Daddy

Characters

Tony Stark

Masterlist

Peter Highman

One Bad Day 1/2/3/4/5 Overtime Stress Relief - Anon Ask Back to You - Anon Ask

Hank Palmer

The Long Summer Masterlist Morning Devotion 1/2 - Anon Ask Sunday Morning - Anon Ask Joint Venture - Anon Ask Years in the Making - Anon Ask

Paul Avery

Last Call 1/2/3

Sherlock Holmes

The Science of Desire The Transformation of Sherlock Holmes 1/2 - Anon Ask Checkmate 1/2 - Anon Ask The Green-Eyed Detective - Anon Ask

Harry Castillo

Terms & Conditions Masterlist

George of the Jungle

Wildly in Love

Bruce Banner

The Internship 1/2/3 (WIP) Liquid Courage The Equation of You and Me - Anon Ask

Dr. Jack Abbott

Downward Facing Everything Bruised But Not Broken Starved Big Dick Energy

Titus Danforth

The Devil You Know 1/2/3

Andrew “Pope” Cody

Undone

Actors

Robert Downey Jr.

Morning Wood Dust and Desire 1/2/3/4/5/6/Epilogue (Completed) The Perfect Gift - Anon Ask In Frame 1/2 - Anon Ask The Cane - Anon Ask Tangled Up in You - Anon Ask Fever - Anon Ask When the Armor Falls - Anon Ask

Pedro Pascal

Only Mine Sent, Delivered, Desired A Valentine's Worth Waiting For The Birthday Surprise Golden Nights Behind the Lens The Weight of Being Seen - Anon Ask

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

Mouth

David Harbour

After Hours

Shawn Hatosy

Yes, Chef Desperate Measures

Ask Games Prompts

Even from behind, he's commanding. The white suit is tailored so perfectly it might as well be a second skin - structured peak lapels, crisp lines, the kind of craftsmanship that costs a fortune. White trousers that somehow aren't pretentious on him. 

He doesn't turn around immediately. Just stands there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of amber liquid, looking out at the city spread below him like a kingdom he owns.

Which, let's be honest, he basically does.

"Leave us," he says, his voice smooth and dark, and the men who brought you here don't hesitate. The door closes with a soft click that sounds far too final.

You're alone with the most dangerous man in the city.

Tony turns slowly, and even though you're prepared for it, the sight of him still hits you like a physical blow. The white suit should make him look soft, approachable. Instead, it makes him look like a predator dressed for a kill. The black shirt beneath is sheer enough that you can see the outline of his chest, the hint of dark hair, the suggestion of muscle. It's unbuttoned just enough to be devastating - not sloppy, but deliberately casual, like he knows exactly what he's doing.

"So," he says, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You're Romano's daughter."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway. "And you're the asshole who kidnapped me."

His lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach the hidden eyes. "Kidnapped is such an ugly word. I prefer 'strategically relocated.'"

"I prefer 'felony,'" you counter, crossing your arms. Your heart is racing, but you'll be damned if you let him see it. "But I guess when you own half the cops in the city, semantics don't matter much."

"Three-quarters, actually," Tony corrects, moving toward the bar. His movements are fluid, confident, like a man who's never doubted his place in the world. "I don't do anything halfway. Drink?"

"I'd rather eat glass."

"Dramatic." He pours himself another two fingers of whiskey. "I like that. Your father's more of a 'shoot first, think never' kind of guy. It's refreshing to meet someone from your family with actual personality."

The insult to your father makes your jaw clench, but you force yourself to stay calm. Getting emotional is exactly what he wants. "And you're exactly what I expected. Rich, arrogant, thinks the world revolves around him."

"The world does revolve around me, sweetheart." He turns to face you fully, leaning back against the bar. "That's not arrogance. That's just facts."

"Is that what you tell yourself when you're ordering people killed?" You take a step closer, refusing to be intimidated. "That it's just facts? Just business?"

"Oh, I don't tell myself anything." Tony tilts his head, and even though you can't see his eyes, you can feel the weight of his gaze. "I sleep like a baby. Eight hours, no dreams, no guilt. It's one of my better qualities."

"You're a sociopath."

"I'm efficient," he corrects. "There's a difference. Sociopaths lack empathy. I have plenty of empathy. I just choose not to let it interfere with business." He takes another sip. "Your father should try it sometime. Might have saved him from this situation."

"What situation?" You demand. "You grabbed me off the street like some kind of -"

"Your father stole from me," Tony interrupts, his voice still calm but with an edge now. Sharp. Dangerous. "Three million in product. Just... took it. Like I wouldn't notice. Like there wouldn't be consequences."

"I don't know anything about that."

"I know." He pushes off from the bar, moving closer. "That's why you're here and not at the bottom of the Hudson. You're leverage, not punishment. There's a difference."

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne - something expensive and dark, cedar and smoke. close enough now that you can see the details of his face clearly - the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

"So what?" You refuse to back down. "You're going to hold me here until my father gives you your drugs back?"

"Money," Tony corrects. "I don't want the product back. It's been compromised. I want three million dollars, plus interest, plus a very sincere apology." His smile is sharp. "And yes, you're going to stay here until I get it."

"He'll kill you."

"He'll try," Tony agrees, unbothered. "They always do. I'm still here. They're not." He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek. The touch is unexpectedly intimate, and it catches you off guard. Up close - his eyes are dark, intelligent, and far too perceptive. They rake over you with an intensity that makes your skin heat, cataloging every detail, every micro-expression. There's amusement there, and interest, and something else you can't quite name.

"You're not what I expected," he says quietly.

"What did you expect?"

