fyi under the cut

Written as a scene fill for teaberryblue and rainproof’s 1796 Broadway for this particular chapter.

1796 is brilliant and thought provoking. My filler?….pure porn.

Reflections of Separation

STARK.Anthony.E.:Elevator. Now. “*

The interior of the elevator is sleek and elegant. Rich chestnut paneling lines three walls. The burnished amber hue of deep ringed grains tell a lifetime of stories as they bleed seamlessly into the thick piled lambswool that carpets the floor in the deepest of forest green. Steve gently maneuvers Tony in and hits the button to close the doors. A guardrail runs throughout, brass and iron. Dark and light. Steve and Tony. The fourth wall, hung with as a waterfall of mirrored glass calls to him and he presses Tony into it with a hand held to the small of his back. Dropping to his knees and sitting back on his heels, Steve swallows a moan as he takes in the sight in front of him. Tony is pushed against the glass, his heated breath coming in shallow pants, misting the clear surface where his cheek is pressed to it. Steve’s eyes track down. The breadth of Tony’s shoulders, strong and muscled with the definition of work repeated and covered in the finest of white cotton, tremble slightly as Steve runs a hand down the silk of Tony’s waistcoat. The material is as ebony as the soot sweep of Tony’s eyelashes against his cheekbones as he tries to track Steve’s fingers. tracing the line of his back. Steve’s hand reaches the curve of Tony’s waist and smooths down over the swell of his ass, perfection in hand tailored cloth. He reaches out with his other hand and gently grasping Tony’s ankle, knock’s his legs apart. Rubbing his cheek against the tautness of Tony’s thigh, he looks up into Tony’s dilated eyes and breathes out a low murmur:

Hands on the mirror and spread your legs for me babe.” as he leans back and stretching up slaps the brake button.

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In the space of 50 years of comics, it has been found that Tony Stark kisses/takes to his bed only 26 woman. That’s an average of two a year. He is a grown man. Single, unattached, rich and gorgeous. Two romantic encounters a year hardly makes him a ‘manwhore’.

I received some anons that came on rather strong. I posted a couple and deleted the rest. They were basically all saying the same thing. That Tony is a ‘manwhore’ that he ‘never turns down anyone’ that all he ‘thinks of is sex’. I ignored them but the thought stayed in my mind and refused to go away. Mostly the thought that if Tony never thinks of anything but sex, then who the hell is designing and building all those suits and the rest of the tech? Then I got to thinking about the ‘manwhore’ part.

Here’s how I see it. Tony has issues. Tony has baskets and truckloads and warehouse spaces bought and purchased specifically for the storage of such issues they are so vast. Many of those issues reach so far back into his childhood, he himself probably isn’t aware of exactly where they originated. However; that said, the man has deep, deep abandonment issues. Being sent off to boarding school at the age of 7 and being raised by the family butler will do that to you.

Tony Stark is a good looking man. He has a gorgeous body, a beautiful face…and he knows it. Tony learned from a young age how to use his body as a weapon without any regard for his own psychological well being. Tony’s a survivor of abuse. He knows how to wield his body to his advantage. He learned how it moves, how to angle himself away from stray hands and fists and when he grew older how to use it to attract what he saw as positive attention. 

Tony grew up in a white hot glare of the public spotlight. His name, his life, his body has never really been his. He never got to privately screw up. To have that inadvisable one night stand and sweep it away into the cobwebs of his mind, the public and press never let him. Every kiss, every teenage make out session on the beach, every lover’s arms he ever slept in, all of it was documented by the press. 

But he does know the meaning of the word No. It’s getting people to listen to him that’s the hard part. Yes, he’s a grown man. A tall, strong man but decades of conditioning, both on the part of the public and his potential lovers and on Tony’s own part make preconceptions hard to break.

