherwise uneventful week.

Vacationing at Arkham

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 16:10:25 GMT

Vacationing at Arkham: a Watchmen/Dark Knight crossover.
by cruelest_month

Pairing: Comedian/Joker
Rating: PG-13 - mentions of violence, kissing
Summary: After a severe lack of correspondence from the Joker, the Comedian visits Arkham Asylum.

Disclaimer: For fun, not profit. Don't own them.
Warning: This isn't nice or normal. Honest.
Author's Note: Originally written for th_esaurus' eyes only and, arguably, it ought to have stayed that way. Totally AU that takes place in and around Gotham. The history of Arkham Asylum featured in here is pulled mostly from Grant Morrison and Dave McKean's Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth.

The postcards start arriving once a week. Then every few days. Eddie reads them and burns them afterwards, going out the balcony to smoke. It’s only when they start coming that he even cares about it because it’s not like the Joker to be inconsistent. It’s not like him to stop writing postcards so much as it would be to send more of them.

A few days of this and Eddie decides that he’ll do something about it. He eyes the calendar and plans accordingly. When the right day arrives, he puts on his costume, saving the patriotic bulletproof shoulder pads and mask for last. His badge is missing. Again. He figures the Joker has it. The Joker usually does.

He gets there and the first thing he wants to do is blow half the exterior of Arkham Asylum up. It’s an old building and he’d be the last person they’d suspect considering the people they keep there.

He wants to blow it up so he doesn’t. Because he knows why the place got built. Because it’s built on a joke. But no one gets better in Gotham or anywhere else in the fucking United States of fucking America. The sick stay sick and so do the mad. Sometimes history repeating itself is a beautiful thing.

They don’t recognize him at first. The stupid guards don’t pay enough attention and he knocks their heads together, dragging them behind him until he locates a nurse. In turn, he badgers her until she takes him to a doctor who takes him to the warden that lives in the house that Arkham built.

The warden, at least, gives him what he wants.

He’s not surprised to find they’re treating the Joker like shit. No one gets better so no one helps anyone else. That’s the way the world is.

“Need to borrow him for a bit,” Eddie mutters, lighting up even as three nurses tell him not to.

No smoking, he’s told. It’s bad for their health.

He laughs. “So’s doping them up like this,” he points out before tapping on the glass. No real reaction. No real recognition. Just the same old smile. “Get him out of there and hand him over.”

The jailer works on opening the door and Eddie sighs. “I’d like to get the same treatment as Batman, but I guess that’s too much to ask for, huh?”

“What sort of superhero are you supposed to be?” one of the woman asks as he steers the Joker towards the exit none too gently.

“The Comedian, sweetheart. Why aren’t you laughing?”

He gives up on getting the Joker to be helpful, holds him up on the motorcycle even after offering to let the other man body surf all the way home.

“Talk about healer heal thy fucking self,” he murmurs pleasantly as he sets the other man on the couch and grabs a beer from the fridge. The sedatives, tranqs and other shit meds will wear off soon.

“So there’s this man named Amadeus Arkham,” he says, yanking the bottle cap off, and sitting back on the couch. “And this bozo builds a mansion like his mother’s house for the criminally sane.”

The Joker’s lips twitch. At least he’s sort of paying attention.

“Only he killed his mother. Smothered her with a pillow. But that’s not funny. What’s funny is he builds this asylum and comes home to find his wife and kid raped and butchered. Body parts all over the place. Mad Dog Hawkins’ name carved on his wife’s stomach.”

The smile becomes last accidental and more intentional. It’s easier to tell without all that damn face paint in the way.

Eddie pauses and takes a swig from his bottle. “Somehow they let this guy keep on working, but it gets better, babe. Mad Dog becomes his patient. No one seems to think twice about this. Guess they think it’ll be therapeutic.”

Another drink then he continues. “It’s not right away. You see, first six months have to go by. Then he fries the guy’s brains out the anniversary of the death of his family, and spends the rest of his life in his own asylum. Nice of him to build it. Saved a lot of people a lot of trouble.”

The Joker is watching him now, waiting.

“Guess what day all of that took place on.”

He tilts his head.

“Oh come on. You should know. Same day as today. April Fools.”

There’s silence for a minute and then slowly the Joker laughs. Soon he’s cackling and it lasts for over a minute. Eddie just smirks and finishes up just about all of his beer. Eventually the Joker catches his breath and glances up. “That was a good one. I really needed that.”

“Thought you might.” He has an easier time letting the Joker take the beer bottle away from him than he does when it comes to knives, guns and grenades.

Once the other man’s in his lap, Eddie bites at his dry lips and the Joker licks his cheek.

“You didn’t write back,” he points out, pouting slightly.

“Did you one better. Why? You don’t think the weather’s nicer back there, do you?”

“A bit tepid, I must admit. The view here is,” the Joker draws out the word and laughs again pulling the badge out of a vest pocket. He sticks it back where it belongs. “Much better.”

Eddie snorts as he glances down at the bloody circles around the eyes and over the yellow smiley face’s lips. “It’s not too bad,” he admits once he looks back up.

Bruises Prove It's Real

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 02:40:55 GMT

Bruises Prove It's Real: a Watchmen/Dark Knight crossover.
by cruelest_month

Pairing: Comedian/Joker
Rating: R - sex, swearing, use of guns and knives throughout.
Disclaimer: For fun, not profit. Don't own them.
Warning: This isn't nice or normal. Honest.

Author's Note: Totally AU. Originally written for th_esaurus' eyes only and, arguably, it ought to have stayed that way. The title's taken from "Bruises" by Sugarcult, but the song honestly has nothing to do with this fic. Oops.

The Joker doesn't do anything like a normal person so it's no great surprise to Eddie that the man doesn't sleep like a normal person either. He tends to disappear for three or four days at a time only to resurface to use Eddie's couch. Generally speaking, this isn't such a bad thing. It's not his bed and it's not an important piece of furniture.

Still the first few times he nudges the clown awake with the barrel of a gun, and gestures towards the bathroom with it. "Get your damn makeup off first."

This is actually the Comedian being nice. He doesn't tell the Joker to get the fuck out. He doesn't tell him to find his own fucking furniture to crash and burn on. He just makes it clear that white face paint isn't allowed all over his living room even when he's sleeping on a shitty couch from Ikea.

The third time, the Joker's slow about it and even when he comes out, it still looks like one of his eyes is caked in black oily makeup. Eddie has to drag him under the light to see that it's actually just a fuck-ugly bruise that's slowly going from black to purple. The stupid idiot's got fair skin.

Eddie thinks that he looks better without the makeup. The scars are there, but everyone has those somewhere. The rest of him is flawless outside of a few scratches and bite marks here and there. Most of the bite marks Eddie recognizes. There's freckles on his arms and a few on his thighs, but there's nothing wrong with that.

When he's half-dead from not sleeping, he's almost sane. He's young. With the makeup on he looks older. The first time he tells Eddie about the scars, he makes up some bullshit about Vietnam and POWs, grinning even more when he knows he's struck a nerve. Pointing a gun doesn't do much then or ever. Over and over again, the Joker just nuzzles the barrel or wraps his tongue around it, before waiting. He always looks disappointed when his head doesn't get blown halfway to Hell. He doesn't have enough sense to be afraid of anything.

There's not much he can do for a black eye and Eddie doesn't really care much at all, so he lets the Joker fall asleep in a chair in the kitchen before tossing some raw steak at him. Flank or something. Nothing too expensive. The rest of it, he starts cooking for himself. He's not in the mood to feed anyone else, but the truth is that if the Joker grabs food off his plate he'll let it slide this once. And then next time come down on him like the wrath of God. He likes being unpredictable. He doesn't want the clown to get too comfortable.

"Put that on."

The Joker blinks a little, poking the dead cow flesh with a few fingers and laughing at it. His nails are covered with purple nail polish. It's chipping away slowly, but it's less annoying than face paint, and the hell if Eddie's going out of his way to buy him nail polish remover. "Raw meat. How thoughtful. Does this mean we're engaged?"

"Put it on your eye."

A few weeks later and it's some bruised ribs. Eddie comes close to giving the Joker a few cigar burns to encourage him to hold still as he tries to bandage him up. When he doesn't behave, Eddie slows down the more the Joker encourages him to hurry up. He pulls a little too tight, trying not to look annoyed when the Joker doesn't even hiss in pain. But Eddie knows he's in it and that's reward enough. He figures the little shit deserves it.

The Joker's sitting there in front of the bathroom sink, swinging his legs like a kid in hospital waiting room and keeps asking about getting a lollipop. Or maybe something else to suck on.

Eddie smacks the Joker's hands away from the waistband of his jeans, tapping his fingers lightly with the burning end of his cigar to emphasize his point. "When I'm done."

"You're no fun."

He's pouting the next time Eddie glances over at him. Eddie's not a big fan of pouting. "Then go get your goddamn boyfriend to bandage you up instead of bothering me."

He cackles childishly. "Jealous of a big winged boyscout?"

"You're his problem."

The Joker just shrugs, cheerful as ever. Eventually he distracts himself by scooting forward, resting his chin on Eddie's shoulder and playing with his hair.

When the Comedian's finally finished, he slides to his knees without being prompted and gives surprisingly good head for a mental patient.

"Use your gun," the Joker urges as he gets up.

It takes him a bit longer than Eddie likes so eventually he hauls him up and rolls his eyes. "Why?" Why should I humor you? Why should I bother?

"It's not fun like this. If we're going to play, let's really play."

"It would be fun with a gun?"

Eddie only realizes how Dr. Seuss that sounds after he says it and the Joker looks delighted. He smiles coaxingly. "When two words rhyme, they belong together."

They have sex all over the house, the gun keeping them company when Eddie feels like being bothered with pulling one out of its holster. He takes all the bullets out. The Joker tries to convince him to leave one in. Eddie pretends to, but really he palms it. The Joker's not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve. He doesn't know why he doesn't stick the goddamn bullet in though. Some fucking bullshit sentimental reason probably. It makes him mad enough that he's not at all mindful of the Joker's ribs when he fucks him.

"You can shoot me," the Joker suggests more than once.

"You want it too much," he growls out, setting the gun aside before thrusting that much harder until the Joker can't do much besides groan or giggle. He usually laughs a lot during sex. It's not exactly the most appropriate sound, but it's a little bit mellower than usual.

The bedroom's too boring. The Joker likes it best in the kitchen because that's where the knives are. With the knives around, he stops asking for Eddie to shoot him. He asks about matching smiles instead. Eddie bites roughly at the back of his neck until he shuts up. As they continue, the Joker plays with a steak knife.

The Comedian turns him around and they fuck facing each other up against the counter. The Joker keeps the blade in his hands even as they stop to catch their breath, and runs the dull side of it down along Eddie's back and up along his spine for a few minutes. And the Joker doesn't ask about the smiles again or being shot. Eventually he puts the knife down. It clatters loudly as it comes to rest in the garbage disposal. He doesn't laugh about it. He kisses Eddie instead.

They sleep on the couch. He wakes up to the Joker snuggling up against him, and stares at him for almost half an hour. His hair's a mess and almost back to being a dirty blond. Eddie knows the Joker will dye it a bright grass green once ready to go out to get pummeled again by the Batman.

This thought annoys Eddie so much that he decides the hell with it and pushes the Joker out of the way. Not off the couch though. No point doing that after wasting a good half hour of his night bandaging him up. No point lying there when he has better things to do.

The Joker sleeps for about twelve straight hours and Eddie's not sure what to make of that. His couch isn't that comfortable. His apartment isn't that safe. It bothers him all day long. After a few errands and one quick job on the other side of town, he cleans up some of the mess from the night before and kicks the gun with his boot before bending down to retrieve it.

Sitting in an armchair across from the couch, he opens up the gun and cleans it. He smokes the last of his Cubans and points the barrel at the sleeping man. He watches the chamber spin around and around. Empty and useless. A bad joke.

Somehow trust got established without Eddie noticing. Somehow neither one of them plans on killing the other anytime soon. Somehow that's almost nice, and he hates it.

Guardians of Rome

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 20:21:09 GMT

Title: The Guardians of Rome: A Dark Knight AU
by cruelest_month
Characters: Harvey Dent, Bruce Wayne and Alfred with passing references made to the Joker and Gordon.
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. I wish they did.
Warning: Contains partial or whole spoilers depending on the paragraph. Also takes a lot of ideas/concepts from the movie and changes them around.
Rating: PG - Gen with mentions of violence but no depiction of it.

Summary: More than halfway through the events of the movie, Harvey Dent finds that he just might have to take over for Batman.
Author's Note: This was written for and requested by angrylemur. It's unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. I'll admit that is very unlikely that Bruce would want or ask Harvey to become the Batman, but, well, that's point of an AU. Also Bruce will or would recover if I wrote sequels to this, I swear.

Word count: 1,188 words

It only takes about forty-five barrels and two explosive devices for Salvatore Maroni to ruin Harvey Dent’s life. He tries to put her out of his mind and spends a few hours watching the life support monitors until he’s convinced Bruce has a fighting chance.

A few days later and Harvey’s surprised the city’s still standing. The deaths pile up and so do the death threats. Ferries get blown up. Ferries full of innocent civilians and prisoners alike who all die doing the right thing even when a psychotic clown doesn’t. A day after his victory, the Joker turns himself in, angry and distraught like a girl stood-up on prom night. Harvey knows that isn’t the end. He knows the Joker’s having a grand old time in Arkham Asylum assembling fresh forces and waiting for the Batman to show up somewhere again. There’s still the mob to deal with though, and it’s impossible without any hard evidence, no proof, and no one brave enough to testify.

He hides in the ICU of Gotham General. He’s there at the hospital along with Alfred when Bruce wakes up. The doctors assure them that Bruce will, but it’s going to take awhile. He’ll probably walk again, but it won’t be anytime soon. The damage to his spine is serious. What the hell had Wayne been thinking trying to take out eight of Maroni’s hired goons like that?

Obviously Bruce can’t even get out of the hospital without some help. Harvey pushes the wheelchair out for him despite the other man’s protests. Bruce is pretty much all Harvey has outside of a clean reputation and as much as Harvey doesn’t understand him, he wants to. He wants a friend.

They drive to Bruce’s penthouse. The safest place in the city. While drinking, Harvey finds himself sharing too much. Bruce just listens numbly, hands clenching at his glass of water. Harvey isn’t sure how to stay or how to leave or how to stop burdening Bruce with his troubles.

“I’m sorry,” he says after awhile. “I’m sorry you believed in me and that she believed in me and that I let you down.” Just like he’s letting everyone else down. He’s no knight. He’s nothing but a man, and it doesn’t seem like one ordinary man can do much at all. Even the Batman has given up.

Bruce sets his drink down and gently takes Harvey’s glass away. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

“Who else am I going to blame? Gordon? Batman? Gordon can barely handle having people in his own department to get rid of. Batman’s gone MIA. Neither one of them ever actually promised much of anything, but I did.”

“There’s still time. It’s not over yet.”

Harvey chuckles bitterly and pours himself three more fingers of scotch. “Time… Maybe if Batman had shown up when Joker blew up those ferries, but this city is going to hell on my watch. At least he’s off the streets now, but everyone’s worse off than ever and no one knows where the hell Batman is. I gave that real inspiring speech about the dawn coming and it’s not. It might never get here.”

He isn’t aware of how upset he is until Bruce sets a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly before wheeling away.

“Come on. There’s something I need to tell you. Something you have to see.”

Alfred drives them out to a secure, fenced-in area owned by Wayne Enterprises and wheels Bruce over to the locked door himself. Bruce doesn't say anything. Alfred doesn’t say much either, and nothing about him gives off the impression of a jolly old English butler. Both of their faces are similarly set in solemn serious lines.

It’s only once the dark elevator lowers that Harvey realizes it’s because of their secret and because they’re sharing it with him only out of sheer desperation.

“You won’t be good at this at first,” Bruce admits, pushing himself over to the cage rising from the floor. The Bat suit. The Bat stuff. Bat everything. “But I can help you. We’ll make sort of sort monitoring device and once you get into shape, I can coach you from here.”

Harvey watches this uncertainly, barely feeling Alfred pat him on the shoulder. He wants to be angry, but instead he’s relieved. “You didn’t leave,” he murmurs reverently, not even vaguely embarrassed by how grateful he sounds. “And it’s you. You’re… I wouldn’t have guessed you had...”

Bruce’s lips quirk up slightly. “A secret hideout?”

“Hidden depths,” Dent admits with a crooked smile. “You were sort of mocking me back at that fundraiser, you know.”

“Why does everyone keep thinking that?” Bruce mutters, turning his chair around to look over at Harvey. “Will you do this?”

“I… You really trust me to do this? Isn’t there someone else who might be better qualified for this sort of thing?”

“I wish there was,” Bruce admits. “You’re more useful to the people of this city as Harvey Dent, but there’s no one else.”

“They’ll know I’m not you.”

“Not until it’s too late for them to do anything but run away. There’s still the issue of training, which means living the city unguarded for longer than I’d like, but it’s you or Alfred.”

Harvey glances over at the butler.

“Don’t waste your breath, Mr. Dent. I bloody well refuse to be his butler and a superhero. Not enough time in a day.”

Harvey takes a deep breath, trying to picture what he’s in for and trying to picture how bad things will get if Gotham has to wait for Bruce to heal completely. It could take months. It could never happen. Even more likely than that is the fact that Bruce isn’t likely wait for Bruce to heal completely.

The cops down in Gordon’s unit call him Two-Face. It's supposed to bother him, but it still doesn’t. Harvey doesn't think it’s nearly as offensive as they mean for it to be. The Romans he admires so much, the ones that had those guardians watching the gates of the city? They also had a two-faced god. They called him Janus. He was god of those gates the guardians kept vigil over. He was also god of doorways, beginnings, and endings.