"Tears. Begging. Maybe some screaming." His gaze holds yours. "Instead you're standing here insulting me like you're not completely at my mercy. It's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

"Maybe it's both."

His laugh is genuine, surprised. "Maybe it is." He steps back, giving you space, and somehow that's more unsettling than when he was close. "You hungry?"

The question throws you. "What?"

"Hungry. Food. Sustenance." He moves toward the kitchen - because of course this penthouse has a kitchen that's probably bigger than your apartment. "I'm assuming Rocco and his boys didn't stop for dinner on the way here."

"I'm not hungry."

"Liar." He opens the refrigerator, and you catch a glimpse of contents that look more like a restaurant's stock than a home kitchen. "You've been here twenty minutes and you've already lied to me twice. We're going to have to work on that."

"I'm not working on anything with you."

"Sure you are." He pulls out containers, setting them on the counter. "You're going to be here for a while. Might as well make the best of it." He glances at you. "Unless you want to spend the next few days - weeks, maybe - being miserable and hungry. Your choice."

You hate that he's right. Hate that your stomach is growling. Hate that he looks so fucking calm and in control while your entire world has been turned upside down.

"What are you making?"

His smile is victorious. "That's better. How do you feel about pasta?"

___________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later, you're sitting at his dining table - a massive thing made of dark wood and sharp angles - with a plate of carbonara in front of you that smells so good it should be illegal.

Tony sits across from you, his jacket discarded now, just the black sheer dress-shirt. He's rolled up his sleeves, and you can see his forearms, strong and dusted with dark hair. There's a watch on his wrist that probably costs more than a car.

"So," he says, twirling pasta on his fork with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times. "Tell me about yourself."

"No."

"Come on." He takes a bite, and you hate that he makes even eating look elegant. "We're going to be spending time together. Might as well get to know each other."

"I'm not interested in getting to know my kidnapper."

"Strategically relocated," he corrects again. "And you're eating my food, so the least you can do is make conversation."

You take a bite - and fuck, it's delicious - before answering. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." He leans back in his chair, wine glass in hand. "But let's start simple. What do you do? Besides being Romano's daughter, I mean."

"I'm a lawyer."

His eyebrows rise. "Really?"

"Why is that surprising?"

"It's not. It's perfect." He grins. "Mob princess with a law degree. That's either the best cover story ever or a really fucked up rebellion against daddy."

"Maybe it's both."

"Maybe it is," he echoes your earlier words. "What kind of law?"

"Corporate." You take another bite, trying not to show how hungry you actually are. "Mergers and acquisitions, mostly."

"Ah." Understanding crosses his face. "So you legitimize your father's money."

"I practice law," you correct coldly. "What my clients do with their finances is their business."

"Sure it is." But there's no judgment in his voice, just amusement. "I'm not criticizing. I think it's smart. Your father's an idiot for not using you more."

"He uses me plenty."

"Not enough, clearly, or he wouldn't have been stupid enough to steal from me." Tony swirls his wine. "Did you know? About the shipment?"

"No."

"I believe you." He studies you. "You're a terrible liar. Your left eye twitches when you're not telling the truth."

Your hand flies to your eye before you can stop yourself, and his grin widens.

"It doesn't actually," he admits. "But now I know you're self-conscious about your tells. Useful information."

"You're an asshole."

"I'm effective," he corrects. "There's a difference." He takes another sip of wine. "So, corporate lawyer. Smart, educated, probably top of your class. Why stay in the family business? You could have gone anywhere, done anything."

"Maybe I like what I do."

"Maybe." He doesn't sound convinced. "Or maybe you're trapped just like everyone else in this life. Golden cage and all that."

The observation hits too close to home, and you deflect. "What about you? How does someone go from building weapons to running the biggest criminal empire on the East Coast?"

"Who says I stopped building weapons?" His smile is sharp. "I just diversified. Turns out the same skills that make you good at designing defense systems make you very good at running an organization. Strategy, logistics, understanding human nature." He leans forward. "Plus, I got bored. Legitimate business is so... constrained. Rules, regulations, ethics boards. Where's the fun in that?"

"Most people find ethics comforting."

"Most people are boring." He finishes his wine. "You're not boring."

"You don't know me."

"I'm learning." His gaze is intense. "You're smart - obviously. Educated. You've got a spine, which is rare in this world. You're not afraid of me, which is either stupidity or courage, and I'm leaning toward courage." He tilts his head. "And you're beautiful, but you already know that."

The compliment catches you off guard. "That's inappropriate."

"Probably." He doesn't look sorry. "But it's also true. I deal in truths, sweetheart. Lies are too much work."

"Don't call me sweetheart."

"What should I call you then?" He stands, collecting the plates. "I can't keep thinking of you as 'Romano's daughter.' You need a name."

You hesitate, then give it to him. Your first name, just that, nothing more.

He repeats it, testing it out, and the way he says it makes something low in your belly tighten. "Pretty. Suits you." He moves to the kitchen, and you watch him rinse the plates, load them into the dishwasher. It's such a normal, domestic action that it's jarring coming from a man who probably has people killed before breakfast.

"You do your own dishes?"

"I do a lot of things that might surprise you." He dries his hands on a towel. "I'm not some cartoon villain, despite what you might think. I cook, I clean, I even do my own laundry sometimes." He leans against the counter. "Shocking, I know."

"It's weird."

"It's human." He shrugs. "Just because I run a criminal empire doesn't mean I've forgotten how to be a person." His eyes meet yours. "You should remember that. I'm not a monster. I'm just a man who's very good at his job."

"Your job is ruining lives."

