rocambolesco

That velveteen voice is instantly recognisable. It makes her head turn & the corner of her mouth pull upward into a smile. Lithe fingers, rid of their prints, swirl the slowly melting paper straw into her shoddily made Manhattan. The worm wriggling in the booth seat opposite her is no longer as interesting as it first appeared.

Not when she is finally basking within the presence of the one angel that plagues her dreams & haunts her every waking moment. She doesn’t even look at the worm as she dismisses him. “Fuck off.”

He sputters & protests lamely but wriggles out, like any other lowly creature that has no choice but to obey her command. But she’s glad for the worm — the worm is her anchor to reality. The worm tells her that despite how it feels, this is not a dream.

The rest of the universe seemed to fade into the tunnel funneled by her gravity. Every sound, photon, pulled into the well of her shadows, illuminating the stunning shine of her eyes, and turn her raven hair into flecks of red and violet. Tony didn't even register when the other man wriggled away.

He leaned against the bar, his elbow casually resting across the countertop, his weight leaning in, pulled by the draw of her purring frequency. Tony smirked, brows flicked in a gentle shrug. "That would make a poison not a medication then."

On the tension that clung to Stark like a second skin, the sharpness in his tone and the bite beneath it, how the man appeared to tense and brace himself for a blow that had not yet come.

It was a familiar thing.

Warriors did the same before battle, steeling themselves for loss and for the moment something in them gave way to accept their fate.

Bright gaze dropped briefly, fleeting yet keen, to the split in the inventor's lip, noting how Stark moved just a fraction too tightly, as if his body remembered some strain that brilliant mind refused to acknowledge.

The runes pulsed faintly beneath the scanning light, and thunderer's approach is calculated, languid. Broad hand was raised to hover over the core, avoiding touch, near enough that the faint hum of power reacted to his presence. Once upon a time the sight of runic markings provoked flares of joy and pride within the broad chest, now their entwined glows are ominious, their very pulsing akin to a silent threat that tugged at ever nerve in thunderer's being.

' This-' and the deep bas is far from soft, disdain oozing from the words. ' - is my rune, Thurisaz, usually providing strength.... yet here it is entwined with Elhaz, protection... making this thing impossible to destroy by mortal means...'

A pause, another gesture, two fingers tracing the air above a jagged mark.

' This is Isaz, deception, here combined with Eihwas, stability. Essentially cloaking it.'

Jaw tightened further, visibly, tendons in the god's neck jolting into taut cords.

The machine hummed steadily now, and whilst Sark moved again, the smell of coffee cutting through the remnants of ozone, Thor exhaled, shaping the tone of the deep bass into something softer.

Tony's gaze was beyond the arch of Thor's vision, the buzzing aura he'd been mechanically masking with conditioned niceties seemed to breeze out of the room as his attention flipped.

Piercing eyes on the scans in front of him as he gulped the combined effects of caffeine and alcohol served like a raised flag at a car race. The drugs themselves weren't able to hit the accelerator but the taste, smell, feel, the carrot dangling in front of him, promising him even the smallest droplet of satisfaction, certainly made the threat of Thor's looming presence an inconsequential piece of the puzzle.

The real excitement lie in the juicy morsel of an equation before him. So many different questions, so many different avenues to choose from. It felt like scanning the view at the top of the Stark tower before he'd jump off. Except there was a real problem. No time to actually enjoy the bite of awe sitting in front of him, and he immediately zeroed in on the structured scans of the pieces of armor.

Thor continued to rumble dangerously behind him. Certain inflections caught Tony's attention enough to cut his gaze between schematics instead of pushing further into the curious whirlpool.

Thurisaz, the vibrations from Thor's bass had a concerning almost bittersweet timbre to it. Something in the dip into a frequency that made something in Tony's impulsive curiosity follow to such a low register his ear wasn't quite sure he actually heard it and he in confused acknowledgment blinked his eyes to recalibrate the startling shift in his body as Thor's inflection shifted ever so slightly higher into another fret.

Intriguing the placement of these words etched onto the joint of the wrist. The full red and gold alloy glistened with that trademark Tony Stark perfection. A clear left to right trajectory as Thor continued but it wasn't linear. Rather it seemed to unfurl around the radial natural twist of the gauntlet.