You can see discomfort and indecision writ clearly on his face in the original Iron Man movie. He knows Pepper is going to kiss him, he even closes his eyes and leans in but his body is stiff, his hands are firmly by his side. He really doesn’t want this and literally at the last second, he pulls away.

Tony is as human as the rest of us, he has needs and desires and emotional reactions. It’s just taking him longer to fight down his past and in the case of the press, his present and learn that he can say no. That his body belongs to him and not to the world at large.

So ‘manwhore’? Hardly. Tony is man who has taken an average of two lovers a year in the past fifty. He flirts, he plays but when he is in a relationship, he is firmly committed. He knows the meaning of the word ‘No’, People just need to learn that he gets to use it.

**

**As has already been pointed out to me (over and over…please stop) my math is fucked. Whatever, The stats are still correct as far as how many woman in the comic run**

Mark II

"Machining the parts."

**

*note..this fic is not even close to complete..this is just a small panel of a much larger tapestry*

Desert Run

A canopy of stars, thrown as a fine net of light over deep midnight blue leeched the lingering heat from the sand and dust as the desert passed from day to night. Natasha glanced over as Tony pulled the truck off the road and down into a gully.

Revving the engine, the tendons in his arms flexing as he shifted gears, Tony maneuvered the truck up the other side and over to an overhanging outcrop of rock hidden behind sage and low chaparral. The silence was deafening as he cut the engine and rhythmic guitars and heavy bass bled into a thick velvet void. Overly long locks fell into his eyes as he leaned across her and flipped open the glove box taking out a small, blood red sack. Slamming the compartment shut, he leaned back in his seat, the warm skin of his forearms brushing against her bare knees as he moved. Natasha watched silently as Tony stretched back to the space behind him and pulled out a black hoodie and a thick, soft looking cream colored blanket. Setting his shoulders, seeming to resolve some kind of internal struggle, he cut dark eyes to her and spoke for the first time in hours.

“Coming?” He murmured, voice low and rough with lack of use and desert grit.

Not waiting for her answer, Tony wrapped long fingers around the door handle and stepped out into shadow, shutting the door behind him with the solid thunk of well made American metal. 

She watched him make his way a few yards from the truck, gathering up loose brush and smooth, bone white and brittle shrub branches as he went. Tossing it all down and throwing out the blanket in billowing waves of cashmere, he dropped to his knees at the edge of its spread out softness to start a fire. He didn’t seem to care that she was still in the truck; either Natasha would follow or she wouldn’t.

Natasha looked unseeing at the night sky, her mind a branched sprawl of thought, each tendril beginning and ending with the man who had just left. This was the first overt overture Tony had made since his anger at her finding him three days prior. She recalled how his face had gone white to the lips with rage. His words cutting and sharp. His hands trembling with the need to strike out. He had then completely shut down; driving, eating and sleeping in silence. Speaking rarely and looking at her even less. The man she was traveling with was not the Tony Stark she lived with.

She ran her fingers over the tail of leather and metal in her pocket, pulling it out and contemplating the meaning behind it; the subtle pliancy of the leather and the inlaid hidden strength of the metal. Trust was an elusive and precious gem to Tony and she was a red diamond presenting as a white one, rare and intriguing but not something he would hold close. Too dark, too complicated, too angled and sharp. Too covered in the blood of those attracted to her inner fire and secret prisms. She bound the gift to her wrist as she considered the enigma that was her team mate. They were a lot alike Tony and she. Mind made up, Natasha slipped out of the truck and followed the potent smell of wood smoke that drifted as a stain across the knife sharp clarity of the arid air, and cut her way silently through the night towards Tony.

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Anon asked to see some of the fic I’m writing. I thought about it over the last couple of days. This one is very special to me and I guard it fiercely. Then a couple of others asked too so I’m going to post some of it. The rest won’t go up until it’s fully done.

The outtake I’m putting up is Tony/Natasha. Yes, the final fic will end in Steve/Tony but ‘Tasha is integral to Tony and him to her in this fic. So….if you read it, don’t expect anything like what you usually see from me.