"My job is providing services people want and can't get legally." He moves back toward you. "Drugs, weapons, protection, information. I don't create the demand. I just meet it. If I didn't, someone else would. At least I have standards."

"Standards," you repeat incredulously.

"No kids, no human trafficking, no unnecessary violence." He counts them off on his fingers. "I pay my people well, I don't fuck with civilians, and I keep my word. That's more than most people in this business can say."

"You want a medal?"

"I want credit where credit's due." He's in front of you now, and you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "I'm not asking you to like me. I'm not even asking you to respect me. But don't pretend I'm something I'm not. I'm a criminal, yes. But I'm an honest one."

"That's an oxymoron."

"That's reality." His hand comes up, and this time he does touch you - just his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up. "You're going to be here for a while. We can make this easy or we can make this hard. Your choice."

Your breath catches. He's so close you can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, can feel the heat radiating off his body. "And if I choose hard?"

His smile is slow, dangerous. "Then we'll have fun." His thumb brushes your lower lip, just once, before he steps back. "But I think you're smarter than that."

You should be terrified. You should be planning your escape, thinking about how to get word to your father, figuring out how to survive this. Instead, you're thinking about how his touch made your skin feel electric, how his eyes seem to see right through you, how his smile makes your pulse race for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.

This is bad.

This is very, very bad.

"I want to call my father," you say, trying to regain some control. "Let him know I'm alive."

"No."

"He'll think you killed me."

"Good." Tony moves to the bar, pours himself another drink. "Let him sweat. Let him wonder. Fear is a powerful motivator."

"He'll retaliate."

"He'll try." Tony doesn't sound concerned. "But he won't find you. This place doesn't exist on any official records. The building is owned by a shell corporation owned by another shell corporation owned by a trust in the Caymans. Even if he figures out I have you, he'll never figure out where."

"You've done this before."

"I've been prepared for every contingency," he corrects. "That's how you stay alive in this business. Preparation, planning, and the willingness to do what others won't."

"Like kidnapping innocent women?"

"Like protecting my interests." He turns to face you. "You're not innocent, sweetheart. You're a Romano. You've been neck-deep in this life since birth. Don't pretend otherwise."

He's right, and you hate it. You've never pulled a trigger, never given an order, but you've looked the other way. You've legitimized money you knew was dirty. You've provided legal cover for deals you knew were illegal. You're complicit, even if you've never admitted it out loud.

"I want to go to bed," you say finally. "I'm tired."

"Of course." He sets down his drink. "I'll show you to your room."

___________________________________________________________

The bedroom he leads you to is obscenely luxurious. King-sized bed with sheets that probably have a thread count in the thousands. Attached bathroom with a tub that could fit three people. A walk-in closet that's already stocked with clothes in your size.

"How did you -"

"I'm thorough," Tony says from the doorway. "Everything should fit. If it doesn't, let me know and I'll have it corrected."

You turn to face him. "You planned this. All of this."

"I plan everything." He leans against the doorframe, and the casual pose should make him look relaxed. Instead, it makes him look like a predator at rest. "Your father's been on my radar for months. I knew eventually he'd do something stupid enough to give me leverage. I just didn't know what form that leverage would take." His eyes rake over you. "I got lucky."

"Lucky."

"Very." He pushes off the doorframe. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Talk about what?"

He pauses, hand on the door. "About the arrangement."

"What arrangement?"

"The one where you stay here, safe and comfortable, while your father learns a very important lesson about respecting other people's property." He smiles. "The one where you play by my rules and I make sure nothing bad happens to you."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then things get uncomfortable." His voice is still pleasant, but there's steel underneath. "I don't want that. You don't want that. So let's both be smart about this."

"You're giving me a choice?"

"I'm giving you the illusion of one," he corrects. "Which is more than most people in your position get. Take it."

He closes the door before you can respond, and you hear the lock click. You're alone in a gilded cage, and the worst part is that your captor is right - you are going to be smart about this.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

___________________________________________________________

You don't sleep well. The bed is comfortable, the sheets are soft, but your mind won't stop racing. Every time you close your eyes, you see Tony's face. That sharp smile. Those knowing eyes. The way he touched your chin like he had every right to.

When morning comes, you shower in the obscenely large bathroom, using products that smell expensive and feel like silk on your skin. The clothes in the closet fit perfectly - designer labels, quality fabrics, everything in your style. It's unsettling how well he knows you, how thoroughly he's prepared.

You choose black pants and a silk blouse, armor in the form of professional clothing. When you emerge from the bedroom, you follow the smell of coffee to find Tony in the kitchen.

He's in different clothes now - dark jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his chest and arms. His hair is slightly damp, like he's recently showered, and he's barefoot. It's such a casual, domestic look that it throws you.

"Morning," he says, not looking up from the espresso machine. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black."

"Of course you do." He hands you a cup, and your fingers brush his as you take it. The contact sends a jolt through you that you absolutely do not want to examine. "Sleep well?"

"No."

"Honest. I like that." He leans against the counter, his own cup in hand. "We need to talk about the arrangement."

"I'm listening."

"Your father has one week to return my money," Tony says. "After that, the interest starts compounding. Ten percent per day."

"That's insane."

"That's business." He takes a sip of coffee. "In the meantime, you stay here. You don't leave, you don't contact anyone, you don't try anything stupid."

"And what do I get out of this?"

"You stay alive," he says simply. "You stay comfortable. You stay safe. Your father gets his daughter back in one piece, and everyone learns a valuable lesson about respecting boundaries."

"That's not an arrangement. That's a hostage situation."

"Semantics." He sets down his cup. "But if you want to negotiate, I'm listening."