Tony's brows furrowed deeply, taking another sip of his coffee. The thrill of anticipation from the liquor starting to slow in frequency, somehow he felt a similar concern he figured Thor was trying to convey. He was gonna need something with a little more kick to it if he was gonna keep himself functional enough to not let his rage of having his tech used in such a sacrilegious way.

But the numbness of his breath brought him to the realization that Thurisaz seemed to thread along the seems of the gauntlet that braced Tony's muscles when he was in the suit. Elhaz and Eihwas not paired within the left to right scan, but certainly along another vector where his joints threaded along with his muscles fibers. The math not exact. Perhaps it was his own mind connecting patterns that were rooted in his imagination. Still, that reverb he felt standing parallel to Thor as they both inspected the blasphemous object made Tony confident in his concern.

Isaz, Tony glared at the ugly carving desecrating what could have been art tattooed on his arm in a different dream where he and Thor had worked together to build something so awe inspiring.

"I don't think I have anything here a Thunder God like yourself deserves at a time like this." he exhaled sharply. Finishing off his coffee and bending down under the counter to pull out a clear jug with a date scrawled across a peeling piece of masking tape indicating it was a pretty old bottle. "I've got the finest bootlegged scots-amercian scotch a man of my status could have a supplier for." he popped the cork open and slide the whole bottle across the bench to Thor before pulling up a second identical bottle for himself and poured it into his now empty coffee cup.

"...I'm gonna call Wanda, Strange, and Nat." he paused, drawing a sharp breath. A sudden drop in his stomach at the sudden slam into the stick. Thor's looming judgment casting shadows in Tony's attention so intensely he could not longer keep his body facing away from Thor.

The hair standing up on the back of his neck and arms. The punch in his gut to ready him for the impending blow. Would it be better to self sacrifice? Make the apology now? Consequences were usually less severe if he just gave in. Quick and painless.

But the anger, fueled further by scotch and liquor, boiling in his stomach was not about to go down without a fight. And in all honesty, Tony was in fact only one person. There was only so much he could anticipate. How could he possibly take the blame for his arm being cocked and ready to throw a punch?

And he sighed. The sweet taste of breath easing the tension in his muscles gnawing at the chains to be released, but Tony was conditioned in the ways of etiquette. He could always take a breath to reassess, and it would not be Thor's fault Tony was ready to fight.

Tony rolled his head around his neck, swishing a gulp of the scotch around his mouth to light up every taste bud and linger in a sting on the cut on his lip. Grounding him back into the shadows. Reminding him, he could handle anything and if he couldn't handle it then he'd survive it, and if he didn't survive it well then, that wasn't really of any concern. He probably deserved it anyway.

She fluttered around his member without release despite his attempts to quicken her own climax. She gave him an order, and he hadn't told her to stop yet, so he was inclined to oblige. But desperation was burning in his thighs so much it ached in his balls.

He kept pressing her little button, changing the rhythm every few strokes to see if he could elicit a new response. The exhaustion seeping into his drowsy gaze as his chin rested against her sternum so he could look up at her. That animal hunger that refracted in her tapetum lucidum brought out a smirk from his slacked jaw. He dipped down, his tongue finding her perky little nipple beneath her fur. He matched the flick of his tongue to the flick of this thumb for a moment.

Pressure building to a steady plateau, Tony used her own body's response to his touches to count his breath and test his own resilience. He would break eventually, but the pressure in his loins were easy to ignore for the moment. He nuzzled in her fur as he moved his mouth to her other nipple but before he could make contact she pushed his head back to tease him.

Her riding gait slowing to a grind. His eyes blinked but it didn't matter whether or not they were open, he was far too gone to be able to process vision. Only the blur of her tantalizing silhouette registered, but he could hear to way her laugh covered the stagger of her hips and he grinned with the knowing satisfaction she wasn't as in control as she thought she was.

The squeeze of her folds sucked him in so hard his hips fucked up into her with desperation, rewarding her with small spurts of pre cum he no longer could keep contained. His neck no longer able to to keep his head up straight as he was losing touch with coherent thought.