Harvey pulls the coin out of his pocket and examines it. He studies both sides carefully, the charred face and the normal one. Every decision Harvey has ever made has been a beginning and an ending. The door is now open on a very strange opportunity, and the choice is ultimately his.

A few more seconds tick slowly by and he remembers that he isn’t alone. That he has to decide. Hesitating only slightly, Harvey crams his father’s lucky coin back into his pocket again. There are some things a person can’t leave up to chance. Maybe it’s time he tries living up to that nickname. Maybe it’s about time he gave the city the kind of knight it really deserves.

Looking up, he smiles slightly and walks over to his new partners in crime prevention. “Just call me Caesar.”

Mighty Time Lords

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 16:59:11 GMT

Title: Mighty Time Lords: A Mighty Boosh/Doctor Who AU of sorts
by cruelest_month
Summary: AU request from severa - Howard and Vince as Time Lords interacting with the Doctor.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd. Someday I might write a sequel with Donna in it, but here's what I've written so far.
Word count: 1,836 words

Vince had the habit of constantly picking up shiny things that didn’t belong to him and playing with them for hours on end so initially Howard couldn’t have cared much less about the other man’s latest acquisition. Some lockets or friendship charms, he thought, but once again the eraser grove was in shambles and with great authority, came great responsibility. The liberation and betterment of office supplies was generally of greater consequence than Vince stumbling upon something useless or seeming harmless but really potentially lethal. Or a combination of the two.

A few minutes later, the Jazz Maverick was sighing wearily under his breath as Vince started nattering on about them. “I reckon there’s bits of hair inside of ‘em. Like from lovers. That would be genius.”

Why couldn’t just one man or lady show up in tweed show up and request an elbow patch in profound muffin? “Really,” Howard muttered instead, slumping against the counter.

“Or a picture of someone’s mum. Maybe Naboo’s mum. I bet she’s well hideous. She probably looks like him in a bad wig with a walker.”

“I don’t know if Naboo would appreciate you messing about in his cupboards, yeah? Or saying his mother is ugly. You have to think before you say things, Vince.”

“I don’t like thinking. Look at you. Your beady little eyes are exhausted and in a few minutes you’ll be hiding your face in a Jazz LP and crying. Thinking makes your face cave in on itself and gives you bad posture.”

Howard straightened up and made an effort to ignore Vince for a few minutes.

“Howard.”

He didn’t answer.

“Howard. Howard. Howard?”

But he knew where all this was going so eventually he relented. “What?”

“Do you want to keep one of them?”

Raising an eyebrow at this, Howard blinked. Vince Noir sharing something shiny that he’d found lying on the floor or in a bureau somewhere wasn’t something that happened on a regular or even infrequent basis. Yet here he was offering up one of the strangely pocket-watch-shaped trinkets with a fairly earnest almost sweet expression. “What?”

“Well, there’s two, right?” Vince waited patiently until Howard nodded. “They match and it’s not like earrings, is it? They could be best friend woss-names.”

“You just want me to get in trouble when Naboo comes back.” Suspecting Vince of being up to something was generally a cleverly conceived notion, but Howard always felt rotten about his paranoia or well-placed caution seemed to put a damper on things. In this case, Vince all but wilted and started sulking silently. “Oh come on, little man. You do things like that all the time.”

“But not this time. Really, Howard. You’re my best friend.”

“Give me the other… whatever-it-is then.”

Vince handed it over and set his down on the counter before hopping up onto it. His legs swung back and forth and Howard found himself staring at them for awhile before focusing on the ridiculous glittery blue boots on his best friend’s feet.

“Now we have matching lockets. This is exciting, isn’t it? Like getting married.”

Howard almost threw the locket at him but he refrained. Instead he could feel his eyes darting back and forth like flies caught in a window screen. “What?”

“When people get married they get matching things.”

“They get rings. And cake.”

“We could go get cake.”

“Vince, this is not like getting married. At all. Besides, jazz mavericks don’t get married. It’s not in our blood.”

“I think you’ll find that most people get married.”

“Right. I’m not most people. I’m the James Bond of the Jazz World.”

Vince giggled. “No way. There isn’t a Jazz World, and the closest you’ve been to James Bond is that creepy cardboard cutout you have of George Lazenby.”

“How dare you. I am very much the Bond of Jazz, and Bond never got married. Marriage wasn’t for him and it isn’t for me. I’m Howard Moon. I loves the ladies and I shags them and then I leaves them, sir.”

It was always easy to tell when Vince was thinking hard about something. He always started to look a little cross-eyed and fatigued. “Some of that is true.”

“Thank you.”

“Some of it, mind,” Vince pointed out gently before getting off the counter. “But you’ll just get angry if I say what parts aren’t, and I want to open them.”

This was a rare and tactful move that briefly left Howard too confused to remember what they had even been talking about. “Open what?”

Brushing back a strand of hair, Vince rolled his eyes. “The lockets, Howard. Hello.”

“Ah. You know, I think they might be watches, actually. Old pocket watches are very big in the jazz scene. Lester Corncrake always sai--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vince insisted before beaming. “Can we open them? Please, Howard?”

“I suppose there isn’t any real harm in it.” Howard could easily recall what happened with that star-shaped locket incident on Planet Xooberon, but while all of their adventures had similar elements to them, he doubted the same thing could happen twice.

Nothing much changed exactly but a few seconds after opening them, Howard remember what chameleon arches were, and he wondered why his and Vince’s had always been so faulty. They’d still remembered what Daleks were, after all, and time had always gone a little weird around them in ways that it didn’t around actual humans.

Vince seemed a little more dazed by the flood of new information and old memories. After watching him thoughtfully for a few seconds, Howard hugged him, toying with the other man’s hair without even asking. He didn’t mind much that Vince was clinging to him since he was fairly certain his grip on Vince’s shoulder was slowly verging on painful.

“How’s my hair look?”

Howard glanced down and chuckled. “It’s the same.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“How long ago did we give those to Naboo? Do you remember?”

“Not the exact date,” Vince admitted, looking up and smiling thinly. “I never had a head for figures. Must have been ages. It feels like three lifetimes ago and that can’t be right. We’re still on our first lives.”

“Early days,” Howard agreed, loosening his grip a little but not moving away. This was nice. He wondered why they’d given this part of everything but and he supposed it was just a matter of not thinking. And it wasn’t like they still hadn’t been joined at the hip even when they’d thought of themselves only as zookeepers or shopkeepers.

The bell above the door rang as someone entered the shop, letting the door bang behind him or her. It was only a quarter past one, and among all the other countless things that Howard hadn’t expected to deal with that day including rediscovering that he was a Time Lord, was the arrival of a customer in a profound muffin trench coat. Even at that moment Howard would have gladly offered him a glimpse of his line of elbow patches except for one thing. One thing that pretty much made his perfect sales pitch die before it could come out of his mouth.

“Howard, he’s the Doctor!” Vince blurted out excitedly.

“There wasn’t anything and then there were two of you,” The Doctor said with a grin. “Imagine that.”

“I can’t believe you’re in here. We read all about you at the Academy, but then we left and we never managed to find you. And you’re here!”

Howard tried to stop Vince from latching onto the older Time Lord, but it didn’t really work and it seemed like the Doctor didn’t exactly mind. Howard minded though. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of his childhood hero or watch Vince do so instead.

Vince hadn’t stopped talking though and the Doctor seemed to still be listening. He also seemed to be interested. Maybe the Doctor didn’t get out that much now that he was so far along in his regenerations. “And it’s been so weird because we just remembered everything.”

The smile turned a bit more serious somehow, but the Doctor just gently hugged Vince back before letting him go and adjusting the collar of Vince’s newest Topshop shirt. Then he glanced over at Howard. “Hello.”

Howard cleared his throat. He nearly saluted, but he was positive Vince would giggle. Since that would only serve to make him feel like a knob, he refrained. “Hello, sir.”

“No need for that. Just call me the Doctor. Look at you. You’re so young.”

Howard colored a little and mumbled something.

Vince just kept on beaming like a little fluorescent light bulb or newborn star. “I can't believe you're here," he declared. "We’re friends with a shaman from Xooberon and he was watching our arches. Only I think we forget about them. But it’s been genius. We found the funk in a box and we worked at a zoo. It was genius. Howard died once and went to Monkey Hell.”

“Vince, you’re getting the order all jumbled up.”

“So am I, actually,” The Doctor murmured. “I forgot all about learning your names. Tell me those first and then I want to know more about this Monkey Hell business.”

“Then you have to tell us about Gallifrey,” Vince insisted and Howard lightly pinched Vince’s arm when he saw the expression on the other man’s face. “Oi.”

“Shut up, Vince. Anyway, I’m Howardmoon and this is Vinceladhwencamthalionaranenoir. But we’ve just been Howard and Vince for a long time now.”

“I can’t imagine why you shortened Vince’s name,” The Doctor teased. Mostly for their benefit Howard thought. Something seemed off now and Howard couldn’t really think of a way to fix it.

“Why can’t he tell us?” Vince asked in what he probably thought was in a hushed tone, but was actually quite loud and bordered on a whine. “I want to know.”

“It can wait, yeah?” The Doctor suggested, not looking comfortable, but not looking too upset. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat and he eyed the exit to the store thoughtfully before looking back at them. “I have a friend with me. She’s minding the TARDIS and I’m sure she’ll want to meet you,” he added with a small smile.

Howard nodded, giving Vince a firm look and a sharp nudge. “Let’s do that then.”

Vince rubbed his side and rolled his eyes before following the Doctor out the door.

News of their home planet –the one that hadn’t really wanted two forward-thinking musicians in the first place— could certainly wait until later. Howard was more eager to spend time in another TARDIS since theirs was broken anyway and buried somewhere in Naboo's attic underneath a heap of Christmas decorations or whatever other rubbish the shaman kept up there. Besides, he wanted to see about impressing the Doctor’s current companion with his dazzling wit and repartee.

Group Dynamics

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 04:58:58 GMT

For plausive: Steve/Tony/Logan

Title: Group Dynamics
Fandom: Iron Man movie-verse/Marvel-verse.
Rated: R for obvious Reasons
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Marvel does. Hopefully they won't find out what I've done with them.

Summary: Focuses mainly on Tony proposing a threesome and how that works out once he gets what he wants.
Author's Note: It took me way too long to write this fic. It is unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. I went with pretty much a movie!Tony, the usual (for me anyway) mash-up of movies and comics for Logan, and comic!Steve.
Word Count: 1,446 words

-

Steve probably would have liked things to be easier. Steve didn’t like sharing, because deep down, Captain America was a One plus One equaled Two kind of guy who didn’t like indulging in complex formulas such as Sweating in the gym plus Tackling plus Logan plus Steve equaled Tony getting laid an awful lot.

Logan didn’t seem phased by much so it was hard to tell. The fact that Steve might not have wanted to only made Wolverine eager to give it a try. Thankfully he didn’t end up pushing too much of the super human’s buttons when Tony somehow worked up the nerve to suggest they stop sparring and try doing something all three of them were actually good at.

“Which would be?” Logan asked.

“Sex. I mean, Steve and I do it anyway...”

They both stared at him.

“I’m serious. What’s a little sex amongst friends, you guys? It might be fun to make it a group activity. Right, Steve?”

Steve seemed somewhat shocked, but at least he didn't look dismayed.

After the clarification, Wolverine crossed his arms before smirking. He didn’t say anything, but maybe he was waiting for Steve to speak up first.

“Tony, I don’t think Logan—”

Logan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in an amused, almost challenging fashion. “You don’t know what I think.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Steve rubbed his jaw and eyed the mutant skeptically. “What are you thinking then? If anything.”

“That Tony might be right.”

Tony breathed a sigh of relief as Steve frowned.

“You in? I mean, you and Tony could just do it anyway and I could watch, I guess. But that’s not fair since he just invited me to join ya.”

Tony had a feeling he was being mocked, but he was willing to cast that suspicious thought aside when Logan’s prompting was pretty much that was all it took to get Steve to agree that he was in. The efficiency with which they got down to business shouldn’t have been too surprising, but Tony hadn’t actually been prepared for them to agree so easily. Or on the first try. But once the other two men came to a decision, clearly they were ready to get a move on.

By the end of it, Tony was pretty satisfied and wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought to try that tactic sooner in order to avoid training. He couldn’t help thinking it would have been a better experience though if Steve had been a little less embarrassed about it afterwards, and if Logan hadn’t wandered off, remaining more aloof than usual for the rest of the day.

Tony’s solution to that was simply to make it clear he wasn’t opposed to doing things with both of them again the next time they all were in the gym together. Not only that but he wasn’t opposed to doing it again and again. And, well, obviously again. He left it at that and left them to think it over for a while.

It took longer than Tony expected, but after maybe three days of the other men offering up vaguely non-committal grunts when he brought up the subject, they approached him as he was nearly done getting his ass handed to him by Natasha. A few subtle nods and two incidences of getting his head almost pounded through a wall later, and they were going at it shortly after the Black Widow left the gym.

To his credit, Tony thought about asking her to stay, but ultimately he decided not to push his luck.

The routine that became strangely typical for all three of them involved sparring first. Wolverine and Captain America were creatures of habit, really. Tony had an easier time participating in training when he had the proper motivation so he tolerated it.

Once they’d showered or were at least done for the day, Logan ended up behind Tony and Steve wound up in front of him. Depending on what Steve wanted to do, Tony either ended up on his knees or all fours. Logan wasn’t exactly a one-trick pony, but the lack of variety wasn’t a bad thing. Tony didn’t even mind much that he was always in the middle. Being the center of attention was one of Tony’s favorite things.

Having Steve in front of him was nice because Steve didn’t object to kissing or keeping Tony upright or sucking Tony off. Obviously, Steve didn’t mind the reverse of that either. Steve seemed to go easier on him than Logan did so in a way they balanced each other out.

Logan kept his hands around Tony’s waist the first few times until he figured Tony was over his irrational fear of the claws somehow popping out. Then the mutant allowed himself a little more exploration with his fingers, but kept them out of Steve’s way most of the time. Kissing wasn’t a less frequent thing, but the biting and occasional post-coital nuzzling was nice.

Steve and Logan never did much with each other in terms of contact, but they were friendly or at least snarky in a nice way. They talked around and over him before, during, and afterwards. Tony would keep quiet from time to time since he was sort of fascinated by watching them interact. They had a shared history they never really talked about it so he had to constantly keep an eye out for small glimpses or hints of their experiences as soldiers.

When it came to changing any aspect of the situation, Tony had to be the one to bring it up. Eventually he assured them the bedroom was fair game, and while they didn’t mind moving there, the other men preferred the gym. Probably because the more they fooled around with him, the more they seemed concerned about how lousy he was at holding his own without his armor on.

There were rules involved too. Rules that didn’t get verbalized or written down but were there just the same. Tony could have what he wanted as long as it didn’t involve watching. Logan and Steve would willingly participate as long as they weren’t required to do anything to each other without Tony in the middle of it.

Being the sort of guy who liked to play with fire and watch things get blown to smithereens including valuable irreplaceable lab equipment, Tony wanted to ask about it. At first he managed to avoid it by telling himself it would probably upset or piss off both of them and then he'd lose out on having sex with both of them.

After a week or two of being good, he tried to think of a safe way broach the subject, carefully keeping in mind that one of them was named after a psycho woodland creature due to having a similar temperament, and the other guy would probably bash him upside the head with his shield on purpose.

The best way to do it, Tony decided, was to seem reluctant and hesitant while using very short, quick sentences after they'd finished having sex. They were still lying there on the mats with Tony facing Steve and Logan slinging an arm loosely over Tony's side as Steve brushed a few fingers through Tony's hair.

“Um. You guys could do things. Without me. Still possibly around me, but you know… Without me.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“The man’s got a point. Seems kinda stupid to me, princess.”

Tony made a face and glanced over his shoulder. “I keep asking you not to call me that.”

“The mistake is you keep asking. Anyway, regardless of whatever idiotic nickname he gives you, I have to agree with him,” Steve chimed in.

“Oh, come on.”

“The point of a threesome’s to have three people,” Logan sagely added.

“Wow, I had no idea you could count that high,” Tony murmured, chuckling a bit when Logan lightly smacked one of his thighs. “But you guys… Don’t you think you—”

“I think you’re spoiled and that I like what we do.”

“I think it’s been perfectly fine so far,” Steve agreed, “but if you’re tired of this, Tony…”

“No, no. No. This is great.”

The only one he could see smirking was Steve, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Logan was doing something similar. They were both fairly set in their ways and it was for different reasons, but it seemed to amount to the same thing. And Tony really liked the idea, but he honestly didn’t need them to make out in front of him to figure out they were okay with what they were doing. Would have been nice though.

-

Ficlet requests

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 04:57:30 GMT

-

for wabbitseason.
Prompt: They say I'm supposed to keep up with the times/ But nobody ever tells me how. - Captain America interacting with someone other than Tony Stark? Main comicverse is fine.

Note: Janet takes Steve out to find a new computer. It's not set in any specific time-frame, but I figured Steve might feel better about going computer-shopping with someone who was less of a nerd and less likely to babble at him about technological stuff.

Janet gently took the dead laptop away from Steve once they got to the store and patted his arm. “There’s nothing we can do for it, you know. It’s sort of like when a dog gets rabies. We can either think about recycling it or giving it a proper burial somewhere later on.”

“I’m not attached to it. We just need to find one that looks just like it.”

She couldn’t blame for being so solemn and serious about. He probably hated knowing he’d downloaded a virus and that without realizing it had allow a bunch of malware to take over sections of his computer. The reason he’d called her was simple. She was probably the least interested in technology out of the Avengers and he probably was hoping she’d be more sympathetic.

So far, of course, Janet had been, but she’d also had to break it to him gently that he’d loused up another computer. His fourth or fifth laptop in about six months. Originally it had taken a long time to get Steve to warm up to the idea, but he’d been given one for his birthday and had enjoyed it for all of ten minutes maybe until he couldn’t figure out how to get anything to work and Tony kept telling him to just use the mouse.