You weren't expecting that. "Negotiate?"

"You're a lawyer. Negotiation is what you do." He crosses his arms, and the movement makes his biceps flex. "So negotiate. What do you want?"

Your mind races. This is a test, obviously. He's seeing how you think, how you operate under pressure. "Freedom of movement within the penthouse."

"Done. You already have that."

"Access to books, internet, television."

"Done and done. What else?"

"I want to call my father. Once. Just to let him know I'm alive."

Tony considers this. "Supervised call. Five minutes. I listen to every word."

"Fine." You take a breath. "And I want your word that you won't hurt me."

"You already have it." His voice is serious now. "I don't hurt women. Ever. That's a line I don't cross."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I've never lied to you," he says simply. "I've been an asshole, yes. I've been arrogant and manipulative and probably a dozen other things. But I haven't lied. And I'm not going to start now."

You study him, trying to find the deception, the angle. But his eyes are clear, his expression open. He means it.

"Okay," you say finally. "I'll stay. I'll play by your rules. But I want something else."

"Name it."

"I want to know why." You step closer. "Why me? You could have grabbed anyone in my father's organization. Why his daughter?"

Tony's smile is slow, dangerous. "Because you're the only thing he actually cares about." He moves closer, and suddenly the kitchen feels very small. "Your father is a lot of things, but he loves you. Genuinely loves you. That makes you valuable. That makes you leverage."

"That's it? I'm just a bargaining chip?"

"No." His hand comes up, fingers brushing your cheek. "You're also fascinating. Smart, beautiful, brave enough to stand up to me. I could have grabbed his accountant or his lieutenant or any number of people. But where's the fun in that?" His thumb traces your jawline. "You're interesting. And I like interesting things."

Your breath catches. "This is insane."

"Probably." He doesn't move away. "But you're going to stay anyway. Because you're smart enough to know it's your best option. Because you're curious about what happens next. And because…" his eyes drop to your lips, “You're attracted to me, and that scares you more than anything else."

"I'm not."

"Don't lie." His voice is soft but firm. "Remember? You're terrible at it. I can see it in the way you look at me. The way your breath changes when I get close. The way your pupils dilate when I touch you." His hand slides to the back of your neck. "You're attracted to me, and you hate yourself for it."

"You're my captor."

"I'm your host," he corrects. "And you're my guest. A very special guest." He leans in, his lips close to your ear. "Stay. Play the game. See what happens. I promise you won't be bored."

He pulls back, releasing you, and you feel the loss of his touch like a physical thing. Your heart is racing, your skin is flushed, and you're absolutely furious with yourself for responding to him.

"One week," you say, your voice not quite steady. "Then I go home."

"One week," he agrees. "Unless you decide you want to stay longer."

"That's not going to happen."

His smile says he doesn't believe you. "We'll see."

___________________________________________________________

The week came and went.

Your father paid the money - of course he did. Three million plus interest, delivered in cash to one of Tony's warehouses. You listened to the phone call where the deal was made, heard your father's voice tight with barely controlled rage, promising retribution.

Tony had just smiled and ended the call.

"You can go," he'd said, turning to you. "Deal's done. You're free."

And you'd looked at him - at this penthouse that had become familiar, at this man who'd become something you couldn't quite name - and you'd heard yourself say, "What if I want to stay?"

That was three weeks ago.

Now you're curled up on Tony's obscenely comfortable couch, reading a book, while he works at his desk across the room. It's late afternoon, the sun casting golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and there's a glass of wine on the table next to you.

This has become your routine. Days spent reading, watching movies, occasionally helping Tony with the legitimate side of his business - because it turns out he actually does run several legal companies, and your corporate law expertise is useful. Evenings spent talking, debating, arguing about everything from philosophy to politics to the best way to make carbonara.

You haven't left the penthouse. Haven't even asked to.

Your father thinks you're being held against your will. Tony's people think you're still leverage. But the truth is more complicated than either of those things.

The truth is that you're choosing to be here.

"You're staring," Tony says without looking up from his laptop.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"About how fucked up this situation is." You set down your book. "I should hate you."

"But you don't." Now he does look up, and his eyes are warm. "Why is that, do you think?"

"I don't know." You stand, moving to the windows. The city spreads out below, and somewhere down there is your old life. Your father's house. Your office. Your carefully constructed existence. "Maybe I'm suffering from Stockholm Syndrome."

"Stockholm Syndrome requires fear and dependence." Tony's voice is closer now. He's moved from his desk, and is standing behind you. "You're not afraid of me. And you're certainly not dependent on me. You could leave anytime you want."

"Could I?"

"Yes." His hands settle on your shoulders, warm and solid. "I'm not keeping you prisoner. I haven't been for weeks. You're staying because you want to."

"Why would I want to stay with someone who kidnapped me?"

"Because I see you." His hands slide down your arms. "Really see you. Not Romano's daughter. Not the corporate lawyer. Not the good girl playing by daddy's rules. I see the woman who's been trapped in a life she didn't choose, who's smart enough to know she wants more but too loyal to take it."

You turn to face him. "You don't know me."

"I'm learning." His hand comes up to cup your face. "And what I'm learning is fascinating. You're brilliant - I knew that already. But you're also funny, and kind, and you have terrible taste in movies."

Despite yourself, you laugh. "The Notebook is a classic."

"The Notebook is emotional manipulation disguised as romance." But he's smiling. "My point is, you're not what I expected. And I think I'm not what you expected either."