The sandpaper of her tongue swiped across the delicate cartilage of his ear lope. He didn't even feel it. Body fully a live wire with overstimulation. He tried to nod, tried to form words, to show that he understood the directive. But the only thing he could focus on was holding back the dam. His resolve cracking.

The swipe of his thumb starting to lose all of it's potency. All the fight in him starting to fatigue. He was nothing to her. Whatever metaphors running through his head earlier. Whatever self awareness that the doll beneath the Tiger Goddess, Greer Grant Nelson held in of his own body fell right out of his pretty little head.

And for the first time in months Tony started to slip away. The iron will that forced himself to stay in control started to snap in threads as easily as Tigra's claws ripped through his muscles.

It was numbing, finally a relief from all the pressures he was under. The intensity threatening to explode and tear him into shreds in the process but for the moment lifting him out of torturous hell and he could finally breathe without having to think about it.

She runs a hand through her hair with a frown as he continues the rant. Has he even taken a breath? The way he keeps going flares up the part of her that wants to argue— that wants to argue with him for the sake of it more than any real reason.

The tangent finally ends and for a long moment, she doesn't speak, hands dropping by her sides, fingers tugging at the sleeves of her shirt. What is she even supposed to say to that? Her lips purse, gaze flicking somewhere over his shoulder before flicking up to the gigantic monstrosity of a tree.

God, she hates Christmas.

Finally, she lets out a slow breath, " I'm sorry. " She says finally, quieter now. " I wasn't trying to insult you. " There's a pause as she weighs her words, lips twisting into a grimace. " I'm just. . . Not good at this Christmas stuff. " A small shrug. It's true. Nadia has hated Christmas for a very long time. Since their parents had died. Since the first distance between them because neither of them knew what to do with their grief— and even if it was better now. . . Christmas was tied to too many bad memories to just forget.

His heart pounded annoyingly fast in his chest as the wide desperation in his gaze glazed over and his cut his head to look away from her. He shouldn't have responded that way. He was usually so good under pressure. A choice few who knew him, knew which masks he'd wear in which situations. Prodding when they were concerned he was armored for far too long and hiding an injury.

But Nadia had a way to get under his skin no one else could. It wasn't just that she didn't seem to notice those things. He was the eldest. It was his job to mitigate his own struggles to make sure she was safe, and he took far worse hits from other people who didn't deserve his grace. But something in that discerning look in her eyes just made him feel small. It wasn't her fault she had the uncanny ability to remind him of everything terrible about their father.

Tony inhaled sharply, fixing his disheveled tie, the apology on the tip of his tongue except she apologized first.

His tilted up to gauge her stance. The way she reeled back the hook. It wasn't her fault he took the bait either. The weight of the valley between felt too grand and while he wasn't quick enough with words to retort to her admission about Christmas, he was already blocking her exit by the time she said she should head out.

"You always wanted to be the center of attention at family holiday events." he nudged her shoulder playfully. The sly curl of his teasing smile shifted the pressure gauge of his own anxiety. "What if you and I don't call it Christmas dinner huh?" he offered.

Like a car shifting two gears lower he softens beneath her, his hands loosening her tense muscles wherever he moves them; her hips, her ribcage, her shoulders, her jaw as he cups it. His calloused thumbs moving over her brow like a blessing. He presses his forehead to hers, so gentle in the way he handles her, such care she's never known again since him. He sanctifies her with his touch, with his promises. He always knows just what to say.

Not like her. She has no control over herself when he is with her. Her walls come crashing down because she doesn't need them when they are together. That's why sometimes, he cuts her so deeply, hurts her so much. She is never adequately prepared for him. His quips, his sincerity, his devotion. She can only repay it in kind -- not with words but with action.

The daring, dashing, cheeky authoritative persona Tony lead with crumbled under silence between them. He was good at that. Crossing lines he didn't even know he had crossed. It wasn't always on purpose, often he just was ahead of the curve and so focused he didn't realize he'd made a mistake.