At some point, he must have mastered computer basics, but Steve still didn’t seem to like them and they still kept dying on him. Being a super soldier and being Steve Rogers, he didn’t seem to like failing at anything, and she imagined it was frustrating being surrounded by people who loved typing, texting, e-mailing, and spelling things wrong on purpose. Steve probably thought everyone else had a better grasp on all of it than he did and had yet to realize that computer problems were everyone’s problem in the long-run. He probably just needed something sturdy like a Macbook, but she wasn’t even going to suggest it. Any Mac operating system would probably make him feel even stupider than he already felt.

“Why don’t we just get you a better one?” Janet asked. “We could get one with Vista on it. Save you a lot of grief.”

“If it was the same, no one else would know.”

“Oh, please. Who even cares? If anyone gives you a hard time about it, I’ll beat them up for you and take their lunch money,” she promised.

He smiled a bit before moving forward, all but prodding at one of the display Toshibas. “What’s Vista?”

“It’s another sort of operating system. Um, you know how you had that little icon at the beginning when you turned this old hunk of junk on? That was for Windows XP.”

He hadn’t interrupted, but he looked a little vexed when she was done explaining. “I know what an operating system is.”

“Some people don’t and they still use computers,” Janet pointed out. “See? You’re doing much better than some people. Anyway, Vista is sort of like the little sister of Windows.”

Janet hoped he’d never seen the commercials about it, but Vista seemed like a good idea for some people. Like senior citizens who probably only wanted a computer of their own to use E-bay, check their e-mail and look at pictures of their grandkids online. It wasn’t that she thought of Steve as a senior citizen, but he was pretty old in some ways, and she wasn’t going to be able to explain any of this the way Tony or Hank or one of the others might have.

“Do they sell typewriters?”

“I’m sure they do somewhere, but what’s the point? You can’t check your e-mail on a typewriter.”

“I don’t get that many e-mails.”

“You must get some,” she insisted. “I send you e-mails.”

“Well, yes, you do and the others do and those spam doctors in Nigeria do.”

She couldn’t help laughing a little at that. “Don’t read anything from people you don’t know. Just delete them.”

“I could just not have a computer. You guys could just call me.”

She grinned. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How are things working out with your cell phone anyway?”

“Just fine,” he muttered.

“You haven’t accidentally put it in a washing machine again?”

Steve made a face. “Next time I need help, I’m asking Bruce.”

“Aw, cheer up,” Janet replied, lightly taking his arm and steering him over towards other laptops that had Vista and were cheaper. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you smashed up your first computer just fine on your own.”

-

for walksbyherself.
Prompt: I wanna be irreplaceable/I wanna be of use/I wanna be functional/I wanna give you peace - Anything Iron Man related

Note: Basically just a hospital scene of Tony and Pepper. This is me borrowing what happened to Pepper in Invincible Man 3 and writing about it happening in the movie-verse.

She wondered how anyone would have expected her to say no. Pepper had plenty to live for and plenty of reasons to say yes. She didn’t have a single reason to say no, which wasn’t due to any lack of experience with using the word around her boss.

There were small scars and looking at the thing glowing in her chest made her uncomfortable so eventually she tugged up the sheets. The arc reactor wasn’t going to perform any miracles with regards to her sex life, but what did? She leaned back against the pillows as Tony came in.

“So how are you doing?” he asked as if he hadn’t interrogated every doctor and nurse in the place. Even in varying degrees of conscious- and unconsciousness, she’d heard people complaining about him. Every time it made her smile.

“I feel just fine. Sort of.”

“Takes a while to adjust,” Tony agreed before pulling a chair over. “You look better.” They’d finally wiped away most of the blood from her skin and now the only marks on her were some burns and some freckles.

“Thanks to you and a really skilled surgeon.”

“Don’t thank me.”

He’d been a hero long enough that “thank you”s didn’t mean much, but Pepper was positive the reason he was refusing credit was he blamed himself for the bomb, for the buildings, and for the people that died. Because, of course, they’d found his logo on what was left of the device that had been left behind.

The only people to blame were the men and women recently taken into custody by S.H.I.E.L.D. She could have just as easily blamed herself for not running fast enough, but you couldn’t outrun an explosion you couldn’t predict anymore than you could predict the explosion itself.

“Who else am I going to thank, Tony? Who else was going to make me an arc reactor?”

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

“I always go to your social functions.”

“Because I don’t.”

“Because I know virtually everyone who attends them,” Pepper countered. “What would be the point of sending you? You’d recognize four people out of two hundred.”

He couldn’t disagree with that, and his lips quirked slightly before he slumped. “If you’d d—”

“I didn’t so don’t talk about it.”

“Can I be sorry? Hypothetically? If I wanted to be?” No one was ever going to accuse Tony Stark of apologizing much too often.

“Sorry I got hurt? Sure, but I sort of figured that out on my own.” He’d sent her more flowers than anyone else outside of Agent Coulson. “You about as subtle as…” She couldn’t think of anything. If Tony asked, Pepper was blaming the pain killers.

“Something that’s not very subtle at all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” she decided. The pitcher was already in the room and after a few sips, she pushed the glass away. “When do I get out of here?”

He laughed. “Ready to get back to work already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your ribs have to mend and we have to see how this reactor thing works for you.”

She grimaced and turned away, but when he took her hand, she squeezed it before taking hers back. Her skin still hurt a bit and touching didn’t help, but she wasn’t going to say that and she appreciated the gesture. “How long?”

“Probably a week or two.”

“Wonderful.”

“It’s not so bad. You got TV and pudding. Or jello. Something.”

“Are you sorry enough to visit me a lot?”

“Sure and Rhodey wanted to come, but I wasn’t sure if you were in the mood for company.”

“You figured you’d come pester me anyway?”

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

“Meaning you’ve been at the hospital since I got here?”

“What’s two days without sleep?”

“A mistake?”

He chuckled and leaned back. “For your information, I thought about going home for longer than it took to take a shower and grab some clothes, but it’s pretty empty there and I don’t know where anything is.”

“I guess you need me around after all,” she murmured, smiling a bit before yawning.

“I guess so.”

-

for th_esaurus.
Prompt: how sure, how right / can anyone be on sight? / i said i had hope. i lied. - Something dark or angsty and Tony-ish

Note: Features Bruce Banner. But it does not take place in the same fic-verse as Forfeiture. I wrote a darker fic that was more like Forfeiture, but I’m not sure I want to post it so I’m posting this one instead. Twist my arm and I'll probably add the other one.

Bruce never really went away completely. He left from time to time without any real warning and Tony felt some of the tension drain away until the next visit. It never took long. Something always went wrong and Bruce always came back. Sometimes it would take months. Sometimes it would take Bruce actually Hulk-ing out properly to drive him back to Malibu. Sometimes Tony thought it was just that Bruce was lonely.

Every time, Tony would hesitate before opening the door and he would calculate the property damage he would properly suffer if he didn’t. He considered the population of Malibu and approximated the number of people living in the towns nearby. He considered his projects waiting in the basement and the fact that Bruce had nowhere to go. That there was no one who ever wanted to see Bruce outside of that Ross woman. A woman that Bruce seemed determined never to find again.

He always opened the door. Somewhere along the way, Bruce Banner had become his problem. Hardly a desired outcome, but perhaps it was an inevitable and obvious one.

Once he allowed the gamma monster inside, Tony would ignore him for hours. Bruce tended to pick up on not being wanted and when he got back, Bruce always seemed too tired and drained to care. He would putter around in the kitchen or the rooms upstairs and Tony would retreat to the basement. He’d fall asleep on the couch and wake up to find Bruce curled up on the other end of it like an unloved dog. Some nights, the other man’s head would be resting on Tony’s thigh. Some nights, he didn’t think he had it in him to shove the other man off and some nights he did.

Sometimes if he thought the other man was asleep and unlikely to notice, he would ran a few fingers through his hair and see what he could glean from the files on Bruce’s beat-up laptop.

He could have reported all of this to S.H.I.E.L.D., but the last thing they needed was a good reason to keep Bruce in a glass box of a room somewhere. Maybe that would have been the right thing to do, but all it would have taken was another career choice or a PHD to put Tony in a similar position.

All it would have taken was a little less money and a little less of an interest in circuit boards to make him a monster instead of the guy with a dysfunctional heart.

At the end of the day and at the end of every period of meditative hesitation, Tony opened the door because he knew what it was like to fuck up as badly as Bruce.

“This isn’t a halfway house, you know,” he muttered on the umpteenth visit. He wanted to be angry about having to send the twins he’d been hoping to score with home. He wanted to be anything but unsurprised and numbly tolerant. “It’s not even a safehouse.”

Bruce was doing his best to look as harmless as possible. Most of the time he was. “That doesn’t prevent me from being homeless.”

“I heard about what happened in Kemi.” What the hell sort of grudge can you possibly have against snow castles in Lapland? was a question he decided not to ask.

“I thought the cold might help,” Bruce mumbled, tugging the tip of his baseball cap further down as Tony sighed.

“Nothing helps you, does it?”

“Not really.”

It took a few days, but Tony wasn’t even surprised when Bruce found a reason to turn into the Hulk. The damage to his house was minimal and more than anything he wished they’d assemble a team of Avengers already so that other people would have to claim responsibility for the other man.

Instead, he hurried down to the basement, put on his suit and flew to where the monster was growling and destroying various cars. A few repulsor blasts and the monster followed him down to the beach, angrily grabbing at the air around Tony, but missing him every time.

Until they were finally closer to the water and then Jarvis miscalculated. Or Tony miscalculated. Either way, he got snatched out of the air and held upside by one boot until he took off his helmet.

The green dumb thing sat down, eying him thoughtfully before eventually tossing him down in the sand. It was a light toss. It didn’t hurt. Attempting to go back to hovering, resulted in being picked up like a toy and clutched at. Tony warily allowed it.

The sun came up before the monster’s grip finally slackened. Tony wandered down to the shore to throw pebbles, not really wanting to watch Bruce change back.

He was watching one skip across the surface of the water as Bruce joined him.

“Did…”

“You didn’t kill anyone.”

“No,” Bruce murmured. As if he could have known or remembered. “I didn’t you hurt you, did I?”

“Nope. Looks like your monster’s got a thing for me too.”

Bruce snorted and looked out at the water. “I think about… I think I should give up. That there isn’t a cure. I think about turning myself in.”

Tony shrugged, attempting to look bored instead of concerned. “If you want.”

“I’d never see you.”

“You don’t know that.” Even if it was probably true.

“I know you wouldn’t mind much. It’s okay. I know you don’t like me.”

“You don’t know that either.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t. You don’t want me around. Not that I blame you, but…”

In all honestly, Tony didn’t even know how he felt about Bruce. There wasn’t much fun to be had in making someone else feel even worse about themselves than they already did. Living up to people’s low expectations was a drag too. Tony hated that just about as much as he did being obligated to keep an eye on someone.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure that all I want right now is breakfast,” Tony decided, putting his helmet back on. He headed up the beach, not having to look back to know Bruce would follow him.

-

Forfeiture

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 00:25:14 GMT

Title: Forfeiture
Fandom: Iron Man movie/Incredible Hulk movie AU
Characters: Bruce/Tony, Pepper
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit.

Summary: Tony Stark has known Bruce Banner most of his life, but that doesn’t mean he has ever wanted to. Begins when both of them are fourteen and continues on into their adult lives.
Warning: This is very much a Marvel movie What-if. This is not a happy story.
Rating: R – Depressing themes and dub con
Word Count: 4,923 words

Author's Note: Quite a few liberties have been taken with Bruce Banner’s character. This isn’t necessarily how either Tony or Bruce’s parents are in canon. I went off of what I’ve noticed in the comics and what worked for the purposes of furthering this story. I have nothing against Betty Ross, but she’s been sort of overlooked in this.

Thank you, th_esaurus for beta-ing it the first time ‘round, and hedonisticated for being willing to read it.

-

Bruce Banner at age fourteen was not a lot of fun to be around. He wouldn’t start conversations. He wouldn’t contribute much to them. He would always look to other people for direction, and he seemed to constantly be waiting for Tony to say something neat for him to dwell on. It made Tony furious they older they got. He started to wish the Banners would not come over because he spent half of the time grinding his teeth together and trying not to smack Bruce upside the head.

Back in those days, Tony didn’t know where the anger came from. When they were younger and seeing Bruce was a more frequent thing, it hadn’t been so bad. They would play games and do whatever Tony wanted because Bruce just didn’t seem to come up with ideas of his own. He would follow along like a lost baby duck imprinting on some other woodland creature, copying motions and repeating catchphrases. Maybe less like a lost baby duck and more like a space creature. Some being that had just come down to Earth and was really smart, but playing a game of catch-up all the time. Some creature always looking for a way to express itself, but never being sure enough of what it was to do anything with more than half of the expressions it picked up.

Anyone could tell Bruce was bright because there was a lot of physical proof to back up that statement. Thank goodness for that, because otherwise no one would have known. Obviously the kid was born thinking. His room was full of projects and experiments. He spoke in formulas and code that Tony could decipher but most other people couldn’t and frankly Tony was sure most people wouldn’t bother. Why would they? Bruce was shy and awkward and feeble. He had brilliant ideas, but how the hell was he going to defend them or stop some other charismatic person from snatching them? Having a healthy ego, Tony didn’t see the point in stealing someone else’s ideas, but he was positive others could and would do it. It would be so easy. Bruce wouldn’t even know what hit him.

There was also another reason Tony felt an irritating bit of pity every time he was about Bruce, and it wasn’t anything the other teen could prevent or do anything about. The fact was simply this: Bruce’s parents sucked.

This wasn’t to say Maria and Howard Stark didn’t have a ton of their own. Howard was often blinded by his own cleverness and didn’t want to be overshadowed by his son. Tony knew that. At age twelve he knew that. Every photo shoot he was ever allowed on was about father-and-son bonding. The wise benevolent older Stark passing down wisdom and knowledge to his boy. No one really talked to his mother about anything and Tony was glad because that meant they could do normal things. She would take him to the zoo during the day and stay up til odd hours at night helping him adjust his robots. Something Howard Stark couldn’t be bothered to do most of the time.

Stark Industries wasn’t going to run itself and obviously Howard Stark preferred hanging out with Obadiah Stane. Golf was more enjoyable than watching your six year-old put together an engine. Something Howard probably hadn’t managed until he was a teenager. But that wasn’t resentment, or at least not pure resentment. Sure, it hurt a lot when his father barely glanced at his designs or Obie ruffled his hair and told him to go play with his toys so they could get back to business. But one day the company would be his. And then the only thing Stane would be doing was all the work Tony didn’t want to do.

The Banners were not successful. They were scientists doing government research and getting nowhere because the government kept taking their work and slapping patents on it or locking it up somewhere or handing it off to other people in different agencies. No one knew who they were outside of their colleagues. No one cared. The same thing would have been true for Bruce is his IQ wasn’t completely off the charts. His parents claimed they wanted him to still be normal. To go to regular schools and then blow everyone’s socks off once he got to college, but they were holding him back. They weren’t helping him with anything. He was their kid, but he was mostly left all alone with his formulas, figures and theories.

Well, all alone most of the time unless his folks could be bothered to find a use for him. Apparently he liked being around Tony. His parents and Bruce’s parents thought this was great. Tony remained skeptical and a little confused about the whole situation. He was nice to Bruce, sure, but not that nice. How was sitting around every other week watching Tony do stuff helping matters at all? How was that making it any easier for Bruce to blend in and find a way to interact with people less intelligent than he was?

“MIT probably wouldn’t be a good fit for you anyway,” fourteen year-old Tony pointed out. He wasn’t going to be fourteen for long though, and the acceptance letter had just arrived. He could hear his father going on and on about it in the next room. It should have excited him, but instead it made him feel sort of sick to his stomach and annoyed because Bruce seemed genuinely happy for him. Bruce had been happy to see him too as always, and Tony couldn’t help resenting that simple act of being happy for no readily apparent reason. What the hell did Bruce Banner have to be happy about?

“I don’t mind,” Bruce said, looking down at the carpet. He was still clutching at one of the spanners, but not even looking at the robot. As usual, he tended to focus his attention Tony. “I can wait.”

It was sort of a pile of junk on wheels at the moment, but Tony was thinking of calling his first fully functional robot Dummy. Or calling Bruce one. Decisions, decisions. “You should mind. You’re smarter than I am.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe. Anyway, what are you going to wait for? You want to end up at some state school with people cheating off your tests and copying your answers?”

“It might be better. I mean, it’s more n—”

“Nothing about you is normal,” Tony blurted out before feeling bad about it because Bruce cringed. “Oh, knock it off. You’re not normal and it’s a good thing. You don’t want to be normal. No one wants to be normal.” You wouldn’t know how to be normal either, he thought to himself, but wisely chose not say.

“Mutants do.”

“Well, then they’re stupid too. If I had the power to fly around and save people, I’d do it. I wouldn’t complain and bitch and moan. I’d go do it and then enjoy the fame it would bring me.”

“You don’t have powers,” Bruce shrewdly pointed out.

“Most of the time I don’t complain about that either. Hand me the screwdriver again.”

The comment earned him a ghost of a smile and the request earned him the screwdriver.

“You should get into a school and get away from them as soon as you can,” Tony muttered. “Seriously, Bruce.”

“Is that why you’re going?”

No, of course not. “Some of it,” he lied easily. Sometimes Tony couldn’t help cushioning the truth. “My father’s a one man show and Obie’s already got the sidekick position filled.”

Bruce made a face. He didn’t like Stane, and Tony noticed he made no effort to pretend he didn’t. Maybe it was the hair ruffling or the condescension. Bruce was a painfully honest person too. Another shortcoming. He was never going to make a name for himself or be able to run a business until he learned to lie properly, but then Tony doubted Bruce would have wanted that.