K. I’m really unsure about posting this. If you don’t like it, that’s fine just please don’t feel the need to regale me with the details. As I said, this one is so very important to me.

I just want to thank Rose (rose-on-the-mountain) for beta’ing and not getting sick of me asking continuously for more of her amazing fic. Vegas (phenominablesnowman) for making me understand that ‘yes, you should always finish what you start’ and for all the ‘pov’s would be good here, holy whiplash woman’ and plumadestada for giving me so many ideas and making me feel that ‘yeah, maybe I can write a little’.

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(Reblogged from panda-cas)

So now that Fury’s channeling his alternate universe self and gone walkabout in search of being a ‘righteous man’ and now that Shield is so much dust in the wind, who is going to inform Tony of the new evidence in his parent’s death?

Who is going to be strong enough to open wounds that have scarred thick and deep from time? Unearth grief that Tony has buried for the past 23 years. Who is going to watch this man mourn all over again? Who cares enough about him to not sweep this under the rug?

Steve and Tony may be at the beginning of their relationship in the mcu but Steve is far too honorable to let this evidence be ignored. He respects Tony, he won’t lie to him by omission. Especially when he has personal ties to the victims (Howard and Maria) the perpetrator of the crime (Hydra with the added implication that the Winter Soldier did some of Hydra’s wet work ) and the innocent affected by the fallout (Tony). Steve knows better than anyone how it feels to have wounds from the past ripped open as if they only happened yesterday. 

So it will be Steve who goes to Tony. Takes him somewhere quiet, who sits him down and tells him. It will be Steve who will watch as Tony takes the hit of resurfaced memories like a body blow. Steve who will see the pain and loss chase through Tony’s eyes and it will be Steve who will reach out to him when Tony cries. Steve who will let him know that this time he isn’t alone as he grieves.

It will be Steve and Tony together who will draw from this to make them stronger.Bring them closer together as friends, as teammates, as brother’s.

Individually Steve and Tony are formidable but together they are unstoppable.

**

FYI: The winter Soldier

I have now seen Captain America:The Winter Soldier. I have some head canons and such that I will be posting. I’m using the tags #cap 2 spoilers and #Captain America The Winter Soldier. I’ll use the tags until a certain person *cough-Maru-cough* has seen the movie which will probably be at least the next two or three weeks.

*Do not click on link unless you have seen CA:TWS*

~

…..”(Side note: Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man ismuch cooler than pretty much any comic book version of Iron Man.)” *source*….

**

Really? Really? The author goes on to note that he was a ‘huge fan of the comics’ when he was growing up. Which comics was he reading then? Not the ones I have read. The ones where Tony often uses his brain to beat whichever villain he is up against. The ones where Tony sacrifices himself over and over for his friends. The ones where Tony took on Magneto, Mag-fucking-neto and kicked his ass. Where he goes up against Mandarin (you know, the Mandarin that actually is Mandarin and not some fake actor bullshit) and intellects the fuck out of him before kicking his ass too. The same comics where Tony beats Reed god damn Richards at six level chess as opposed to IM3 where he apparently doesn’t know that gun clips aren’t universal despite the fact that he is a weapons developer.

The comics where Tony deletes his damn brain to protect his family. Where he takes on positions like Director of Shield and Secretary of Defense not because he wants to but because he knows it’s the right thing to do?

I guess in the world this author inhabits, loyalty, friendship, patriotism and intelligence aren’t “cool” and that is just a crying shame and a sad, sad commentary on the state of today’s society..

**

(Source: lpkyo)

(Reblogged from luvindowney)

His eyes don’t leave her from the minute she walks into his line of sight. Never mind that he will come to regret it. Never mind that the woman he is supposedly looking to be in a relationship with is right there in the room with them. Never mind that he knows Pepper is going to shoot his request to have Natalie as his new P.A. down. That bottom shot, his lips are slightly parted, he is maintaining full eye contact with her and his body language is open and receptive. That look on his face is pure, honest desire. He was intrigued by the woman, the minute he laid eyes on her.