These days he thought he was getting better at it. Better at recognizing the signs. At asking even it if was in a less than mechanical way. He loved the dance, loved the natural way people interacted. Whitney was one of the few who seemed to encourage him to be as naturally Tony Stark as he wanted to be.

So how did he misunderstand? Where was the point he crossed the line? The point he was oblivious, stupid, hurtful? It didn't matter much right this moment. She was in his hands now, expressing frustration in her own way, and Whitney was rarely truly frustrated with him unless it was his fault.

Before he could solidify what she truly needed, her lips crashed into his.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, finally tasting her kiss. The tension melting away as their bodies pressed tightly against one another. The ache in his chest of shame was replaced by a burning need for air. His head swimming with the way Whitney was taking over all of his senses. Just like she always did.

His heart fluttered in a seized skip of a beat, but he refused to break the kiss. She'd could bring him to his knees first before he'd ever stop giving her what she wanted.

Well maybe that's her fault. Maybe she should be a little more stern with him.

Whitney flexes her fingers outward, a few of his hairs falling from between her fingers. The hand moves to the back of his neck, twists to the front; presses against the base of his throat a little tighter this time. "Fight? Baby, I'm unarmed."

She leans in, inch by inch, until her lips are brushing against the space between his ear & jaw & her chest is pressed against his. She swallows the rage his latest comment makes her blood simmer toward boiling point. Hands rest at the tops of his thighs -- the small portion of them, closest to his hips -- that she's not already purchased upon.

The tension between them was palpable. A taste of future sweat, blood, and other tantalizing bodily fluids made his mouth water in anticipation. He pursed his lips, wetting them with his tongue as the pressure of her chest pressed into his threatened his resolve. But the pause was too long. Whitney was studying him. The twitch of her brow, the analytical mind of a woman so wonderfully strategic trying to plan her next action.

Tony's piercing gaze softened. His head tilting almost imperceptibly at the shift. The way the air vibrated not with fun tightrope tension but something a little more shaky. He didn't even register the grip of her palms against his thighs as he assessed the shift between them.

"Work?" he asked, brows lifting as he lowered her completely into his lap. He lessened the intensity of his grip on her, but not remotely disengaging touch. Rather he moved his hands up along the curves of her hips, waist, arms, until his hands cupped her face. Thumb brushing the loose locks of her hair that fell in her face.

Smile slowly faded, into something sharper & more deadly; a viperous smirk cutting across her face as her grey eyes flitted all over his. Taking in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, that daring arch of his brow, the defiant little upturn at the corner of his mouth.

She really did hate when he called her that.

"Are you threatening me, tesoro?" Lithe, skilled hand slithered up the back of his neck, gliding through thick hair up to the back of his head. Fingers tightened in a flash, one deft tug & his throat was exposed. So easy, so quick -- sometimes she wondered if he forgot how deadly she was.

But then she remembers it's one of the reasons he loves her so much.

He wasn't sure which shift in her vision caught his attention first. The sharpness of her eyes, the dangerous glare met with a flirty dare of a brow, the soft sweet smile twisting to reveal the fangs beneath the mask. He felt the twitch in his slacks, grateful the strength of his arm held her weight and kept that particular response to her warning signs his little secret. Not that he and Whitney had many secrets at this point.

Her nails scraped against his scalp, such a tease. Her claws weren't even that sharp. Maybe he should make her something for that. The thought rolled through his mind without much more energy expended on it. Instead he held the breath, not giving her the satisfaction of a gasp. Instead, the moment the pause of shock had subsided and he could feel the tightness in her grip, any tension in his neck from guarding released.

Tony touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing his jaw to relax. He felt the sharpness of her grip on his hair tear at his scalp as he slowly, as if tasting the pressure of her ferocity through their touch and defiantly willed his head to move back to center, staring up at her with smile.

"You need a mind shift darling. It's a promessa amata." he quipped, his hands digging into her voluptuous cheeks. "You're the one who suggested ego. Don't beckon the fight if you aren't wanting one." he clicked his tongue finally, leaving his mouth open slightly as he pressed even further. Feeling the hair tear away finally from his head without flinching. Inching further until the heat of her breath wafted across his tongue.