“So what’s your dad’s big news?” The Starks saw the Banners pretty irregularly, but it was a constant irregularity. The Banners never had anything much to say, but David had made it pretty clear that this time was different.

“We’re moving. My dad finally got that grant.”

“Where to?”

“South. Texas, I think.”

Christ. “That’s cool, I guess.”

“My mom’s going to teach. I think it’s what they want.”

Bruce didn’t seem to want anything though. Tony couldn’t understand that. Everyone wanted something and Bruce just seemed to want to be a lump. No one was going to be able to make him want things. You couldn’t make decisions for other people. You couldn’t bitch-slap them with a hearty dose of reality when they were smart enough to know it already.

“Sounds good,” Tony muttered, picking up some needle-nose pliers and adjusting more of the wiring. He found it hard to think of anything to say after that.

He just thought about the future where Bruce would grow up and maybe, just maybe, he would be normal then. He would find himself a girl and teach at some university and keep all the intelligence bottled up inside of himself. And maybe he would never resent his parents or the world for not understanding him. And maybe they’d all develop wings and mutant powers and save the world together. Yeah, right.

Something about Bruce was always going to be off. Maybe Bruce thought he’d end up happy with a house with a white picket fence and his best girl and their two and a half kids, but it wasn’t going to happen like that. The world wouldn’t be such a great place for Bruce no matter where he went. He was more likely to get a PHD in nuclear physics and blow it all up than anything else.

“I guess I won’t see much of you,” Tony added after bit, secretly thinking this was a good thing.

“Probably not.”

He wanted to say he was sorry even if he wasn’t. He wanted to say that maybe someday it’ll be different and being around Bruce won’t be such a required burden he endured so his parents could have a meal with people their own age.

Instead, he said, “You can, uh, write me if you want though. I mean, I’ll be at school anyway and I never had a pen pal.”

Tony didn’t know why he said it. He instantly wished he hadn’t. The way Bruce looked at him was a little hard to bear. He’d never seen the other kid look so hopeful and relieved before. He was probably reading too much into it. Probably thinking somewhere this made them good friends or solidified some bond between them. Tony didn’t think it had and he knew that the writing thing would be a disaster. Similarly he knew somehow that it probably wasn’t a smart decision, but he let Bruce hug him before the Banners left.

*

Months later, Tony even remembered to send Bruce his address. He just couldn’t stop himself from doing it.

At school in Cambridge, the letters kept coming. He would reply irregularly, but Bruce was the most punctual pen pal in existence. Banner wrote about… everything, really. It was hard to compare the intelligent teen on paper to the kid that rarely spoke up about anything. Sometimes the letters were only about how much he missed Tony and seeing him. Sometimes it was only about something new he’d discovered or someone else had found and how much he wished Tony was around to witness whatever it was firsthand. Bruce seemed to be interested in everything and nothing all at once when it came to the sciences, but every letter seemed to indicate one thing: that he was very interested in Tony and moreover Tony’s opinion.

Tony wasn’t sure how to take that or what to do with that information. It was one thing for a college professor, a fellow student or a journalist or his father to want to know what was on his mind, but he wasn’t sure what opinion he was supposed to have or why it mattered when it came to Bruce. He tried not to say much in his letters, but regardless of what he did end up committing to paper, the other boy seemed thrilled.

The letters kept coming and coming on a frequent basis. Every Monday and Wednesday he’d get one. Sometimes Friday too. Hank Pym teased him about it mercilessly, but Tony would just tell him to shut the hell up and bring back a lot of girls to the apartment they were renting. Having loud sex and banging on the paper-thin walls separating their rooms. But the letters kept coming. He eventually wrote telling Bruce he was graduating in a couple of months and moving back to California. That he was busy and he wasn’t sure he’d have time for responding. Bruce didn’t seem to mind.

After school, the plethora of weekly letters either stopped or kept going to his old address. He never asked to have them forwarded. It took awhile, but slowly but surely letters found him. Or postcards. Or just cards. Every once in awhile Pepper would bring one to his attention.

“How weird is that? Who sends letters anymore?” Tony would ask her instead of answering her questions. He’d pretend that he’d read it and when she left the room, he’d shove it in a drawer along with the others. When the pile got unwieldy, he would take took them home and recycled them there.

Then they stopped. He didn’t notice right away, but a few months after there were no more cards to chuck, he looked in the lower drawer of his desk feeling a little shocked to discover there was nothing there but a few fountain pens and post-it notes. Maybe it was that Betty girl Bruce mentioned sometimes, and God, Tony really hoped so. He wanted to believe that somehow this obsession had found a new target. Selfishly, Tony didn’t care who it was as long as it wasn’t himself.

This comforting self-delusion remained in tact for only a day or so. Pepper being the overqualified, overly industrious assistant that she was clipped out the articles and set them ones of his desks in his workroom after it happened. The Hulk incident or whatever it was being called when it first happened.

At least it wasn’t the world, Tony unkindly thought, telling Dummy to clear everything off his desk. And then he went out to see about getting naked with some Maxim models.

He knew Pepper thought he was a bastard. He knew she assumed that some weekend, some year, some month, or some decade, he’d slept with this poor Bruce Banner guy. That he’d seduced him and strung him along with all kinds of empty promises. That the long letters –some of which he was positive Potts sometimes opened and sealed shut again-- were a result of Tony Stark being a liar as well as a genius. So much of what she was thinking or what she knew about the situation was so close to the truth that Tony wasn’t sure he would have been able to explain that there had never been any sex. He just had been a bad friend. But the worst thing he’d ever done was he had pretended that eventually he’d prove to be a good one.

Bruce was missing or dead somewhere, infected by gamma radiation and hubris. And Tony didn’t want to get involved. For years, he avoided getting involved until a little hubris of his own made that impossible. A superhero working for S.H.I.E.L.D. got handed a lot of responsibilities. Recruiting Banner seemed to be one of them.

Finding him wasn’t going to be easy, and it shouldn’t have been, but one particularly rainy night in June, Bruce showed up on his doorstep.

Tony couldn’t decide why, but he didn’t want to call for reinforcements. And he had Jarvis power down right before he opened the door.

There he was, the not-so-green-at-the-moment monster that Tony had been trying to find for weeks. Dripping, practically naked, and staring at him intensely like a wounded animal. When he got tired of that, Tony chucked a towel at him and smirked. “Never would have pegged you for a fan of sweatpants.”

“Can I come in? I know you… I know you work for them, but it’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure, come on in. You want some clothes?”

“That would be good,” Bruce admitted, before grabbing Tony’s arm and his grip was vice-like, desperate. Tony wanted to shake it off real bad. “But I need you to help me.”

“You need money?”

“No, I need you to help me with this. I can’t control it. I’ll join your team if you help me.”

Which would make everyone happy except Tony. He couldn’t decide what would be worse. Letting Bruce slip away again or getting saddled with him until Tony devised even a temporary solution. “Bruce—”

“I know what happened to you, and I’m not mad about the letters.” He chuckled quietly. Sadly. “I can’t be mad about anything, but you have to do this. I can’t and there’s no one else smart enough.”

“Reed—”

“I’m not talking to Richards about this,” Bruce snapped before turning away to breath in and out deeply. He still hadn’t let got of Tony’s arm. “It has to be you.”

“Will you let me say something?”

“I don’t have time. You have to do it.”

“Let go,” Tony demanded before hastily adding “All right.” Because what else could he do? Bruce was some kind of crazed force no one was meant to reckon with. If Tony made him angry, no one was going to like it least of all Tony. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

*

The first few attempts with the collar had been failures. Tony had the back injuries and dislocated shoulder to prove it. Maybe Bruce wasn’t angry about the lack of communication over the years, but Hulk sure was.

Tony tried to get Bruce to stay in a hotel while they sorted things out, but Bruce seemed determined to stay. Trying to talk about it just made Bruce’s eyes go green. Pepper, who still didn’t understand the situation, was taking Bruce’s side.

“Besides, do you really think he should be around a lot of other people given his… current condition?”

What he wanted to say was this wasn’t his problem. Unlike the weapons. Unlike what Stark Industries had done over the years. Unlike everything else going on, Bruce Banner was not his problem.

What he said to Pepper was, “You don’t understand. I haven’t seen this guy in years.”

“He wrote to you,” she replied, lips set in a firm line. “You never wrote back and somehow he still trusts you enough to come here.”

“He’s not well and he’s friendless,” Tony pointed out, which only made him seem like a bigger asshole than before.

She didn’t have to say anything after that. He knew what she wanted him to do. The result was he was stuck with Bruce and stuck keeping mum about his opinions so he didn’t lose Pepper too.

“All right, let’s try this again,” he muttered to no one in particular, after setting up the camera for Butterfingers. Months of adjustments. Months of grinning and bearing it. Months of having to care about what happened to Bruce, and looking at the stupid device, you couldn’t even tell.

When Bruce didn’t take it from him, he was forced to put it around the man’s neck instead. Bruce just nodded somewhat grimly.

“Okay, so… get angry, I guess.”

“You should really go somewhere else.”

“The thing is it’s my house. If anyone should go somewhere else, it’s you. I’m serious. It’s getting on my nerves and you never take a hint.”

Normally that was all it took. That day though… That day all it did was make Bruce’s eyes go green and before Tony could tell the robot to zoom in on the test subject, he was pinned up against a wall with Bruce’s tongue down his throat.

*

The gamma radiation still was affecting Bruce. That much was obvious even if it was slighter than before. His strength had increased. His speed. It was hard to tell how articulate he would be. Around the third, mind-boggingly unexpected kiss, Tony started shoving at Bruce’s shoulders, not caring if he got mad or not.

“It works,” was what Bruce ended up growling out.

“Yeah, I can see that…” Tony looked down and Bruce’s hands were pretty much all over him. Cupping him through his trousers, groping and growling until Tony was half-hard in spite of himself. Then Bruce began working on unbuttoning his shirt.

If this had been any other time or place with virtually anyone else, Tony might have even appreciated the attention. “Okay, stop recording,” he snapped at the robots before tugging on Bruce’s hair. “Knock it off. What do you think you’re you doing?”

“Five years. What do you think? I’m doing you.”

“I think the Hulk’s still, you know, determining what you do.” Which was actually the most disturbing thought Tony could have allowed himself to come up with.

“I’m making the decisions. He’s just—”

“Helping?”

“There. It’s all still there. But I couldn’t do this until it was contained.”

Couldn’t do this? What planet did Bruce’s brain live on? Tony tried shoving him away again. “No, listen, okay? Listen to me, Bruce. You still have to get off me.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Tony protested, sighing a bit when his shirt came off, pleased to see that Bruce wasn’t going to rip it. The other man wasn’t wearing much outside of a pair of blue pajama bottoms, because they’d both been expecting him to Hulk out again. Or, okay, at least Tony had.

“What are you worried about?” Bruce asked, looking sympathetic as if he just thought Tony was nervous for any other reason besides the whole situation being pretty crazy and weird. “You like sex, don’t you?”

“Uh, well…”

“You have it all the time, so why not now? You can have it with me, can’t you?”

Full sentences and questions. All right, Bruce was in control of the thing, but the collar wasn’t a permanent solution. They’d already talked about that. It would work for isolated incidences, but it couldn’t be worn at all times.

Bruce’s lips covered his again and then tongue slid back into his mouth. Tony tried moving away, but all Bruce did was push him further back against the wall, grabbing his wrists.

“I don’t… Bruce, I don’t think you understand.” No one seemed to understand and Tony was beginning to wonder why he was the only one that did. To Pepper’s credit, she only lacked a clue because Tony wouldn’t and couldn’t explain things to her. And if Tony was honest with himself, Bruce didn’t know what was going on for pretty much the exact same damn reason. “This isn’t okay with me. It’s not what I want.”

Bruce regarded him steadily enough, but didn’t let go of him. If anything, he held on tighter and his eyes looked greener. He didn’t seem angry exactly so much as determined. “Why?”

“Look, I don’t… I don’t really have any feelings for you. I mean, you have to know that, right?”

“I don’t think you know what to do with feelings.”

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not what’s going on with me in regards to you, Bruce. I don’t have any feelings for you. At least, not romantically.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes were pretty much on fire they were so acid green, but he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss Tony’s neck. And then he kept kissing him and Tony found himself trying not to panic. “We can still do this. I want this anyway.”

Tony took a deep breath too, trying to think about what to do, but the kissing kept happening and Bruce’s hands were fingering every part of his chest. And he wasn’t getting laid as often as he had been before the arc reactor or before Bruce started staying at his place. So fine. Fine. They could have the one experiment.

“I can give you just sex. I can understand that five years…” Hell, he’d barely lasted three months without anything but his left hand for company. “We ought to test this out anyway, but not—”

Goddammit, Bruce. Nothing is going to come of this.

But Bruce was just not letting him talk at all. He wanted to set some ground rules, some rules about kissing, but he couldn’t get a word out after that. Seconds later, he found himself before shoved roughly to his knees and then he was sucking Bruce off. His wrists ached a bit when Bruce went back to holding them.

Everything lasted too long and while he appreciated Bruce giving as good as he got in terms of the blowjob, Tony was worn out long before the other man was. The sex itself was fine, but it was Bruce’s hands that were driving him nuts. Coaxing his dick back to life and then clinging to him some more over and over. Or clamping down over his mouth as Bruce took him from behind.

When it was finally over and he felt vaguely sated if still a little on edge from the whole experience, he couldn’t pry Bruce off of him. They lay there, Tony feeling spent and Bruce nibbling on his neck and ears in ways Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever enjoy again.

“Okay, enough,” he murmured, but all Bruce did was chuckle because he really just didn’t get it, did he?

“You don’t like to shut up,” Bruce calmly observed, sticky hands wandering back over Tony’s thighs. “But I can tell you liked this.”

“I like sex,” Tony replied. “It’s nothing personal.” But already he could tell Bruce thought it was.

*

In spite of working with Bruce in close corners and the other man continually trying to get Tony to tell him what was wrong, Tony kept quiet most of the day. He managed to avoid being caressed and kissed more than once, but he wasn’t sure that had done much good.

He tried to put the whole mess out of his mind when they sat down to eat dinner, but it didn’t work. Pepper was there and thrilled that the project had been a success. Bruce kept eying him intently, wearing the collar like some kind of demented S&M slave. For someone so fucking bright, he was so incredibly dense. There he was hoping the same old hope that something would happen to bond them together, to make Tony his something. Friend, lover, pet… Tony had no idea. Tony just wanted to crawl under the table and eat his steak down there.

“Well, that’s great. Now you can hide a little less,” Pepper was saying to Bruce when Tony started tuning back into the conversation.

“It’ll help at least. It’s a start, but it’s not a bad one,” Bruce admitted, offering her a little smile.

“Yeah, and you can probably find somewhere to live,” Tony pointed out. They both turned to look at him. Bruce mostly stared while Pepper gave him a warning look. “What?”

“He can’t do that yet,” Pepper pointed out. “This is just a start.”

“A good start,” Tony corrected.

“It’s not completely right though,” Bruce chimed in. “My eyes still change. And I sort of like being here.”

“Well…” Whatever. He was a superhero, but that didn’t mean he had to be nice to people just because Pepper was sitting there with them. “You can’t stay here forever. It’s my house. You should have your own place.”

“I don’t mind staying here.”

“What if I mind? What if I wished you would just take your stuff and that stupid collar and get the hell away from me?”

There was a hint of extreme displeasure in his eyes and then it was gone. Pepper missed it. Right after that, Bruce’s eyes shuttered a bit and he looked down.

“Tony—”

“Pepper, this isn’t any of your business.” The instant he said it, Tony knew it had been another mistake because since when was his life not Pepper’s business?

He couldn’t think of even a clumsy way to apologize. She’d forgive him later, sure, but at that moment she had nothing else to say to him, and so she was the one who left. Not Bruce. Bruce who kept his head down like a kid trying to stay out of his parents’ way, but Tony suspected there was more to it than that. Sadly, there seemed to be a lot more to Banner than he wanted to deal with.

Once she was gone, Bruce did look up. His eyes were a violent green and Tony knew what was going to happen because he’d made it possible for Bruce to do things with him instead of destroying cities, cars, homes airplanes and other people’s lives. Maybe that was the price people were expected to pay for trying and failing to be someone else’s hero, but it wasn’t a price Tony was all that willing to pay. He just wished he could think of a way out of it.

What Happens in Vegas...

Wed, 09 Jul 2008 17:46:11 GMT

Title: What Happens in Vegas...
Written by: cruelest_month

Fandom: Iron Man movie/general Marvel-verse
Characters: Logan/Tony, Pepper, Captain America, Scott Summers. Includes mentions of Rhodes and various Avengers.
Summary: Tony accidentally gets married to Logan in Vegas. After learning all the reasons he can't divorce him from Pepper, Tony has to learn to deal with wedding presents, well-wishes for the Avengers and X-men, and sentimental sound effects.

Word Count: 6,114 words
Disclaimer: This is for fun not profit.
Rating: PG-13 - Swearing, hints at sex, and that's about it.
Author's Note: Similar to Working with a Wolverine, Tony's very movie-verse and Logan's more of a mash-up of the comics and the movies.

So how did this happen? Well, I was sad about my lack of ficlet requests, so th_esaurus came up with more suggestions including this one. It's obviously a lot longer than ficlet, but what can I say? I really just enjoyed the idea.

-

Tony wanted to drown his troubles in another bottle of something expensive, but it was a combination of expensive bottles of alcohol that had landed him in his current mess in the first place. He slapped Logan’s hands off of him and curled up on the other side of the jet, shoving his sunglasses on and lowering all the blinds with the push of one button. Married in Vegas. Married officially in Vegas with no prenup and a ton of celebrity witnesses. Worse than that, they’d stayed in the Executive Suite at the Wynn. Everybody who was anybody knew what had happened and knew all the juicy details. Everyone except Tony.