And she knows it. 

And he knows she knows it.

**

(Steve/Tony)

TW: Corporal punishment/Drug use.

(Written for an anon prompt who wanted a consensual discipline kink with added drug use, so know that both those elements are in here.)

Taken In Hand

“Show me your eyes.”

The voice rang out strong and sure in the heavily shadowed room. Emphatic in it’s undertones was the refusal to take no for an answer. Closing and locking the door behind him, Steve crossed the room and stood in front of Tony and repeated

“Show me your eyes.”

Sprawled gracelessly in the chair below him Tony shook his head in the negative. Steve sighed deeply and his temper, already on edge from the minute he had walked into Tony’s bedroom rose exponentially. Taking in the slumped figure he noted the fact that Tony was clad only in a pair of faded and stained jeans and was barefoot. He obviously hadn’t left the room since rising that morning. Grasping Tony’s chin in his hand, Steve tugged the man’s face up to his. He ran his eye over the flush rising high on Tony’s cheekbones, the clamminess of his skin, the way his hair clung curled in damp tendrils to his temples, the slight tremor of his hands and he fully registered the fact that Tony’s expressive dark eyes were shuttered to his inquiring gaze.

“Are you sick?” Steve forced himself to modulate his tone in case the man truly was suffering.

“’M fine.” Tony’s voice was rough and low as he answered.

“Then look at me.” Steve ground out.

When Tony took a second too long to comply, Steve took hold of Tony’s bare shoulder in a none too gentle grip and shook it.

“Tony,” Steve said in a tone laced with ice, “at least tell me what you took.”

“Nothing.” Tony’s voice was flat and expressionless. “I took nothing.”

Steve’s hard fought for control left him to be replaced with a white hot fury. Not only was Tony lying, but he didn’t have the decency to look him in the eye when he did it.

“Tony,” Steve hissed, “if you do not look at me this second, I am out that door and God help me, I will not be back.”

Steve waited. Counted. Reached fifty before Tony slowly opened his eyes and raising them, looked deliberately into Steve’s. Steve took one glance at the liquid brown eyes that were looking calmly into his and immediately knew what was wrong. At this point his anger outweighed his disappointment in the fact that Tony hadn’t felt he could come to him with the specter of the black morass that took him bodily at times. Temper chased closely by a threaded tint of blue fear chased through him. An all consuming panic that he would lose this man to his demons before he could help him quell them. An anger that would push Steve to any lengths to anchor Tony to this earth. Alive and safe.. Tony’s eyes were heavily lidded but although dilation was there, the pupils were not fully blown. He lowered his eyes to Tony’s bared chest, the breathing was deep and easy. Good, the man was high but not so much that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. Pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket he waved it in front of Tony.

“Remember this?” He asked.

Color drained from Tony’s face leaving him ashen.

“Yes.” He said softly.

Steve nodded silently and opened it.

“It declares exactly what I should do the next time I found you in any of state of self inflicted altered consciousness. It also gives me the discretion to choose the placement and amount. Signed by you.”

Tony swallowed hard and nodded slowly. The last time Steve had came upon him when he was drowning in a deep purpling sea of self medication that had terrified even Tony himself, Steve’s reaction had devastated him to the point that Tony would have done anything, signed anything to pacify him. Moving to the dresser, Steve viciously jerked open a drawer and picked out a thin rattan cane and holding it by his side crossed back to Tony. Grabbing hold of Tony’s unresisting arm, Steve pulled him to his feet and demanded.

“Hold out your hands.”

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Anonymous asked: like a discpline kink?

I could try but I need more details. I’ve never written a kink for this fandom. Message me specifics and I’ll let you know if I’m comfortable with it.