[ ϟ ]— The scene is observed with ever rising interest, and whatever playfulness remained in the Asgardian dissipated languidly as ceruleans follow the inventor's actions. Infinitely talented, skilled beyond measure and human comprehension, and yet guarded, poise and pretense slathered generously over the surface, every shallow act utilized as to not appear... weak? Wanting?

It boggles the mind, in the same fashion most of human interactions did when Midgard was still somewhat unfamiliar to the god, and were he a lesser man, a more desensitized deity, it would remain the amusing play it had been so far.

Experience, and genuine care for the mortals present, shapes a different expression upon the god's features, twists mouth into a gentle curl, and allows for several moments to pass before mighty form moves and joins the man.

Silence is left untouched; allowing whatever swirls through the inventor's mind to settle, perhaps even calm down, the comment receiving no retort right away.

' I see indeed, no child is present.'

There is now absolute and undeniable fondness in the deep bass, yet it lingers in the tone only, nothing in the Asgardian showing any signs of amusement, or even judgment.

' You are terrified however.'

It is not a query, only a simple statement, gaze fixed upon the skyline beyond the small scene of comrades navigating matters of the heart, and fear.

Sharp exhale of breath flared his nostrils as Tony's forearms rested on the barrier that enclosed the balcony. The wind whipped around them lightly, tousling the lightest cow lick of his raven hair and ruffling his collar. Vulnerability was easy in some spaces. Carol knew more details of Tony's weaknesses and wounds than most, but the attempt at removing the mask that protected his heart was much more difficult to show than recalled memories he could brush off as being a small piece in a larger puzzle.

The fear of being so exposed had him jittery only the adrenaline had no place to go. Even Thor's presence, someone who could easily handle any unreasonable outburst from the manifestation of Tony's deeply seated wounds, was only serving to set external boundaries. Sharp sapphire gaze cast out across the tops of shorter skyscrapers around the building.

It wouldn't have been very long ago that Tony would have just jumped from the ledge. Past the need for alcohol to always numb this ache that sat heavy in his chest, but still needing something to let it out. But these days he was trying to be more measured. Moderate. Mature.

And yet, something about the rumbling bass of Thor's words felt validating. Not passing judgment the way Tony was too himself, though the thought that was Thor's own gentle way to address his defensive mechanism to cut off any judgment by offering a harsh self assessment had his gut twisting in knots and rolling his eyes with the shake of his head.

"I'm fine." Tony responded flatly, the ache running up his neck into the back of his head. "Fear is a normal response for anyone who understands the concept of entropy. My fear response is arguably defective." he rationalized, offering even the slightest attempt at peeling back a layer without completely dismissing Thor's observations.

"Not exactly. Your behavior was not insolent." Tony offered his own correction to Thor's self assessment. "And no, Carol is an individual person who should not be compared to anyone else but herself. I admittedly do not have enough experience with her romantic life to know whether her response was bad. It just is unknown and I dislike not knowing where I stand." he continued.

Tony rolled his head around his neck. His palms clapped the concrete of the barrier before he stepped back to allow his shoulders to relax and his spine to lengthen. "I think I need to go for a flight." Tony said, cracking his neck from side to side before jumping up on the barrier.

The humor dripped from her tone. A flirtatious smirk? Or just a funny inside joke between the two of them. He could take a hint but this was starting to feel more like a hook, and Anthony was always a curious boy.

Tony stepped closer, pretty the atmospheric boundary between them. His sharp gaze dipping lower to catch glimpses of her gorgeous vision instead of only matching her own gaze fully.

There goes that smile; wide & rare & entirely his fault. Her soft hand relinquishes his scruffy chin (he still won't shave it for her) & moves to his throat, only to cup it, only to guide him. Whitney places herself perfectly -- strategically -- in his lap; arms wrapping around his shoulders as she wiggles her ass against him.

Something in the way she stroked his pride brought his attention fully to her presence. The pressure of her weight falling solidly in his lap, threatening to affect the delicate thread count of the fabric of his pants.

The weight of her arms wrapped around his shoulders dropped their guard down. Her smile begging for a kiss, but the rest of her was begging for something else. His palms glided along the scrumptious curve of her hips, his hands cupping and squeezing her backside adoringly as she wiggled against him. Such a tease. Well, two could play that game.