To be fair, the whole day wasn’t a blank. He remembered going to Vegas to do some business and then some gambling. Tony could remember bits and pieces of the early part of his day. Not what he ate or drank, but his actions. He remembered coming up with some great idea somewhere in the middle of his umpteenth glass of Stoli, and after that everything was sort a blur.

How the hell had Pepper let this happen to him? She must have been the one to get him that California marriage license. She had just stood there witnessing him behave like an absolute idiot and done nothing about it. Not exactly new but she could have spoken up. She could have come up with some sort of response during the part of the ceremony where the priest said “If you know of any reason why those two guys should not get married speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Why had she held her peace? She definitely wasn’t holding it on the plane. All Pepper seemed to be doing was holding a grudge. She was angry with him, and she was sitting up front with the stewardesses thumbing through the tabloids. Doubtlessly, she was also probably starting to do some damage control because her brain, at least, didn’t seem to have an off-switch.

Logan chuckled faintly and moved to sit down next to him. “If I’d known you were gonna be like this the very next day, I would have turned you down flat.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, maybe not, but what I’m saying is you seemed happy about it before.”

“What I don’t get is how you failed to pick on the fact that I seemed drunk out of my mind.”

“You don’t even know how you seemed because you don’t remember.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something about who had the memory problems, but for one thing it was mean and for another, he was not going to start squabbling with Logan like… like a married couple.

He banged his head against the window pane next to him, sighing heavily when the mutant tugged him back over to him, kissing his neck.

“I think you need to just calm down and try to see the bright side.”

Tony made a face, but stayed put. “Which is?”

“I’m willing to stay with you in spite of all your issues. The way I see it, you wouldn’t be able to get away with it with any of the others. Cap would want to have an intervention, but I’m willing to tolerate your alcohol problem.”

He blinked, glancing over his shoulder and looking unimpressed by Logan’s logic. “That’s the bright side?”

“I think you’re just nervous. It’s a little late for cold feet though, baby, seeing as we’re already hitched.”

“I think you’re finding this way more amusing than I am. Baby.”

Logan just laughed and nuzzled his neck. Tony was pretty sure that was just to piss him off and make him uncomfortable as the stewardess headed back to see if they needed anything. What Tony needed was a leash. “This is our honeymoon, Stark. I’m supposed to be having a good time. You and Freckles are the ones acting like someone just killed your best friend.”

“I wish they’d killed me too.”

“I think you just need to drink less.”

“When I want your advice I’ll as—mmph.”

Making out for the remaining duration of the flight was all right and distracting, but the matching rings and the whole being married thing sorta ruined it.

-

After a few conference calls and business meetings, Tony finally was able to focus on his biggest problem in the privacy of his own office. “Get me out of this, Pepper. Get rid of him. I’m serious.”

She looked up from the pile of papers and gave him a look. “I can’t believe you’re even considering doing this.”

Tony took a sip from his coffee and grimaced. It was cold already, but he’d been distracted by all the work he had to do and all the cards he was being forced to personalize. “I’m not considering anything. I said I was serious. I don’t want to be married anymore. Make it happen.”

Pepper sighed carefully, leaning back and glancing back down at all the work she still had to contend with. “We talked about it. At least, I thought we did. I already explained to you about the money more than once.”

“That’s not a big deal though,” he argued. “Just give him money. Throw as much money at Logan as you have to. I don’t care. I have tons of it.”

“Well, maybe I should explain to you about the rest then.”

“The rest?”

“Well, I thought it was obvious.”

“What’s obvious?”

“You married a male mutant, Tony.”

“Gee, you think that could be why we’re having this conversation?”

Pepper tossed her clipboard onto the table. It made loud thud, but she didn’t seem to notice, focusing solely on him. “Just stop it. You know how this works and you know it’s a PR nightmare. People saw it. People are watching it right now on youtube. People are chatting about it all over the internet. There’s even magazine articles about your wedding cake in The Knot, and now you want to divorce him? Gay marriage just got legalized in this state, Tony.”

“So what?”

“So try connecting a few dots every once in awhile,” she snapped.

He rubbed his temples and slumped a little, eying his lukewarm coffee before moving the mug to one side as he remembered why the blue matte looked so familiar. It was from the new set of plates or cups or whatever the hell Peter and MJ had gotten him. “Just. Connect them for me. Please.”

“I’m saying this because you need to know this, Mr. Stark. You divorce him, and it makes you look like such an asshole that I’m not sure I can fix things this time. I’m not sure I can fix it now so don’t dig yourself into an even deeper hole now.”

He’d never really heard Pepper swear before, but she seemed too angry to care what he thought about it. He wasn’t actually sure he had time to think about it. “Can’t or won’t, Ms. Potts?”

“Both.”

“You’re supp—”

“Maybe you don’t care about how you end up looking, but what about the fact that it makes you look like you not only hate gay people but mutants too? That you somehow think it’s pretty funny that with enough money you can do whatever sort of elaborate joke you want and hurt whoever you want just to get a few laughs from your non-mutant heterosexual friends the next time you go out to play a round of golf with them. Not that you’d have any left after this.”

He didn’t bother pointing out just how few friends he had to begin with, because she was right. It would look pretty awful to divorce someone at the same time your secretary was forcing you to fill out ‘thank you’ cards for the ridiculous amount of wedding gifts he’d received. “That’s not how it will look.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Even if somehow you’re right? What about the fact that you make James look like an idiot? To me that seems like a dangerous move although obviously not such a bad thing in terms of Stark Industries so much as your health and physical well-being.”

“Question,” Tony asked, raising his hand, which only earned him another glare. “James? Who is that and why do I care?”

“James Howlett. Hello? You married him?”

“Oh. Logan. Do you actually call him James?”

“Only when I’m mad at him.”

So basically Pepper only called Logan James. That was sort of hilarious. He smiled a bit, but Pepper didn’t so he sighed instead and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, well, it’s too bad that he’ll look an idiot.”

“It’s not exactly a stretch in some respects,” she dryly admitted, “but it is the worst thing in the world to do to someone else. The absolute worst.”

He thought he should have been surprised that they’d finally found the worst thing he planned on doing, but he wasn’t. Tony did wish he cared a bit more though because he knew it wasn’t right. You didn’t just marry someone and ditch them the next day. Unless you were Britney Spears, and being lumped into the same category as her was sort of a great reason to keep Logan around.

That wasn’t what worried him though. The glare he was getting from the other end of the table was what worried him. It was a determined, forceful look and once Pepper made up her mind about something, he was usually screwed. “What?”

“So you end up looking like a jackass while he looks like a moron. But it doesn’t end there because if you do that? Having less money will be the least of your problems. I’ll quit working for you and good luck running the company on your own.”

She was right. Tony wouldn’t have less money if that happened, he’d wind up with no money at all. “What if I call your bluff?”

Pepper eyed him shrewdly before leaning forward and smiling grimly. “That’s the difference between you and me. I never ever bluff. Go ahead, Tony. Call me on it.”

Well, shit.

-

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” was the first thing Rhodes said. Steve said the same thing later on, and Tony actually felt bad until he remembered that there hadn’t really been much to even tell.

“You didn’t have to pretend to like all those women,” Rhodey had added, patting him on the shoulder and giving him the keys to some amazing one-of-a-kind something. Tony had been too distracted to pay much attention. “I am here for you, man, and that don’t ask, don’t tell thing doesn’t apply to you, okay? I hope he treats you right.”

Once they got to Stark Tower, Tony warned Logan than carrying him across the threshold would only result in him gnawing Logan’s hand off. To his credit, Logan let him walk inside himself, but the hand on his waist and being told he was really cute when he was feisty made Tony want to punch Wolverine in the face.

The only person who gave him a somewhat sympathetic look once they got inside was Carol, but then she drank as much as he did so maybe she knew. Carol also seemed to have a weird sixth sense about things like that. Tony tried not to look at her for too long after offering up a face and a shrug that amounted to him asking: “What can you do?”

“I’m perfectly fine with your alternative lifestyle,” Steve had quietly insisted, clasping Tony’s shoulder and giving him a warm hug. One of those rib-bruising hugs he was really fond of dishing out pretty much exclusively to Tony that was more like being mauled by a bear than anything else. Tony would have appreciated it more if it didn’t hurt so damn much, but he wasn’t sure he was meant to appreciate it. Maybe it was sort like a warning hug. A “Stop being an idiot for Pete’s sake and tell people things” hug.

In a louder tone of voice, Captain America added: “Even though it would have been nice to have been told ahead of time, Tony…”

There was a pause so people could laugh and Steve could fail to add ‘and Logan.’ As if Logan, being such a sensitive and caring soul full of an earnest desire to please and spread mirth throughout the ranks of the Avengers, would have sent out engraved invitations and singing telegrams to everyone announcing the wedding months in advance. Whatever.

“I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

Which is when all the clapping had started and Tony glanced around at all the other Avengers, silently taking names and willing himself not to glare or throw up. How Steve could spout such bullshit with a straight face, he’d never know.

“I want to die,” he all but whined as Logan tugged him away from the head of the table. “Just kill me. I mean it. Pull out your claws and slice me up.” No one else could hear over the applause and loud congratulatory remarks.

“Think some happy thoughts, darlin’. Think about all the nice things you got for marrying me. All those nice things for the kitchen.” Tony scowled. “What about the car?”

“I do like the car, but you tell me to lighten up or calm down one more time and I’ll—” Logan kissed him. In front of everyone. All of whom seemed to think it was hilarious or sweet or some combination of the two. Someone even ‘aw’ed. In fact, someone ‘aw’ed really loudly. As if it wasn’t sad and shameful enough that someone thought their kiss was a precious moment in the making in the first place.

Christ, Tony needed a drink. He managed a smile and looked around for somewhere to sit neat to where Logan was currently sitting. After glancing around the room three times, he realized there weren’t a lot of free seats left –everyone had decided to show up to wish them well, even Bruce— and that Logan had come up with what everyone else would view as a sickeningly sweet gesture by offering to share the seat with him. In middle of debating what to do and making a disapproving face, Tony was interrupted by Logan kissing him again.

Tony tried to think of a charming way to protest sitting in his husband’s lap and since he couldn’t, he found himself forced to sit there. His hands balled up into fists under the table and Logan brushed a few fingers over his side before just kissing his cheek. He was sort of sick of that being the other man’s solution to everything, and he was going to have to talk—No, he didn’t want to talk. Tony wanted to kick him real bad. No discussion necessary. Just a swift kick to the balls, and he’d feel a lot better about the hellish second day of being married.

“Am I allowed to tell you to be optimistic?” Wolverine asked, not even making an effort to sound anything less than pleased and content.

“No, but you can and definitely ought to shut up.”

-

The worst part was going into a fight or combat situation. Now not only was Steve checking up on him every five seconds, so was Logan. He started seeing red the whole time they were finishing up the job, taking out most of Steve’s opponents and Logan’s instead of his own. In hindsight, this was the stupidest idea he could have ever come up with, and in the end, it only made them both that much more concerned about him.

Once they were back at the Tower, he tore off his helmet and chucked it at Wolverine’s head. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled out and everyone else was pretending not to notice or finding other places to be. “Pay more attention to what’s happening to you and let me look after myself. You’re going to get yourself injured looking out for me.”

Someone ‘aw’ed again and Tony turned around, eager to chuck another piece of armor at the sentimental sap, but Logan moved away from the wall and grabbed his arm to prevent him from doing so.

“You are killing me here! This isn’t Brokeback Mountain, you idiots. I’m actually just mad at him!”

“Okay, I’ll give you more space,” Logan insisted and Tony glanced at the other man’s hands, reminded of something he’d forgot about while dealing with the Doombots.

“And another thing,” Tony continued. “Not that I care, but what’s up with you not bothering to wear your ring?”

“I took it off so I didn’t wreck it whe— ” He was interrupted by another ‘aw.’ Logan frowned and sniffed a bit, probably trying to figure out who had made it. “That is really fucking annoying.”

“Hear that?” Tony asked the few stragglers left in the room. “Stop with the cutesy sound effects. The next person who ‘aw’es at us is getting permanently injured. …God, how gay is this?”

“It’s pretty gay,” Wolverine admitted before sighing. “Are you done looking for someone to fight with yet?”

“No, but that’s a good idea,” Tony said, pulling away from him and moving over to retrieve his helmet from Steve. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll talk to Janet. Or Hank. I think it was one of them.” Then Captain America just smiled and left.

Dammit. Tony would have loved to get rid of Logan, but all that would result in is more people talking to Tony about how great it was to see him settling down and finding love with a mutant. “Let’s go spar.”

“Why? You need more training. Until then, I’m just gonna mop the deck with you same as always.”

“We’ll see.”

-

After a pointless session of sparring, they changed and as they started to leave the gym, Tony just shoved Logan up against a wall. He knew he was only doing it because Logan was letting him, but he was too angry to care. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re off to a decent start,” Logan murmured before leaning in to nibble at Tony’s ear. “You actually almost landed a few hits.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re not helping,” he pointed out before pushing him back. “Look. Do you really want to be married?”

“Not exactly. Not at first, but it’s growing on me. Besides, I don’t see any way around it now. I thought we worked most of this out once you called and flew me out to Vegas, but apparently you were drunk as a skunk.”

Tony sighed heavily, remembering to breathe and to not get too bent out of shape. Yet. “I don’t get it, Logan. You don’t seem like an idiot.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean it. Why would you listen to me? Did I make some kind of compelling argument?”

“Several. You acted like you always do. Maybe a little more manic at times, but I chalked that up to you being all caught up on thinking you were being clever.”

“I do that a lot,” Tony had to admit.

“Try all the time,” he wryly pointed out. “You made me an offer I couldn’t pass up. I was kind of curious. I wanted to see what was going to happen.”

“If your curiosity is finally satisfied, we could just end this right now if you’d divorce me."

“Pepper already pointed out the money situation and pretty much all the other repercussions, right? Even if that wasn’t a factor, I made vows. In front of a priest and about eighteen Elvises.”

“I think it’s called Elvii. Anyway, come on, Logan. Don’t go all cowboy-samurai on me. You made vows but…”

“I don’t make vows unless I plan on honoring them, Tony. Besides, I kind of like having money, a nice house and a hot secretary. Not to mention a whole fleet of cars.”

“You could have most of those things anyway.”

“The bottom line, Tony, is that I didn’t say all that stupid nonsense in front of a bunch of other people just so I could look like a fool two days later.”

“Even if I don’t remember what you said? I don’t even remember what I said, Logan.”

“There’s a video. Watch it.”

Tony pulled away and frowned. “Whatever.”

Logan pulled him back, reversing their position and sticking his face directly into Tony’s. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t appreciate looking stupid anymore than you do,” he replied, growling a little and sounding dangerous. “There’s worse things in the world than being stuck with me. I can think of at least six off the top of my head.”

Six meaning those claw things, but he was a little caught up on the whole growling thing. Tony figured he more than looked like an idiot since that didn’t trouble him as much as it turned him on. “Oh.”

Logan held him there with one hand, pulling a gold band out of the pocket of his pants before slipping it back on. “I get that this is hard for you, but you’ll adjust. It’s not so bad.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled tugging on Logan’s shirt, eying the snap buttons before getting a few of them out of his way. “Could be worse.”

He tried kissing him, but Logan just pulled back giving him this strange, patient look that Tony couldn’t quite figure out. “Are we done then? Fighting, I mean.”

“For now. I guess we could take a break.”

“Sounds good,” Logan murmured, but what he ended up doing was letting go of Tony and stalking away.

-

After a day or two of playing nice while simultaneously having a harder time getting Logan to so much as talk to him, Tony tried locking himself in the basement. It seemed like a great plan and for a few hours it actually was, until Wolverine wandered in. Apparently Pepper had given Logan the access codes.

“I’m this close to firing her,” he pointed out, rolling his chair away when the mutant moved over to him.

Dummy made a cheerful squeaking noise that Tony had never heard before and Logan set his fedora down top of what was sort of the robot’s head before wandering over to check out Tony’s bikes. Their bikes now. God, he hated this. “You gonna to fire her for doing her job?” he asked.

“Last time I checked I don’t pay her open a bank account for you or give you all kinds of financial advice when it comes to investing my money into stocks. James.”

“Just so we’re clear, she’s the only one I’m willing to let call me that. I don’t like it much. I don’t remember him.”

“Sorry,” Tony mumbled, surprised to find he meant it. “Her real name’s Virginia.”

“I’m not calling her that,” the other man muttered as if her proper name was some kind of insult. “You shouldn’t get mad at her. She liked doing that. She likes numbers. She does pretty much everything you need doing, and she’s pretty upset. Cut her some slack,” Logan insisted, continuing to circle around the room. It made Tony a little dizzy and nervous.

“Call her whatever you want, I don’t pay her to hang out with you. And if she needs help she’ll ask for it. Stop opening doors for her. It’s annoying.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to be more courteous. She runs your business. She shouldn’t have to carry your groceries inside too.”

“Can we stop talking about your new best friend now? What’s with you wearing a hat and coat inside anyway?”

Logan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You should make a list of rules or something.”

“When in doubt, assume you’re doing everything wrong.”

“I think I’ll also assume you’re drunk half the time and save myself a little trouble in the long-run.”

“Jackass.”

“Lightweight.”

Tony glared at him, but all Logan did was smirk so eventually he looked back down at the gears he’d been tinkering with before shrugging. “Are you going to explain it or not?”

The mutant snorted before crossing his arms.

“What?”

“You sure you don’t have Alzheimer’s? We’re going on a trip.”

Tony looked back up. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever I want and I don’t want to go anywhere. We talked about this.”

“I got no issues with you doing your own thing,” Wolverine murmured, spreading his hands out in a placating fashion. “You’re more than welcome to do whatever you want and you know it. But we’re supposed to get meet my people, remember?”