He's right. You'd expected a monster. A cartoon villain. Instead, you'd found a man who's brilliant and funny and surprisingly thoughtful. Who remembers how you take your coffee. Who argues with you about philosophy at two in the morning. Who looks at you like you're the most interesting thing in his world.

"This is insane," you whisper.

"Probably." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "But you're still here."

"I should go."

"But you won't." His eyes search yours. "Because you're curious. Because you want to see what happens next. Because -" he leans in, his lips close to yours, "You want this as much as I do."

"Want what?"

"This." And then he's kissing you.

It's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's claiming and demanding and absolutely devastating. His hand slides into your hair, angling your head, and his tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it. Like he owns you.

And God help you, you kiss him back.

Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat straight to your core. He tastes like coffee and something darker, something that's purely him, and you can't get enough.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard.

"That was a mistake," you say, but you don't let go of his shirt.

"That was inevitable." His hand is still in your hair. "We've been building to this for weeks."

"We shouldn't -"

"We should." He kisses you again, softer this time but no less intense. "We absolutely should. Unless you're going to tell me you don't want this."

You should tell him that. Should push him away, should leave, should go back to your old life. But you don't want to. You want this. Want him. Have wanted him for weeks, even though you've been trying to deny it.

"I want this," you admit, and his smile is victorious.

"Good." He takes your hand. "Come with me."

___________________________________________________________

Tony's bedroom is all dark colors and clean lines. Massive bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows with curtains that are currently open, showing the city lights below. It's intimate and masculine and absolutely perfect.

He closes the door behind you, and suddenly the air feels charged, electric. You're both standing there, looking at each other, and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Last chance," Tony says quietly. "You can walk away. No judgment, no consequences. We'll pretend this never happened."

"I don't want to walk away."

"Then come here."

You cross the space between you, and then his hands are on you, pulling you close. He kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding under your blouse, finding bare skin. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sweeping in, claiming.

Your hands find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, and he breaks the kiss long enough to let you pull it over his head. And oh God, he's beautiful. All lean muscle and golden skin, a light dusting of dark hair across his chest. There's a scar on his left side, another on his shoulder, evidence of a life lived dangerously.

"Like what you see?" His voice is amused, but there's heat underneath.

"You know I do." Your hands explore his chest, feeling the muscle, the warmth of his skin. "You're gorgeous."

"Right back at you." His hands make quick work of your blouse, and then it's on the floor and his eyes are dark with want. "Fuck, look at you."

His hands cup your breasts through your bra, and you arch into the touch. He finds the clasp, unhooks it with practiced ease, and then you're bare to him. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you moan.

"Sensitive," he observes, doing it again. "I like that."

"Tony…"

"I know." He backs you toward the bed. "I've got you."

The back of your knees hit the mattress and you sit, looking up at him. He's standing over you, all power and masculine beauty, and the sight makes you clench with need.

"Pants off," he orders, and you comply, standing long enough to shed your pants and underwear. When you're naked, he just looks at you, his eyes raking over every inch. "Perfect. You're absolutely perfect."

"Your turn."

He smirks and makes quick work of his jeans, and then he's naked too, and oh God. He's big and already hard. The sight makes your mouth water and your core clench.

"See something you like?" He's teasing, but there's an edge to it.

"Come here and find out."

He's on you in an instant, pressing you back into the mattress, his body covering yours. The skin-to-skin contact is electric, overwhelming, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Eager," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I like eager."

"Then stop talking and do something about it."

His laugh is dark. "Bossy. I like that too." His hand slides between your bodies, finding your center, and he groans. "Fuck, you're soaked. All this for me?"

"Don't be smug."

"Too late." His fingers circle your clit, and you gasp. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name."

"Big talk."

"Big delivery." He slides two fingers inside you, and your back arches off the bed. "That's it. Take it. Take what I give you."

His fingers work you expertly, finding that spot inside that makes you see stars. His thumb circles your clit, and the dual sensation is almost too much. You're already close, embarrassingly close, and he's barely touched you.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Come for me. Let me feel it."

His fingers curl, pressing that perfect spot, and you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, intense and overwhelming, and you cry out his name. He works you through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you're shaking and gasping.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, and the sight makes you clench all over again. "You taste as good as you look."

"Tony, please!"

"Please what?" He's positioned between your legs now, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. "Tell me what you want."

"You. I want you inside me."

"Good girl." He pushes in slowly, and the stretch is intense. He's big, bigger than anyone you've been with, and you have to breathe through it.

"Okay?" He's holding still, giving you time to adjust, and the consideration makes your chest tight.

"Yeah. Move. Please move."

He does, pulling out slowly before pushing back in, and the sensation makes you both groan. He sets a steady rhythm, deep and thorough, and every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you.

"Fuck, you feel good," he groans, his hands gripping your hips. "So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me."

"Harder," you demand, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm not going to break."

His eyes flash with something dark and hungry. "Careful what you wish for."

Then he's fucking you in earnest, hard and fast and deep. The bed frame creaks with the force of it, and you're making sounds you've never made before, completely lost in the sensation.

"That's it," Tony growls, one hand sliding to your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of his power. "Take it. Take all of it."

You're close again, impossibly close, and when his thumb finds your clit, you explode. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, and you scream his name, your body clenching around him.

"Fuck," Tony groans, his rhythm faltering. "I'm -"

"Inside me," you gasp. "Come inside me."

That's all it takes. He thrusts deep one more time and holds, and you feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with heat. His face is buried in your neck, and he's making sounds that are almost vulnerable, almost broken.

When he finally stills, you're both breathing hard, covered in sweat, completely wrecked.

"Holy shit," you finally manage.

"Yeah." He lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are soft. "You okay?"