Tony's hands landed under her, his forearms and wrists, taking the brunt of her weight and giving him just enough breathing room to stay in control despite her efforts. He flicked a brow at her suggestively.

Artificial Intelligence was something even the galactic community remained undecided on. The Kree Empire had followed an AI’s doctrine for ages before Carol destroyed the Supreme Intelligence. Most societies had laws surrounding AI development and usage, and while how much power an AI could have varied, it was generally agreed they had to be careful. The harm which could be done to galactic civilisation – was horrifying.

      Humanity and Earth didn't seem to realize the danger.

      Carol was alerted to something being wrong when she was summoned by S.H.I.E.L.D. The message was blank, but Fury had sent it. The location was in the middle of nowhere, Nevada. Quietly ignored as a nothing blip on satellite imagery due to the ominous Area 51 not being too far away. Carol swooped down to the parking lot, landing next to a brilliant blue Shelby Cobra which sat just outside a single floor, plain building. It reminded Carol of a school: bleak, beige, and boring.

      She glanced at the car’s license plate: STARK008

      Stark, why did the name sound familiar? Fury might have mentioned someone in a report. Carol moved into the building. The interior was as boring as the exterior: definitely designed to appear as a civilian operation. The reception had a few seats for people to wait, a desk with an unremarkable computer where the receptionist should be. A quick glance, there were two hallways, one led to the washrooms, and maybe a utility closet. The other: probably offices.

      Carol frowned.

      Where was everyone?

      At a glance, everything appeared in order, as if everyone just got up and left. But looking closer, the chair at the front desk was pushed out, implying someone got up in a hurry. Some of the papers were scattered. Carol moved further inside: all the doors to each section of offices and cubicles were wide open, one partly off its hinge.

      She heard a noise from farther down the hall, and followed. The corridor turned a corner, to a final office. It was larger than the others, a little fancier. Management’s office, if she had to guess. Inside, there was someone at the desk, looking at a computer. Carol approached the room’s entrance: he looked… out of place. Sure, he was clean cut enough to be the manager, but he didn’t carry himself that way.

      He’d be the guy to own the building by her guess, not run it.

The crease that deepened the lines across Tony's normally charismatically welcoming expression. Papers strewn out across the work benches. The hologram overlaying a thousand different charts, graphs, and data sorting.

There was an ache somewhere in his chest, and Tony bit the inside of his bottom chapped lip as his eyes scanned the unfathomably immense amount of information before him. Breathe a gruff voice commanded deep in his consciousness. Tony wasn't entirely sure what voice it reminded him of, but he was appreciative either way that his lungs still worked.

"Pym what have you done?" Tony muttered exasperatedly. A spike of rage hit somewhere deep in his gut, threatening to knock the wind out of his chest. He crumpled up one of the papers, letting it fall to the ground with a pile that shuffled around as he paced between monitors.

"My kingdom for a cigarette and a screwdriver." he groaned rubbing tired eyes. He was grateful for having to blink away tears of exhaustion than having dry itchy eyes. The small robot rolled over, steaming cup in hand. Tony's shoulders relaxed, a soft sparkle in his eyes as he took the cup. "Oh c'mon? No sugar or cream?" he teased with an unintential sharp gruffness in his voice.

His head snapped to the new comer. Her casual attitude a stark contrast to the stuffy uniform. Posed and ready, but with an air of casual confidence.

Coffee dribbled in his scruff, staining the front of his already less than pristine white tank top even further. The split second of social ineptitude breezed by, Tony's mind far too preoccupied with the information on Ultron to care about his appearance, and he beamed a little half heartedly at her.

In a less time pressured situation, Tony may have carried the banter further, but instead he just beckoned her in with the nod of his head. "No, they wanted to stay but everyone was already over worked and falling asleep. I told them to get some rest. Fury can send Pepper the hotel bill." Tony stated without hesitation as easy as one would brush past the morning weather report in polite conversation.

Anyway I still donno when I'll be back to writing but I am awake and online if anyone wants to hop in the dms and chat with me I'm open.