Tony frowned, going over to Jarvis and pulling up his schedule. “Oh. Right.” He’d agreed to go visit all the mutants at Xanadu or Chateau d’Xavier or whatever. For the whole weekend? Dammit. “Any chance of you going without me?”

“No,” Logan murmured without even looking at him. He was running his hands over the hood of one of the restored cars in the far corner of the room.

Tony wasn’t sure what to make of that. Normally he didn’t get a lot of personal space, and actually he’d gotten sort of used to it. “Why?”

The mutant rubbed the back of his neck and crouched down to inspect the tires. “First of all, I dealt with hanging out with all your loser celebrity friends for the last few days. Second of all, we’re living where you want to live so I have to get my stuff and figure out what I’m doing.”

“That’s true.” Why did he have a feeling this conversation was going to end with him feeling like shit?

“You’d have to go anyway, Tony. I hate to break it to you but this early in the game it might look a little strange to people if I start going places without you,” Logan added, pausing to shake his head before getting back to his feet. “Hell, with the way you’re carrying on, I don’t trust you not to lock me out of the house completely if I go anywhere at all.”

Oh good. It won’t end that way. I feel like shit already. “Oh come on. I won’t lock you out of the house. It’s just a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah. I guess I wouldn’t know what that was like,” Logan wryly muttered.

Right. Because there were two of them in this and while he had drunken amnesia to fall back on, Wolverine didn’t. He sighed thinking back to his last conversation with Pepper a few days ago.

Tony was going to have to make this work and it was going to be a lot easier if he didn’t make Logan completely miserable. Sure, it would get him the divorce he wanted, but he was pretty sure that being a superhero meant not being a douchebag. And with great power yadda yadda.

Since he couldn’t get the mutant to come to him, he wandered over to Logan and lightly brushed a few fingers over his sideburns. “You know, you could maybe tell me when you think I’m acting like an idiot instead of avoiding me.”

Logan considered him briefly before managing a small smirk before tugging him closer and kissing his neck. “Avoiding’s easier. That’s a lot of telling.”

“You’d probably get laryngitis,” Tony teased, making short work of Logan’s leather jacket before dealing with the collared shirt and wife-beater underneath it. “I’ll make you a set of flashcards to hold up. Green can mean continue and red can mean switch topics.”

The mutant chuckled, not stopping him and leaning back against the door of the car directly behind them. “You know we’re still going to New York, right?”

“I know. We will, honest. The thing is I’m never on time for anything so… you wanna?”

And, being Logan, of course he did.

Later on, when he was bent over the hood of a Bugatti Veyron, Tony thought that maybe there were some vague benefits to being married.

-

After a few minutes of keen observation, Tony concluded that team X-men was fairly disorganized and irritating despite being very well-funded. He wasn’t sure why Logan had bothered living with them to begin with. Nowhere else to go maybe? It seemed like a better answer than him enjoying their company.

Most of them were nice though in spite of being sort of lame. Summers, Cyclops, Slim or whatever his name was, leaned against the wall the whole time. Probably thinking he was all that in his hideous red sunglasses. How hard could having lasers be? Wasn’t it better than being deformed or blue?

But Tony doubted that was why Scott was standing there, crossing his arms and scowling a lot. Stupid bastard. He couldn’t have had any idea how responsible he was for Tony’s sudden interest in draping himself all over Logan. That and it was driving Wolverine crazy. And not in a good way either. It was the little petty things in life that made it all worthwhile.

The tour was nice even if he really worried about being surrounded by telepaths because most of his thoughts weren’t pure and even the ones that weren’t completely R-rated were probably inappropriate. He liked learning a bit more about Logan, especially the vaguely humiliating stories and it was good to know that Wolverine had some experience with engines and repair work. Turned out he did a lot of work on the RS-150 Blackbird or X-jet or whatever they were calling it. How they even had one, he didn’t know, but he wanted to learn more about it and the cloaking system installed so he sort of ditched Logan to spend more time with it.

Somehow this lead to him being asked to visit some of the students, and he grimaced at first, but he figured it wouldn’t be that bad. And it wasn’t. They were a cute bunch despite the fact that some of them looking like baby closet monsters. It also seemed to Tony that having a Blackbird plus having a bunch of bored teenagers clearly equaled shopping trip. He said as much on the note he’d left in one of the classrooms before rounding some of them up and heading out despite some feeble protests from the older mutants.

“It’s not like they have cancer and it’s not like they’ll get hurt. They need fresh air and Rock Band,” he’d insisted and most of them were inclined to agree. Or come with.

The nice thing about money is you could pay people getting minimum wage to be nice to people they’d never normally be nice to. Which was how he ended up wandering around Toys R Us with a furry girl named Meggan on his shoulder and buying every other teenager with him a Wii.

Cyclops was, of course, waiting for him in the docking bay and looking completely unimpressed.

“See, that’s why no one brought you back anything,” Tony pointed out.

“They’re here to learn.”

“They’re also here to get to have lives, right? A vaguely normal life. You’re not against mutants having lives, are you?”

“Just don’t expect me to clap or bow or shake your hand.”

“There’d have been cheaper ways to get you to do that,” Tony assured him before walking away.

-

Maybe the actual worst part of having someone else constantly in your life was you knew you’d end up sleeping with them every night. The sex was great, but it was the sleeping that bothered Tony. The noticeable absence when the other person got up. He could tell when Logan left even without wanting to. It sucked too. After sleeping with the other man on and off every so often to then sleeping with him regularly, Tony had gotten used to grudgingly accepting having a somewhat hairy arm wrapped around him. With that gone, he ended up lying there and wishing it would come back.

“I do not think you are being fair, Scott” was the first thing he heard as he ventured out to the hallway. He couldn’t see the person saying it but it was obvious the blue furry German. The bamf-y sound meant that he’d left. Tony was learning all about mutants. Not that he cared much.

“It just seems stupid and not at all like you.” Party Pooper seemed like a better name for Summers than Cyclops. “Like a joke.”

“Why is my being married a joke?”

“You marry some billionaire in Vegas. What about that isn’t a joke? Besides, he seems awfully fake to me.”

It was a hell of a thing being judged by a cardboard cutout. Tony didn’t mind being told he was two-dimensional by most people, but being called out on being superficial by old Laser-eye was just sort of annoying. Especially at three in the morning.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. I can see where buying the kids a shitload of stuff would make you think he’s a shallow dickhead.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then tell me what you mean because all I’ve heard so far is you directly insulting Stark and indirectly insulting me.”

“That stunt he pulled today with the kids. Was that supposed to impress me? Or the rest of us?”

“I think it’s more like he had a credit card, kids without Guitar Hero, and access to a Blackbird running on Shi’ar technology.”

“Tony has no idea what they’re like and he doesn’t know what they are dealing with. He doesn’t know about their powers. He doesn’t know how we’re treated by people and —”

“They’re kids, Slim. Kids are the same everywhere you go. And I think you ought to just ‘fess up to it. The problem is you don’t like that they like him.”

“Well, why should they? He just shows up and suddenly he’s like everyone’s special uncle. I don’t want to see these kids get hurt because of him.

“Even if he never comes back over here to play Mario Kart with them, you think the kids will mind? You think they care if he’s human or fake or irresponsible? I doubt it. If you want to feel better about yourself, okay, you’re right about two out of three of those things, but you’re really wrong about the other. He’s not fake.”

“He paid people to look the other way when he brought the kids into stores.”

“Well, fuck, Scott what did you want him to do?”

“Personally,” Tony murmured, heading down the hall. “What he would like to do is sleep.”

“I bet you would,” Logan said with a small smirk before glancing back over at Scott.

“You knew he was there?”

“Hard not to.”

Scott just stared at them before wandering off.

Tony rolled his eyes before frowning a little, too tired to mind that Logan was tugging him in the opposite direction. He might have wanted an apology or to give Summers a black-eye, but he was kind of tired. “Wait. Just then… Were you implying that I smell?”

“Everyone smells like something.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re not getting one,” Logan assured him before pressing up against the door and kissing him. Tony kissed back, willing to be distracted and deciding he’d have to ask Pepper. For kicks. “I don’t just have a good nose, you know. I can hear your heartbeats, darlin’. You’re also the least subtle person in the mansion.”

“I think we all know who the biggest jackass is,” was Tony’s wry reply.

“So. You wanna go to sleep then?” Logan asked, moving them both back so he could open the door. “Or you wanna do something else?” He lingered inside the threshold giving Tony a fairly thoughtful, vaguely eager look.

Honestly, Tony still wasn’t sure how he felt about marriage. He figured anyone stupid enough to decide to do it should be allowed to and clearly he was just as stupid as anyone else since he was. Commitment was pretty terrifying, but it wasn’t like either one of them were using that word. Or other words yet. Maybe they wouldn’t, maybe they would. It didn’t matter.

The sex was pretty fantastic and he was pretty sure threesomes wouldn’t be completely out of the picture considering Logan liked women too. Besides, the thought of ever having to explain to Steve and Rhodey or the other Avengers worried him more than a little. Janet and Hank would kill him and then take back their pots and pans. Then Pepper would reanimate his corpse and kill him again because she apparently she really liked cooking with those things back at her apartment.

“I’m not tired anymore,” he decided. “Let’s do something else.”

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 21:19:33 GMT

And now for your reading pleasure... Two ficlets!

-

For severa: Tony and Steve enjoying Fourth of July with the Avengers and fireworks.

Steve’s idea of a perfect Fourth of July was radically different from Tony’s. Tony liked seeing fireworks from the comfort of his own home or yacht. He liked looking expensive and watching displays of expensive money getting put to good use. He wanted to be somewhere with less people and lots of loud noises in rapid sequence. Steve liked the parades, sparklers, people, singing, and, really, he probably would have loved all the annoying, sentimental things people in the Midwest did to celebrate the independence of their country from the tiny island that was currently the United States’ sixth-leading trade partner.

Because the Fourth also happened to be Steve’s birthday, Tony put up with having to go to various parts of the country so Captain America could spend most of the day with most of America. It had started as Steve doing his own thing and gradually become most of the Avengers going out of their way to spend the day with citizens in various states. The benefit of being Iron Man was Tony could wear his helmet and feign enthusiasm by putting a thumb up. Behind the visor, he was rolling his eyes and doing some internet gambling via Jarvis. It wasn’t that Tony wasn’t patriotic. He loved America more than most people and had devoted his life to defending her from a world jam-packed with idiots, but the whole celebratory aspect of that day always made him feel like the Grinch ever since Steve had been thawed out.

Selfishly, he would have liked to have one day out of the year where he got Steve completely to himself. Similarly he really wished the Rogers had planned ahead of their kid could have been born on the fifth or sixth of July. Then they could do whatever the hell Tony wanted to do for— That was pretty selfish too, though. It wasn’t like Captain America had been created for the sole purpose of giving Tony a superhuman playmate. And Pepper would have pointed out that most scheduling conflicts were not a result of malicious intent, but poor planning.

Once they got to the eighth random location, Tony decided he was sick of wearing his armor and sick of watching everyone else eat cheeseburgers while he pretended to care about parade floats. So he helped himself to a wide array of barbeque food and wandered off after awhile to find some corner of the neighborhood to play basketball with Thor in. Fortunately, the Son of Odin didn’t see the point of most holidays, but he did seem to be fascinated with slam-dunks. The other Avengers were enjoying themselves too. Some of them a little too much, he thought. Tony was not looking forward to Hank puking up all those hot dogs later on.

His hand hurt later on from all the high-fives he’d received from his Norse friend and he felt drained from the whole festive experience, but it was worth it.

On the Quinjet ride back to HQ and home, Tony sat next to Steve who started working some of the tension out of his neck without Tony bothering to say anything about it. He smiled a bit when Tony sighed in appreciation. “I always tell you that you don’t have to come with.”

“And I always say I’m going anyway,” Tony murmured, leaning forward. “Besides, this is how things work. Most of us go out and try to be Americans alongside everyone else. And the Canadian and the Jolly Green Giant stay back at the ranch. It’s tradition.”

“I’m sure Dr. Banner and Wolverine would have liked the company.”

“I’m pretty sure both of them are happier doing whatever it is they do together every Fourth of July. If you know what I mean.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I’m pretty all they do is play foozball and drink beer. And, after a fashion, Logan orders a pizza.”

“Not to hurt your feelings or anything, but no one actually says ‘after a fashion’ anymore.”

“I’m aware, but I’m trying to bring it back into common use. I’ve been saying it all day to young people.”

Tony eyed Steve strangely, unable to tell if he was joking or not. Captain America had the best poker face he’d ever seen. Eventually Steve winked before moving his hand away. And like he did just about every year, he kissed Tony’s cheek, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. Maybe he was a little worn out from being so friendly all day long, but Tony doubted it. More than likely, Steve was just so content he needed a few minutes to review and commit all the good things to memory.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that he would opt to be with someone like that, but more often Tony struggled with the notion that someone like Steve would want to be with someone like him.

Eventually everyone left and Tony had never been so happy to see them go as he was at the end of every Fourth of July.

During the first few years of July holidays, he’d given Steve ridiculously expensive gifts or just lots of presents that added up to a small fortune and hours spent on e-bay. That was long before he’d ever figured out how he felt and whether or not he’d get his head caved in with the shield if he so much as offered up a small ‘come hither’ look.

Once they had been seeing each other for awhile, Steve seemed to be comfortable enough to insist that the last thing in the world he wanted was a lot of gifts on the Fourth of July. He wanted simply to be surrounded by friends and good people. He didn’t want to be alone and he didn’t want to go anywhere cold.

So Tony contented himself with paying for any and all travel expenses, and funding virtually all the firework displays in whatever neighborhood Mr. Rogers decided to visit. Whether Steve knew or not wasn’t the point, really. The point was that Steve had to enjoy his birthday even if Tony hated every part of it except the evening where he got to drag the other man over to the window at his own house and force him to watch the show he’d put together.

Every year got a little better than the last. This one ended with the most ridiculously large series of red, white, and blue fireworks that took on the form of Captain America’s shield. Tony didn’t even want to tell anyone how much that had cost him. Even the fact that Pepper knew was vaguely embarrassing.

Not that he had a lot of free time on his hands to think about it that night. The show itself only lasted about fifteen minutes because that was about as long as either one of them could last without practically tackling the other. Loud booming noises and explosions did wonderful things for both of their libidos.

It wasn’t a perfect holiday or a perfect day by any means, but it had been a good day. Most of the time, --particularly in their line of work-- that was all you could hope for and all that you could want.

-

-
For lex_of_green: "Movie!Bruce Banner meets Nightcrawler. For any reason."

Guanajuato, Mexico
Days Without Incident: 14

The building itself was pretty ugly during the day. The outside, covered in spires and pointy towers, was combination of faded pinks and garish grays. Bruce wasn’t sure what brought him into the church that night, but it was better than sleeping on the streets. He wanted to move further out into the desert, but he had wanted to do a little sight-seeing. And if he was honest with himself, he had liked being surrounded by people even if it was only for a little while. Even if the only people he was likely to meet who didn’t know him, didn’t care and wouldn’t remember him the second they’d passed him by in the street.

He glanced briefly up at the vaulted ceiling once he was inside and then realized he wasn’t alone around the same time the other person, crouching low in front of the altar came to a similar conclusion. Or maybe it wasn’t a person because Bruce hadn’t really ever seen a person jump and climb up towards vaulted ceilings with paintings and statues of saints and angels. Most people didn’t have tails either. Most people weren’t blue.

A demon in a church. And it was afraid of him.

“It’s all right,” Bruce said first in Spanish and then in English, moving further into the room. It stopped skittering up the wall. Instead it peered down at him with narrow, slitted yellow eyes. “I can go.”

It blinked down at him and there was a strange sound as the area it had been occupying filled with red smoke. And then it was standing right there in front of him. Or rather he was because the creature or whatever was definitely male. The whatever-it-was sat on its haunches, making an effort not to be intimidating. If only he knew what he was dealing with.

“Nein doch. I’m sorry. You startled me and I over-reacted.” The German accent was fairly believable and fairly thick.

Bruce looked down at the creature’s strange blue hands and feet. Three large fingers and three long toes. “You’re a—”

He titled his head, smiling a little before flipping back to perch on top of one of the pews. “Mutant. Yes.”

“Why are you here?” Bruce asked, realizing it was rude but exactly caring. He wasn’t afraid of this weird-looking thing. He might have been a few years ago or before dealing with Blonsky, but the lithe furry blue guy didn’t bother him much. As for his lack of social skills, Bruce hadn’t been good at dealing with people for a long time.

“To pray,” the mutant said, raising one hand and Bruce could see the rosary wrapped around one large knuckle. The beads were a dark black and in the dim lighting it was hard to differentiate it from the blue skin. “And you?”

Bruce set his backpack down in the row next to him and shrugged. “To sleep.”

“I see.”

“Why would you pray?” he asked, confused by how angry the question made him. What was there to pray for when you looked the way this guy did? People must have hated him and hurt him all his life and here he was giving God the better part of his evening. “I’m guessing you’re Catholic, but…”

“What is your name?”

He hesitated before deciding to just use his first name only. “Bruce.”

“I am Kurt. You wouldn’t have heard of me, but I am also known as Nightcrawler. I’m sure you can see why.”

Bruce looked away. “I guess so.”

“You can stare at me,” Kurt gently insisted, blue lips curving up into a small smile and revealing just a hint of fangs. “I have been the subject of much staring in the course of my life. You’re not being unkind.”

“I wouldn’t want people to do that to me.”

He chuckled quietly and sighed. “They have been doing it to me since I was born, my friend. But I believed you asked me a question and now that we’ve been properly introduced, I can tell you. It is for peace.”

“Peace?”

“Of mind. Clarity of thought and purpose. I pray because it brings me comfort.”

“I like to meditate,” Bruce said, not sure why he was admitting that to some blue stranger, but it was nice to talk to someone and this wasn’t the first blue person he’d discussed the matter with.