"More than okay." You brush his hair back from his forehead. "That was..."

"Inevitable," he finishes. "I told you."

"Smug bastard."

"Your smug bastard." He kisses you, soft and sweet. "At least for tonight."

"Just tonight?"

"We'll see." He pulls out carefully, and you both wince at the sensitivity. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up."

But before you can move, he's pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you. "Stay," he murmurs against your hair. "Just for a minute."

So you do. You stay wrapped in his arms, listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling his warmth surround you. And you think that maybe, just maybe, you've made a terrible mistake.

Or maybe you've made the best decision of your life.

You're not sure which yet.

___________________________________________________________

Later, after a shower that turned into another round against the tile wall, you're back in bed. Tony's sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head, looking thoroughly satisfied. You're curled against his side, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"This changes things," you say quietly.

"Does it?" His hand is running up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm.

"Of course it does. We just -" you gesture vaguely, " - and now everything's different."

"Or," Tony counters, "everything's exactly the same, and we just finally acknowledged what's been building for weeks."

"That's a very convenient way to look at it."

"That's a very accurate way to look at it." He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. "I'm not going to pretend this is normal. I'm not going to pretend we're normal. But I'm also not going to pretend I don't want you. Because I do. I have since the moment you walked into my penthouse and refused to be intimidated."

"I was terrified."

"You hid it well." His thumb brushes your lower lip. "You're staying."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway. "Yes."

"Good." His arm tightens around you. "Because I'm not letting you go."

"That's very possessive."

"I'm a possessive man." His eyes are serious now. "I don't share. I don't like other people touching what's mine. And you -" he cups your face, "You're mine now."

You should be offended. Should tell him you're not property, not something to be owned. But the way he's looking at you, the intensity in his eyes, makes your breath catch.

"Yours," you agree, and his smile is fierce.

"Damn right." He kisses you, claiming, possessing. "Anyone touches you, they die. Anyone looks at you wrong, they die. Anyone even thinks about taking you from me -"

"They die," you finish. "I get it. You're very dramatic."

"I'm very serious." He rolls, pinning you beneath him. "You're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in years. I'm not losing you."

"What if I want to leave?"

"Then I'll let you go." His voice is quiet but firm. "I'm not keeping you prisoner. But I will do everything in my power to make you want to stay."

"That's manipulative."

"That's honest." He kisses your neck. "I want you here. In my bed. In my life. And I'm going to make sure you want to be here too."

"What about my father?"

"What about him?" Tony's voice hardens. "He made his choice when he stole from me. He put you in this position. If he has a problem with where you are now, he can take it up with me."

"He'll try to kill you."

"He'll try." Tony doesn't sound concerned. "But he won't succeed. And if he's smart, he'll realize that you're safer and happier here than you ever were with him."

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" He pulls back to look at you. "When's the last time you laughed before you came here? When's the last time someone saw you as more than just a tool or a pawn? When's the last time you felt free?"

You don't have an answer, because he's right. You've been trapped your entire life, playing a role, being what everyone else needed you to be. Here, with Tony, you're just yourself. And that's terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

"This is insane," you whisper.

"The best things usually are." He kisses you again, softer this time. "Stay. Be mine. Let me be yours. See what happens."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll deal with it." His hand slides into your hair. "But I think it will. I think we're going to be spectacular together."

"Confident."

"Accurate," he corrects. "Now stop overthinking and kiss me."

So you do. You kiss him and let yourself fall into this insane, dangerous, perfect thing that's growing between you. You let yourself be his, and you let him be yours, and you stop worrying about what it means or where it's going.

Because Tony's right. You are spectacular together.

And anyone who tries to come between you will learn exactly how dangerous that is.

___________________________________________________________

Three days later, you're in Tony's office, reviewing contracts for one of his legitimate businesses, when Happy appears in the doorway.

"Boss, we've got a situation."

Tony looks up from his laptop. "What kind of situation?"

"Romano's making noise. Says he wants his daughter back."

You freeze, but Tony just smirks. "Tell him she's not interested."

"Tony…" you start, but he holds up a hand.

"Do you want to go back?" he asks, his eyes on yours.

"No."

"Then that's settled." He looks at Happy. "Tell Romano his daughter is exactly where she wants to be. If he has a problem with that, he can take it up with her directly."

"He's not going to like that," Happy warns.

"I don't particularly care what he likes." Tony's voice is cold now, dangerous. "She's under my protection. Anyone who tries to change that will regret it. Make sure he understands that."

Happy nods and disappears, and you're left staring at Tony.

"You just declared war on my father."

"I declared that you're off-limits." He stands, moving around the desk to you. "There's a difference. If he's smart, he'll accept it. If he's not…" he shrugs, "Then we'll deal with it."

"He'll come for you."

"Let him." Tony pulls you to your feet, his hands on your waist. "I've been dealing with men like your father my entire life. He doesn't scare me." His eyes soften. "But losing you does. So I'm making it very clear that you're mine, and anyone who tries to take you will have to go through me first."

"That's insane."

"That's love." The word hangs in the air between you, shocking in its simplicity. "Or it's getting there. I don't know. I've never felt like this before."

Your heart is racing. "Tony…"

"You don't have to say it back." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I just need you to know. You're not just some game to me. You're not just leverage or a prize. You're -" he pauses, searching for words, " - you're everything. And I protect what's mine."

You should be terrified. Should be running for the door. Instead, you're pulling him down for a kiss, pouring everything you can't say into it.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"I'm staying," you say firmly. "Not because you're making me. Not because I'm afraid. But because I want to. Because this…" you gesture between you, "Whatever this is, I want to see where it goes."