“Does it help you?”

“Sometimes. I don’t think prayer would.”

“Perhaps not,” Kurt replied, his tail lightly wrapping around one of the railings close to the aisle. He didn’t seem to pay it much attention. Bruce tried to keep from eying it suspiciously.

“Prayer is not…” The mutant rubbed at his chin with one fingers and Bruce noticed his pointed ears for the first time. “I suppose you would think it strange to see me praying, but I am not asking God to change me. Prayer is not a solution to problems. It is a momentary respite from them.”

“I need solutions.”

“Do you?”

“I’m a scientist. I solve problems. I fix what goes wrong.” He sighed before adding: “I try to anyway.”

“But in the middle of your work... Surely you have more to do than dwell only on the outcomes of your labor. Is not the process as valuable as the result?”

“Used to be,” Bruce muttered. “My work’s become complicated.”

“Ah,” Kurt murmured, moving down so that he was sitting in the pew, resting his head on the wooden rail behind the seat. “I am sorry then.”

“No, it— It’s fine.”

“I see.”

No, you don’t, Bruce thought. And I’m glad you don’t. He couldn’t think of anything else to say so eventually he sat down, trying not to feel uncomfortable about the fact that Kurt continued staring at him with weird yellow eyes.

The mutant was the first to break the silence. “I often wanted to be a priest as a small boy. I was not sheltered from the world, but I suppose in those early days I was young and optimistic about my future and my abilities. It took time for me to realize very few people would ever seek me out for advice. I hardly expect anyone to unburden themselves to me, but certainly I can wish your troubles were fewer.”

“Aren’t yours worse?”

Kurt laughed again and shook his head. “Because I am blue?”

“Well…”

“Or because my problems have been with me since birth? Nein. Your troubles can be equally as bad as mine. They can be worse if you like.”

“Not really,” Bruce wryly admitted.

“Please do not be upset,” Kurt began, lightly touching one of Bruce’s fingers before retreating back and eying him thoughtfully. “Please do not leave after I say this. But I think you ought to try not to be so alone.”

Bruce considered this, nodding stiffly. He would have liked to have left, but he concentrated instead on taking a deep breath and not giving into whatever emotion seemed eager to gnaw at him whenever he thought of how alone he was.

“It has helped me tremendously to find others like me.”

“Other mutants.”

“Yes.”

“There’s no one else like me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m…”

“It is not possible that you are meant to be alone forever. No one is meant to be alone.”

“Some people are,” Bruce testily mumbled. “Some people mess up and then they’re alone after that. They stay that way and it’s for the best.”

“What could you possibly have don—” The mutant frowned and glanced down at the watch around his wrist before sighing.

Bruce eyed the device warily, thinking over the various exit routes out of the church as Kurt pressed a small button to silence its beeping. “Is that the others like you?” he asked, unable to sound anything but gloomy.

“Yes. We are… There’s a young man like us we are locating and hoping to help. The others have found him and I must go.”

He found that instead of becoming paranoid, he just felt a little sad as he watched the mutant rise to his feet and move to the aisle. “Oh.”

“I am so sorry, Bruce. I would have liked to stay and I suppose I will not see you again.”

“No, I…” I can’t stay anywhere too long. I’m sorry too. “No.”

“Find others like you,” Kurt gently urged. “I am certain that you can, Bruce.”

He wanted to argue, but instead he numbly nodded, blinking a little when the mutant touched his arm.

“And I will not offer to pray for you, but I hope you find peace. Is that acceptable?”

The scientist nodded again and brushed a few fingers over the mutant’s warm, fur-coated skin. “I hope you keep yours.”

Then there were fingers lingering briefly in his hair. Bruce tried not to think about Betty or all the other things he wished he could have as Kurt quietly said “Thank you.”

A few seconds after that, there was more red smoke and the lingering smell of something sulphuric.

Bruce took several deep breaths and picked up his bag. He couldn’t stay there, after all. For the umpteenth time, he really wished he had other options, and for the first time, he wished he could have been different in a compatible way. In a way that would have made him useful to or worthy of a team or a group of people like him. He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to find peace of mind on his own.

-

Just as a side-note: They're unbeat'd so any mistakes are my own. And that second ficlet really, really hurt to write. O Bruce.

Working with a Wolverine

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 19:38:42 GMT

Title: Working with a Wolverine
Fandom: Iron Man movie/general Marvel-verse
Characters: Logan/Tony, Pepper

Disclaimer: I own no one.
Summary: For an Avenger, teamwork is usually just a lot of work, but sometimes it can be quite enjoyable too.
Rating: R - For sex and swearing
Author's Note: This fic has taken forever and gone through several drafts. I hope it's good enough now and thank you, th_esaurus for looking it over so many times.

While Tony is very much movie!Tony somewhere further along in a time-line where the Avengers are more fully in swing, Logan is very much a combination of what I like about the movie!Logan and what I know about him from comics.

-

By the time they’d done a shitty job stitching up his side wound, bandaged his shoulder, and then left him tied up in the far corner of the dingiest sorriest-looking excuse for an evil hangout, Tony was positive this particular Thursday had been the worst Thursday ever. And, oddly enough, Thor hadn’t caused any of his problems. The person Tony was personally blaming for most of it had, actually, been trying to do the right thing.

Steve would rub it in later because he had said about eighteen times that he didn’t want Logan on the team. Logan who was a bad team player –worse than Tony if such a thing were possible—and a loose cannon. Tony had argued that mostly Logan was a hick with superpowers. With the right training and adult supervision, he assured Steve, the mutant would eventually be useful. Somehow. It was sort of like asking to be allowed to keep a rabid dog. Deep down, Tony knew that. Steve knew it too, but ultimately he just sighed and agreed.

The biggest issue with the X-man was that he lacked a lot of discipline, strategy and subtlety. Tony decided this was because Logan didn’t have enough brain cells to know when to be nervous. Like his namesake, Wolverine picked fights with anyone who looked at him the wrong way and didn’t seem to realize that maybe that wasn’t a very effective strategy. It must have worked on solo missions, but it wasn’t really a good way to handle combat situations when you were working with four other people. Particularly when you didn’t give said teammates a heads up, and they lacked the magic ability to heal on the spot from most wounds.

Coming up against a villain with something capable of penetrating the gold titanium alloy that composed the Iron Man suit was only a matter of time, but the timing could have been much better. The fact that the timing sucked was one hundred and fifty percent Logan’s fault. The math was flawed, but the logic sure as hell wasn’t.

Tony had propped himself up against a wall just around the bend from most of the action. There he tried to check the wound and pulled off one of his gauntlets. The others kept fighting and he fired his one remaining repulsor several times, but he wasn’t going to be much good if he didn’t apply pressure to the sizable gash just under his ribs.

He could have used the arc reactor itself to defend the others, but it was hard to focus and this was pretty much the making of his first serious battle scar. It was sort of unbearable and he wasn’t sure what had been on the weapon that caused it. Some kind of acid. Something painful.

Anyway, he wasn’t going to get much use out of the suit so Tony decided to start on that. He got the helmet up and out of the way first before pausing to assess the damage. He still was trying to figure out what the hell he was going to ultimately do about his injury when Logan pretty much pinned him to the wall.

He glared at the other man as Logan ripped most of the suit off in chucks and tugged other sections out of the way, sniffing at the wound before smirking as he looked up. Any other time, any other place, and Tony would have found it to be sort of exciting. Maybe a little sexy. Costly, but hey. At that moment, he found it alarming. Particularly with the fingers of the hand without the deadly mutant nails sticking out of it splayed out over his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I ruin your expensive equipment?”

“What the hell are you doing? Get—”

“Quit your whining,” Logan growled. He pulled off his wife beater, and pressing it to the wound with his free hand. “Hold that there. Keep out of the way.”

“What do you think I’m doing, jackass?” Tony snapped back, but by then the mutant was making his way back to the others. Frustrated, the somewhat defrocked Iron Man fired his repulsor at one of the remaining foot soldiers of whatever guy they were actually looking to pick a fight with. Some of those men were roaming around, hoping to pick them off one by one no doubt. Easily done since they were all scattered.

Without his helmet, Tony couldn’t hear Steve getting bent out of shape about it. Unfortunately, without his helmet on, he also couldn’t do much when another shot hit him right in the shoulder. Around that time another someone whacked him upside the head. This brought him back to the present moment or at least most of the way there.

Tony tried hard to focus on potential positive ways that this situation could resolve itself. It was sort of obvious, to him if not his captors, that he couldn’t do jack or shit without his suit. He had a GPS locator in his watch that they were too stupid to notice, but it wasn’t like he was James Bond. There wasn’t a tiny laser just hidden beneath… Goddammit, why hadn’t he thought to add something like that? How stupid could he—Okay, that wasn’t going to be very helpful.

Resting his head against the somewhat damp wall to his immediate left and closing his eyes, he tried again, thinking of smaller things. Like how annoyingly tight the ropes on his hands were. Or how much he hated being gagged. Small things like the wound, but like all of the things currently on his mind what he found himself dwelling on was fairly pessimistic. It was going to get infected.

With his eyes closed, he didn’t realize the lights had gone off until he opened them again, heard the sound of confused gunfire and then something that sounded like a ‘snikt.’ A familiar noise even though Tony had never really found himself having time to listen hard enough to the exact sound Logan’s retractable adamantium claws made.

As rescues or --as Tony would later call it-- assists went, Wolverine had done a decent enough job. Iron Man’s appreciative and admiring attitude died a quick and horrible death though when Logan crouched down in front of him and sniffed at the wound.

The most Tony could do, however, was make a muffled sound of disapproval, which only earned him a snort. Then Wolverine rose to his feet, pulling Tony up by the scruff of his neck and tugging him to the door.

“So I might have fucked up,” the Canadian freakshow murmured, making no effort to helpful with loosening Tony’s bonds.

“Mmph.” Where the hell were the others anyway? The wound couldn’t have been that bad, but it felt horrible and he found himself leaning the wall and trailing blood from his shoulder, forehead and chest. That was all kinds of disgusting and he stopped after awhile, eyeing the tiny droplets pooling around him. Logan eyed him skeptically for a moment before taking one claw to the ropes around Tony’s wrists, which nearly caused Tony to pass out. In a manly way, of course.

Tony wasn’t sure how he ended up getting carried around like some sort of injured male mail-ordered bride. It was like one second his feet were on the ground and the next they weren’t, which was probably good because everything looked a little blurry. At least he didn’t get thrown over the guy’s shoulder although it was still all kinds of awkward seeing as Wolverine hadn’t brought along an extra shirt. Tony made a fuzzy mental note to remind Jarvis to remind him to see about getting the guy a uniform. If they kept him on the team. Didn’t he have an X-men suit he could use? Why wasn’t he wearing that? Why was everyone so useless?

Wolverine eyed him curiously and Tony blinked a bit when the mutant chuckled. “Gotta say this while I can. I think I like you this way.”

The businessman gritted his teeth before and after gingerly reaching up to remove his gag. “What? Injured?”

“Quiet,” Logan countered. “Just keep on relaxing. We only have a little ways to go. I’ll be sure to hand you off to your boyfriend. Captain America, right?”

“How about you just keep your claws to yourself and put a shirt on while you’re at it,” Tony mumbled before letting himself drift off and letting his head rest against Logan’s shoulder. Fun as it could have been, he wasn’t really in the mood for snarking.

-

Tony woke up in a hospital bed and instinctively reached to yank out the IV from his arm when he heard that snikt again. Which made his heart rate spike a little and the monitor started beeping to indicate as much. Logan laughed before the beeping started, but that wasn’t exactly surprising. Monitor or no, the mutant would have noticed anyway.

With a long-suffering sigh, Tony scowled and considered his unwelcome visitor. “Oh, come on. What are you doing here?”

The mutant stretched out in his chair letting his boots rest on the foot of Tony’s bed. He was such a country yokel. All Logan needed was a straw hat to dip over his brow and piece of straw to chew on and he’d be all set. “Everyone else went home. Figured I’d stick around and find little ways to amuse myself.”

“That’s special,” Tony muttered, lips twisting into a small scowl as he looked around the room. “They went home?”

“Well, after three weeks of crying and praying, it’s gets boring to watch someone lying around in a coma.” The claws kept popping in and out of Logan’s knuckles. It was sort of mesmerizing, but mostly it was just sort of creepy and obnoxious.

“…I hate you.”

“In that case, I probably shouldn’t tell you that I drew all over your face in Sharpie somewhere in the middle of week two. It’s been boring as hell around here.”

Tony rubbed his temples and rummaged around until he found the button that would raise the bed. “Please be joking. Better yet, please go away.”

“I save your life and that’s the thanks I get?”

“I don’t owe you any special favors, Jethro. Put your feet down.”

Then, finally, he heard another familiar and infinitely superior sound effect heading his way. Tony had never been so grateful to see Pepper enter a room in his life. He offered her the dopiest of smiles and then frowned as he pointed to Logan. “Pepper, make him go away.”

Logan rolled his eyes, kicking Tony’s foot before moving his boots off the bed. “What are you? Two years old?”

Tony glared at him, deciding that being injured gave him the right to overreact if he felt like it. “Ow. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Pepper just sighed, glancing at both of them before setting down a tray full of hospital food in front of Tony. “Just eat this and, Tony, I can’t just kick him out. He’s been nice enough to stay with you and he carried you all the way here.”

Nice enough. Right. Tony grabbed the sleeve of her jacket, attempting to tug her closer, but she moved away before he could get a decent grip. “How long has it been? When did I get here?”

“A few hours ago,” she said somewhat soothingly, frowning as she sat down next to the bed. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“He wrecked my armor,” Tony petulantly pointed out. “He left little pieces of it all over the place and—”

There was another snikt and Tony felt vaguely pleased when Pepper flinched at the same time he did. Wolverine just raised an eyebrow and stretched as his claws slide back somewhere into his hands. “Relax, Richie Rich. I salvaged all of it and your girl took it home for you. No one’s out there making dippy suits just like yours.”

Tony looked up at Pepper. “Seriously?”

“Yes, your armor is fine and no, I’m not your girl. Now calm down and eat your jello.”

Logan took in a deep breath and regarded them both with a somewhat amused expression before standing up. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

-

After that, Tony tried taking a more vested interest in actual hand-to-hand combat as opposed to repulsor-to-woefully inadequate human flesh smack downs. He was doing just fine with the smack downs, but the other stuff? Not so much.

He’d been hoping to get Steve to do it, but apparently there was some sort of Veterans Reunion Weekend thing. Everyone else had missions and assignments and important things to do. Everyone except for Logan, Hank, Bruce and himself. Well, and Natasha was around somewhere, but she’d be busy in no time. Tony technically had business meetings, but he didn’t really care.

Bruce had locked himself up in the lab again and Hank was probably in there talking to ants. And Logan was working out in the gym because that was just the sort of shitty luck Tony had.

“Can’t you do your spinning at home?”

Tony rolled his eyes and looked around. He worked out fairly regularly, but he didn’t do this whole pseudo dojo mopping the floor with friends stuff all that often. Not that Logan was a friend and he definitely didn’t plan on doing anything on the floor with him. “There are so many things wrong with that question that I don’t even know where to begin.”

Logan stopped beating the snot out of a punching bag and ventured closer to where Tony stood, still debating what to do. “You gonna some pilates? Maybe some ballet?”

It occurred to Tony that by talking he was drawing way too much attention to himself. The smart thing to do was to shut up and eventually Logan would move on to finding something else to do. Like hunting mice in a barn or whatever else he did during his copious amounts of spare time. “No. I’m going to… Do some stuff.”

“Do you need a spotter?” Logan asked, looking fairly solemn. “I hear stuff can be really hard work for a beginner.”

“You’re funny,” Tony muttered. “Really, really funny. Now go away.”

“Last time I checked this is a free gym for avenging types.”

Wolverine moved around behind him and Tony twisted around to glance over at him. “Technically free,” he pointed out. “I pay for it.”

“And it’s so very sweet of you to do that, babe, but I’m going to stick around. Besides, you can’t spar by yourself now can you?”

“You did not just call me that. I am not sparring with you.”

“Chicken.”

“I’m not chicken. You have claws.” Wow, that was a feeble excuse and since Tony didn’t have claws and seeing as he could fly sometimes, he was probably more like a chicken than anything else at the moment.

Logan laughed. “Typical. You think I’d use them on you?”

“Uh, reality check: you have.”

“I’ve used them to save you. I’ve used them to fight alongside you. I haven’t used them on you and I wouldn’t.”

“Because?”

“Because you’re on my team, dumbass.”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Look, seeing as it’s probably your first time, I’ll go easy on you. I can’t promise not to laugh, but do you honestly think anyone could promise something like that?”

“Gee, wow, let’s do it then,” he murmured in what he thought was a very sarcastic tone.

Maybe Logan didn’t get sarcasm or maybe Logan was just being a jerk, but five seconds later, Tony was lying flat on his back on the mat and trying to figure out just where his breath had gone off to.

“Oh god I think you broke something.”

Wolverine chuckled before crouching down beside him and hauling him back to his feet. “You know, maybe you should stick to wearing the suit all the time.”

Tony narrowed his eyes and eyed the mutant warily when Logan smiled at him in a seemingly innocent matter. “No thanks.”

“Why not? You can get if off easily.”

“You would know seeing as you’re a human can opener—Agh.” And there he was back on his back again. “You call this going easy on me?”

Logan lightly nudged his side with one foot. “Anytime you feel like maybe putting up some kind of a fight here, let me know.”

“I don’t like this. It’s not fun and my back hurts and it’s difficult. And don’t launch into some clichéd tirade about how rich guys don’t like to work and they’re lazy with soft creamy-smooth hands.”

The mutant raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

“Because that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Hate to break this to you, Stark, but you gotta be the world’s worst telepath. Now get up and come at me like you mean it. Get angry.”

“I’m going to end up with my jaw wired shut.”

“I should be so lucky.”

Tony made more of an effort with virtually the same result time after time. He managed to land one punch, and that was about the same time he decided he was giving up. Eventually, he just lay there on the mat, winded and refusing to get back up. Logan sat down on the mat next to him before taking one of his hands and inspecting it. “Seems sort of callused to me.”

“Wha?”

“Your lazy, soft, creamy-smooth hand’s got calluses.”

Okay. Tony tried to pay very little attention to the fact that Logan was sniffing his digits and… Oh god, he was licking his hand. Logan was licking his hand and if anything, Tony thought he kind of liked it. “The ceiling in here is disgusting,” Tony managed to say, trying to find a way to change the subject. “Can, uh, I have my hand back now?”

He got his hand back pretty quickly but at about the same time Logan was straddling his waist. The warm, hard weight of the mutant on top of him was actually sort of pleasant even if he was a little dismayed to find that Logan had hardly broken a sweat. He squirmed a bit when the Canadian started biting and licking his earlobe because honestly he hadn’t been expecting that.

Tony figured fair was fair so he inspected one of Logan’s hands, considering the knuckles and trying not to worry about the whole claw thing while Logan continued nibbling on his neck. It was sort of tricky to relax, but he didn’t have much time to dwell that before Logan was kissing him properly. And then he was kissing Logan. And there was some tongue. Then there was a lot of biting, specifically Logan biting him again. This time on the neck, throat, shoulder, collarbone and jaw.

“You wanna fight some more?” the mutant asked after awhile in a low, amused growl.

Not a satisfied one, but then Tony would have hardly expected some bites and one kiss to satisfy most people let alone Logan. He tried to free his wrists from the other man’s grip briefly before sighing. “I think we’ve sort of established I suck at this fighting stuff when I’m not in my suit.”

“You’re a dismal failure at stuff when it comes to a fair fight, but,” Logan drawled, “that wasn’t the sort of fight I had in mind.”

Tony considered this and sighed a bit when Logan started biting him again. “Lucky me, I guess.”

“Lucky you.”

Being passive was sort of pathetic, but it was hard to do much of anything with Wolverine on top of him. Tony sort of figured he’d have to get used to that to some degree. Just the same, he wanted to do more than get a lot of bites. When the mutant started slipping a few fingers in under the waistband of his pants, Tony lightly moved his hand away. He told himself it had nothing to do with Logan’s special mutant features, but he wasn’t sure if it did or didn’t. Either way, he kept a hold of Logan’s hand, and tried to figure out his next move before Wolverine got restless.

Creepy claws or not, Tony didn’t think he wanted to pass this sort of thing up. It was sort of like swimming in a river full of piranhas, but more fun. And hadn’t he always sort of wanted to do that anyway? Of course he had. And compared to piranhas this wouldn’t be that bad. It wasn’t like Logan had the same lack of control over his claws as Bruce did the Hulk. He wasn’t going to end up skewered or worse even if his imagination continued to come up with horrifyingly awful end results. Especially since the reality consisted mainly of Logan starting to make a face that seemed to be a cross between furious and rejected.

Tony hated when he himself made faces like that. As a result, he hated looking up at a face on the verge of looking like that, so Tony decided he would just try to savor the whole Wolverine experience. “Just FYI, I’m pretty good at other activities that aren’t stuff or fighting. I could show you. ”

Logan’s hands stilled and he sat back on his haunches for a second, considering him. Tony tried not to look too hopeful. Eventually, the mutant moved back slowly, rising to his feet and taking Tony with him. Being shoved up against a wall wasn’t exactly light years better than shoved down onto a mat, but it didn’t seem like Wolverine believed in a lot of personal space or being less than completely in control. In a way, Tony didn’t even think that was very surprising. He lacked the time and interest to honestly think of it as a bad thing, so he just kissed Logan, offering suitably pleased sounds when the biting resumed.

“All right,” Logan muttered, the words just a few seconds shy of being absolutely irrelevant and pointless, “show me.”

The attention being paid to him became fiercer and he worked to match it, but it was fairly easy to follow Logan’s lead. Seemed to be what the mutant wanted too, and once one of the mutant’s hands finally got a chance to wrap itself around him, Tony couldn’t actually think of anything worth complaining about. When the rough stroking started and continued at a regular, steady rhythm, Tony parted his lips obediently and tugged the other man closer, tolerating bite after bite because each one actually felt pretty damn good.

Even when the wall moved behind him to in front of him, he was pretty content with the whole arrangement. Sort of. Except for the part where they were in the gym, and anyone could get bored enough to wonder in.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job of not worrying about Logan’s internal knife set, but he startled to tense a bit when Logan’s hand moved off of him. He tried looking over his shoulder, but Logan gently tilted his head back to the wall and chuckled. Then Tony also tried to do anything with his hands only to have them placed back up against the wall time and time again. He must have looked a little petulant even without facing the mutant because eventually Logan laughed again.

“Relax, will you?” Logan murmured before biting his way down to from Tony’s neck to his shoulder.

Tony sighed, letting his forehead rest against the wallpaper. He didn’t like it. The color was lousy. “I honestly could…” He tensed as fingers on one of Logan’s hands settled on his waist with two slicked up digits on the other entered him. “Fuck.”

He could practically hear the mutant smirking as the fingers probed deeper before they were joined by a third. “You got a decent reputation. I’m sure you can handle sex.”

Despite having no real experience with paranoia, Tony found that even as he found himself calming down and eagerly looking forward to the fingers being replaced by something more satisfying, his thoughts kept drifting back to Logan’s special problem. “Just…don’t…”

Logan just nuzzled the back of his neck before moving down his back with his teeth and tongue. “Don’t worry about that. I have a lot of self-control. I won’t hurt ya.” There was a pause. “Well. Not in the way you seem to think I will, darlin’.”

Tony snorted before moaning as the fingers moved further in before slowly being withdrawn. “Oh shut up.”

“You first,” Wolverine teased, moving both sets of hands up Tony’s chest as he entered him.

If they did this again, Tony was determined to get to do more with his hands, but for the time being he just moved in time with each of Logan’s thrusts. Wasn’t like he had a lot of options anyway, or that he felt really all that put out by it.

-

By the time they were done, Tony felt like every inch of skin had bites on it except maybe the soles of his feet. Logan looked about ready to go at it a third, fourth, or probably an eighth time. He sort of hated him for having that much stamina.

Eventually they ended up back on the mat, Logan’s head resting on one of his thighs and Tony carding a few fingers through his hair before glancing around the room. “We have to do something about the mess.”

He hadn’t really been thinking of going that far, but when he tried to sit up, Logan sharply tugged on him until he was willing to lay back down. The insistent pulling didn’t hurt at all. The fact that it could have was a little unsettling. “In a bit, Stark. Hire a cleaning crew if you’re so worried.”

“Someone might—”

“Hank and Bruce went home an hour ago. You got a few phone calls assuming your ring tone sounds like the old Batman theme song. No one else has wandered in or out of the building.”

“…Uh, it’s kinda weird that you know all that.”

“Heightened senses, darlin’.”

“And another thing, don’t call me that. Ever again.”

“I get that you all think I’m brain-dead, darlin’, but I’m actually very bright,” Logan pointed out before grinning. He propped himself up on an elbow, letting his fingers wander over Tony’s side. “I can speak eight languages fluently. I can get by just fine in five others. Might not be as rich as you, but I’m not an idiot.”

Tony opened his mouth to point out that even then it wasn’t like Logan was actually a certified genius when he realized that was sort of petty. Sort of dumb too since he didn’t know all the reasons why Logan couldn’t or wouldn’t or hadn’t done much with his life in terms of higher education or anything like that.

“Most people aren’t as rich,” he muttered after awhile, rolling onto his side and yawning, blinking down at the other man. “Are you any good at chess?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“We should play. I’m sick of Reed beating me.”

Logan tapped his fingers against the inside of Tony’s knee and smirked up at him. “What do I get if I win?”

“Hmm. Same thing you’ll get if I win.”

Instead of asking what that was, the mutant just swatted at Tony’s ass before sitting up. “Sounds like playing with you could be fun.”

The annoying part was when Tony tried to copy that motion, Logan just pushed him down onto his back again and crawled up until he was on top of him. Terrific. Clearly he was taking up with a caveman. Tony didn’t care much, but he was willing to bet Pepper would.

-

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 23:12:44 GMT

How Tony Possibly Met Pepper
by cruelest_month

Characters: Tony and Pepper
Disclaimer: Not for profit, only for fun.
Rating: PG - Gen, Unsurprising references to Tony sleeping with women
Summary: Sometimes being the right woman for a job relies solely on one's ability to answer the right question the right way.
Author's Note: Didn't get it beta-ed so any mistakes are mine. It's worth mentioning that Wharton is located in Pennsylvania. It's a pretty impressive business school. Chivas Regal Royal Salute is, according to my internet research, a pretty expensive blend of whiskies aged 21 years.

It was common knowledge around the boardroom and pretty much any other portion of office space at Stark Industries that Tony Stark went through personal assistants like he went through cologne, cigars and Chivas Regal Royal Salute. Arguably, personal assistants were less expensive to replace on a regular basis, but more work and thought had to go into hiring them. Tony was not a big fan of work and thought when it meant spending all week in the office and no time whatsoever in his basement workshop.

The last two duds had been distinctive in terms of their uselessness. Marcie had looked and sounded exactly like that chick from the Peanuts. She would have been great if she could keep track of paperwork or, you know, do anything besides putter around on her Blackberry. Stacey didn't lose track of paper, but she didn't give it to anyone else and she created this ridiculous filing system no one else understood. In fact, by the end of Stacey's days at Stark Industries, Tony wasn't sure she even keow how it worked.

By Friday morning, he was aware of far too many shortcomings with the whole interviewing process. Even with the lowest standards imaginable and the bar for job expectations lowered as far as that particular limbo pole could go, there still wasn't one qualified person that he could actually hire or trust to do anything at all. Apparently no one intelligent and competent willingly went into business. Tony wasn't sure if he could handle spending another week in this office and his recycling bin had been converted into an elephant graveyard for resumes.

Most of the conversations went like this:

Tony would look up from the promising resume and wish the woman seated across from him was unattractive or competent. The resumes were mostly fluff and he couldn’t understand how any of these people had made it through any four year college or how they’d managed to continue on into a MBA program.

Each of the tiresome interviews would begin with Tony looking at the paper again. Sometimes it was scented. Sometimes it wasn’t. “So, Ms. Jacobsen—”

The woman would beam at him in a blinding, somewhat charming and mostly annoying way. As she spoke, she’d start batting her eyes and smiling in a sycophantic manner. “Call me Candy.”

"It says here that your first name’s Carolyn.”

“I changed it.”

At that point, he would lower the resume and gave the woman a somewhat perplexed, weary, and perhaps even slightly amused look. “To Candy.”

“Yes. I think it's more distinctive, don't you?”

Then he would slide the piece of paper over to her regardless of her actual or pretend name. Tony would steeple his fingers, lean back as if he needed some time to think before pronouncing judgment. The enticing carrot of false hope and job security continued dangling in front of Candy or Lily or Viviaenne --What was the A even for?-- until at last he cleared his throat to say: “So, Candy, don’t call me. I’ll call you. Maybe. But only because you’re hot and not because I would ever hire you. In the mean time, please recycle this and send in my next victim.”

Obadiah came in periodically to snag some alcohol as one woman after another came and left. No men seemed to consider turning up. Tony wasn't sure how little or how much he cared about that. Whenever the older man came in, Tony would just sigh heavily, but Obie didn’t ask questions. He just smirked and saluted him with the glass, ice cubes clinking as he left. Stane probably had bigger issues and larger fish to fry. Issues Tony would have pretended to care about if he’d had an assistant to remind him about what those issues, or fishes, were.

There was no point even pretending to care when the last potential disappointment of the day entered the room. He looked first at her legs. She was wearing pants, but even so she looked good in a very professional way. She sat down before he could get a better look at certain other features, pulling a folder up to her chest after sliding her resume over to him.

She was cute. Not the best looking girl he’d had in the office, but Tony sat up a bit releasing his stress ball and watching it roll off the end of his desk. She caught it and handed it to him before he started looking at her qualifications. “So, Ms. Potts.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

He looked at the resume and all the honors she’d received from Wharton. She typed faster than he did which was a first. She was more than qualified to run his company for him. The paper felt normal. It didn’t smell. It didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Her font was pretty typical and professional. Her bullet points were aggressive and factual.

Tony thoughtfully glanced back up at her, taking in the severe way she’d pulled back her hair and the freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. She’d be able to at least fix the mistakes made by the others and then he could get rid of her if she proved to be less than competent. And she hadn't asked him to call her any stupid pet name and she was still addressing him on a last name basis only. “When can you start?”

Ms. Potts, or Virginia according to the facts sheet in front of him, blinked owlishly across the table as if she was waiting for him to immediately follow that up by laughing at her and kicking her out. “Um, but I haven’t told you anything about myself.”

Tony raised an eyebrow before shrugging. “Uh huh. All right. Tell me something about yourself.”

Virginia bit her lip and considered the proposal, looking more than a little vexed. The fact that he was grinning at her as he tilted back in his executive ergonomic chair probably didn’t help matters. “I grad—”

Oh, God, not another summarized life-story. “Nevermind. I can read all that on this piece of paper. You’re hired.”

The woman seemed to be a real stickler for the rules. “No offense, Mr. Stark, but you’re supposed to either listen to me tell you a bit about myself or you’re supposed ask questions.”

“You could just thank me," Tony suggested, smirking a little. "It’s not that hard. You just--”

“I want the job based on my own merit,” she insisted.

“I’m sure you have lots of that, Ms. Potts.”

Virginia closed her eyes briefly, opening them again after probably muttering a mantra to herself or some new age shit like that. Tony had seen Obie do that before in the middle of meetings. “Please don’t patronize me. I really want this job.”

“That's funny because here I am trying to give it to you,” he archly observed.

“I don't want you to give it to me. I worked really hard to get here. I want to work for this company and for because I’m qualified. Because you know that I'm the right person for the job and the most capable of doing what's best for you and Stark Industries.”

Tony sighed at the same time she did and he chuckled before taking a sip from his glass. Sadly by that point the ice cubes had all melted. “Okay, okay. Questions. All right. Are you Amish?”

“No. Would that help?” she asked in a wry tone.

“Could go either way. Virginia’s your real name, huh?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Kids called you that in grade school?”

“Yes.”

“Has anyone ever called you anything else?”

Virginia hesitated, calculating the risks and ultimately she seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it. “No.”

Interesting. She wasn’t a good liar and there were plenty of things she wasn’t going to be willing to do without some damn good incentives. That was actually sort of nice. He wanted someone he could pay to be honest, after all. Someone who would get his back because he’d given them a decent head’s start. Most of all, he wanted someone who wasn’t going to breathe a sigh of relief after he fired them and then sleep with him all within the space of one week.

Tony leaned across the table, sliding her resume into its center and pulling it out of reach right before she could take it. “We're not done yet, but, Ms. Potts, I can’t hire you if you’re not going to tell me.”

She huffed and crossed her arms, wrinkling the manila folder in her hands, but she didn’t seem to care. “Pepper.”

“Pardon?”

“My dad called me Pepper. Subsequently, most people call me Pepper.”

“Because of the…” he trailed off, brushing one finger over his nose and she brought the folder up to cover hers and the freckle she’d been indicating. The billionaire couldn’t help chuckling, but Tony made an effort to keep it brief.

“Yes.”

“Wow and you don’t like it at all,” Tony murmured.

“Would you?”

“Depends. Why do these friends call you that?”

“Because they all inevitably meet him and they all think it’s cute,” she muttered, taking out most of her frustration on the adjective ‘cute.’

“Huh. Pepper Potts. Yeah, I wouldn’t like that much either. But, you know, it’s catchy. Good marketing strategy. Hard name to forget.”

“I don’t want a job because of a name or freckles. I don’t want the—”

“I’m not going to give you the job because you have a nickname you don’t like. I’m going to give it to you because I want you to have it. I’m going with my gut on this.”

Pepper gave him an extremely disapproving look. Maybe she was Amish. The glare vaguely put the fear of God into him for about half a second. More to the point, it was a look Tony was positive he could get used to receiving.

“That’s no way to make a business decision,” she informed him.

“See, you know that and I don’t know that. That’s why I need you.”

“Don’t you—”

Tony held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t need to ask you stupid pointless questions to decide you can do this. Trust me, you have the best, most succinct resume I’ve seen in weeks. You’re not drooling all over me. You’re more professional than I am. The only thing you’ll have to deal with is me calling you Pepper.”

“I—”

“It’ll look better in magazines and people will like it when they interview you. People will remember you. They’ll want to call you to discuss the stuff they want to discuss with me and you’ll actually listen. Besides, you won’t want to be named Virginia around Christmas-time when you’re working for me.”

She opened her mouth to object, but then stopped, pursing her lips as she considered him. “That’s probably true.”

He tugged out the forms he’d have to give to HR. “It sure is. Now, I’m just going to…” Tony rubbed his temples and looked down at all the little boxes he had to fill out and slumped a bit. “Uh, you want to start today?”

Pepper leaned over and examined the document before raising an eyebrow as she glanced over at him. “You want to sign your name at the bottom then while I read over what I’m agreeing to?”

“Sounds great,” he murmured signing his name on the dotted line before resting his head on the desk, absently watching her as she rolled her eyes and moved back to sitting in her chair.

As she read everything over about five or six times, calculating figures, occasionally asking him for bits of information for the sections he was supposed to be filling out, and examining her various forms of photo identification, Tony thought about how many hours he’d end up spending with Pepper Potts on a regular basis. Probably way too many, but she’d warm up to him eventually. Hopefully not as much as other women seemed to, but he came to the conclusion, that, if nothing else, this was the start of a beautiful working relationship.