His smile is brilliant. "Good. Because I have plans for us."

"Plans?"

"So many plans." He kisses you again. "But first, I need to make a few calls. Make sure your father understands the new rules."

"Which are?"

"You're mine. I'm yours. And anyone who tries to come between us will learn exactly why I run this city." His eyes are dark, dangerous, possessive. "That's the only rule that matters now."

And as he pulls you close, as you let yourself sink into his embrace, you realize he's right.

You're his. He's yours.

His eyebrows rose. "Or not."

"I need you," you said simply, walking toward his desk with purpose. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him showcased the glittering cityscape, but you only had eyes for your husband.

"Need me?" Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Could you be more specific? Need me to save the world? Fix your phone? I'm a man of many talents, but I work better with clear parameters."

You rounded his desk, and he swiveled his chair to face you, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips. But you could see the heat already kindling in his eyes, the way his gaze tracked down your body and back up again.

"I need your cock in my mouth," you said bluntly. "Right now."

For once, Tony Stark was momentarily speechless. His mouth opened, closed, then curved into a delighted grin. "I love it when you talk dirty. It's like Shakespeare, but better. Dirtier Shakespeare. Dirtyspeare."

"Tony." You dropped to your knees between his spread legs, hands sliding up his thighs. "Stop talking."

"Honey, we both know that's never going to happen. It's literally impossible. I'd have better luck holding my breath for - oh, fuck."

Your palm pressed against the growing bulge in his slacks, rubbing firmly. Even through the expensive fabric, you could feel him hardening under your touch.

"You were saying?" you purred, looking up at him through your lashes.

Tony's jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the armrests. "I was saying... something incredibly witty. Give me a second, it'll come back to me."

"The only thing coming is going to be you." Your fingers found his belt buckle, making quick work of it. "In my mouth. Down my throat."

"Jesus Christ." His hips lifted slightly as you unzipped his pants. "Remind me why I married you again?"

"Because I give the best head you've ever had in your life," you said, tugging his slacks and boxer briefs down enough to free his cock. It sprang up, already hard and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. "And because you're crazy about me."

"Both extremely valid points," Tony managed, his voice already rougher. "Though I'd argue the order of importance -"

You cut him off by wrapping your hand around his shaft and licking a slow stripe from base to tip. His words dissolved into a sharp inhale.

"What was that?" you asked innocently, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Please continue with whatever you were doing. Don't let me interrupt."

You smiled and took him into your mouth, just the first few inches, sucking gently while your hand stroked the rest of his length. Tony's head fell back against his chair with a soft thunk.

"Fuck, baby," he breathed. "You know, there's something to be said for - ah - for workplace morale. Employee satisfaction. This is really… really boosting productivity."

You hummed around him, the vibration making him jerk. His hand came down to tangle in your hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Taking him deeper, you relaxed your throat and slid down until your nose nearly touched his pelvis. Tony's fingers tightened in your hair, his other hand white-knuckling the armrest.

"Holy shit," he gasped. "That's - you're - fuck, how do you do that?"

You pulled back slowly, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft. When you reached the tip, you sucked hard, hollowing your cheeks, before taking him deep again.

"Okay, okay," Tony panted, his hips starting to move in small thrusts. "New plan. Forget the office. We're doing this at home. Every day. Multiple times. I'm putting it in my calendar. JARVIS, remind me to - oh fuck, right there!"

You'd found that sensitive spot just below the head, flicking your tongue against it while your hand pumped his shaft. His cock was rock hard now, pulsing against your tongue, and you could taste more precum leaking steadily.

"Baby, you're killing me," he groaned. "This is how I die. Not in a suit, not saving the world, but getting my soul sucked out through my dick in my office. Poetic, really."

You pulled off with an obscene pop, your hand still working him. "Best blowjob of your life?"

"Don't fish for compliments, it's… Jesus! It's unbecoming." But his eyes were dark with lust, his chest heaving. "Though yes, obviously, you're ruining me for all other blowjobs. Not that there will be other blowjobs. You know what I mean."

"Good." You took him back in your mouth, setting a faster pace now, taking him as deep as you could with each stroke. Your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, and Tony's whole body went taut.

"Fuck, fuck, baby, I'm - " His voice cracked. "You're gonna make me come. I'm gonna come in that perfect mouth of yours and - oh God!"

You doubled your efforts, sucking harder, taking him deeper, your hand and mouth working in perfect rhythm. Tony's hips bucked up involuntarily, his fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair.

"I love you," he gasped out. "I love you so fucking much, you're so - so perfect, so good, your mouth is…fuck, I'm coming, baby, I'm -"

His cock pulsed and he came with a strangled groan, spilling hot and thick down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking everything he gave you, not stopping until he was trembling and oversensitive, trying to pull you off.

When you finally released him, you sat back on your heels and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at your husband. Tony looked absolutely wrecked - hair mussed, shirt rumpled, chest still heaving as he stared at you with something like awe.

"So," you said sweetly. "How was your day?"

Tony laughed, the sound breathless and slightly hysterical. "You're insane. I married an insane person." He reached down and pulled you up into his lap, kissing you deeply despite the taste of himself on your tongue. "An insane, perfect, incredible person who just gave me a religious experience in my office."

"You're welcome." You nuzzled against his neck, feeling his racing heartbeat start to slow.

"We're going home," Tony declared, already tucking himself back into his pants with one hand while the other held you close. "Right now. And I'm going to return the favor. Extensively. All night long. I'm talking multiple orgasms, different positions, possibly some light acrobatics -"

"Tony."

"- and definitely that thing you like where I -"

You kissed him to shut him up, smiling against his lips. "Take me home, Mr. Stark."

"Yes, ma'am."

________________________________________________________________

The drive home was torture in the best possible way. Tony kept one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, fingers drawing maddening patterns on your skin, creeping higher and higher until you had to grab his wrist.

"Eyes on the road, Stark."

"I'm an excellent multitasker," he protested, but he behaved himself. Mostly. "Besides, JARVIS could drive us if I really needed my hands free."

"We're almost home. You can wait five minutes."

"Five minutes?" Tony glanced at you, eyebrows raised. "Honey, I've been hard again since we got in the car. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die if I have to wait five minutes."

"So dramatic."

"It's part of my charm."

The moment you were through the door of your home, Tony was on you. He pressed you against the wall, his mouth hot and demanding on yours, hands already working at your clothes.

"Bedroom," you gasped between kisses.

"Too far." He'd gotten your shirt off and was working on your bra. "Right here is good. Here is great. Here is perfect."

"Tony…"

"Shh. Genius at work." Your bra hit the floor and his mouth closed over your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch against him with a moan. "See? This is good. This is working."

His hands slid down to your pants, making quick work of the button and zipper. You kicked off your shoes as he shoved everything down your legs, leaving you naked except for your panties.

"These are pretty," Tony said, snapping the elastic against your hip. "Be a shame to ruin them."

"Don't you dare."

The sound of fabric tearing cut you off. Tony grinned, dangling the ruined panties from one finger. "Oops."

"You're buying me new ones."

"I'll buy you a hundred new ones." He dropped to his knees, throwing your leg over his shoulder. "After I do this."

His mouth was on you before you could respond, tongue sliding through your folds, and your head fell back against the wall with a thunk. Tony knew exactly what he was doing, knew your body better than anyone, and he used that knowledge ruthlessly.

"Fuck, Tony," you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. "Oh God, right there!"

He hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His tongue circled your clit, then flicked rapidly, then sucked, never letting you settle into a rhythm. Two fingers slid inside you, curling to hit that perfect spot, and you were already embarrassingly close.

"Come on, baby," Tony murmured against your skin. "Let me taste it. Come on my tongue."

That did it. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure rolling through your body as you cried out his name. Tony worked you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling as you came down, trembling and gasping.

"Bedroom," he said, standing and scooping you into his arms like you weighed nothing. "Now."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, still floating in post-orgasmic bliss. "My hero."

"Damn right."

He carried you to the bedroom and laid you on the bed with surprising gentleness, then stepped back to strip off his clothes. You watched appreciatively as he revealed his body - the arc reactor glowing in his chest, the lean muscles, the obvious evidence of how much he wanted you.

"Like what you see?" he asked, crawling onto the bed.

"Always."

Tony settled between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. "I love you," he said, suddenly serious, his eyes locked on yours. "So fucking much."

"I love you too," you whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. "Now fuck me."

He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, both of you groaning at the sensation. You were still sensitive from your orgasm, and the stretch of him filling you was almost too much.

"Fuck, you feel good," Tony breathed, holding still to let you adjust. "So tight, so perfect, so…"

"Move," you demanded, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Tony, please!"

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning with each stroke. His hips rolled in that way that hit every perfect spot inside you, and you could already feel another orgasm building.

"That's it, baby," Tony panted, his face buried in your neck. "Take it. Take all of me. You're so good, so perfect, fuck!"

You raked your nails down his back, making him hiss and thrust harder. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard starting to hit the wall, and neither of you cared.

"Harder," you gasped. "Tony, harder, I need -"

He shifted the angle, throwing your leg over his shoulder, and the next thrust went so deep you saw stars. "Like that? Is that what you need?"

"Yes, yes, oh God, yes!"

Tony fucked you harder, faster, his control starting to slip. You could see it in his face, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes squeezed shut. He was close, but he was determined to make you come first.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing in tight circles, and that was all it took. Your second orgasm crashed over you, even stronger than the first, your inner walls clenching around him as you cried out.

"Fuck, baby, yes," Tony groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Come on my cock, just like that, so good, so - fuck!"

He came with a shout, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. You held him close, feeling him pulse and throb, both of you trembling with the intensity of it.

For a long moment, you just lay there, catching your breath, hearts racing in sync. Then Tony lifted his head and grinned at you.

"Round two in five minutes?"

You laughed, swatting his shoulder. "You're insatiable."

"Only for you, baby. Only for you."

________________________________________________________________

True to his word, Tony was ready again in less than five minutes. This time he took you from behind, your face pressed into the pillows as he gripped your hips and fucked you with deep, powerful strokes that had you screaming his name.

"That's it," he growled, one hand sliding up your spine. "Let the whole building hear who's making you feel this good."

"Tony, Tony, oh fuck, Tony!"

He reached around to play with your clit, and you came again, your third orgasm of the night, your body going limp as pleasure overwhelmed you. Tony followed moments later, collapsing over your back with a groan.

Round three happened in the shower, where Tony pressed you against the tile wall and fucked you slow and deep while the hot water cascaded over both of you. It was intimate and intense, your foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air as you moved together.

"Love you," he murmured, over and over like a prayer. "Love you so much."

"Love you too," you gasped, clinging to him as another orgasm built. "Always, Tony, always…"

Round four was back in bed, with you riding him, your hands braced on his chest as you rolled your hips. Tony watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his hands on your waist, helping you move.

"So beautiful," he breathed. "Look at you, taking me so well. Could watch you like this forever."

You were both exhausted by now, movements slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. When you came this time, it was a slow, rolling wave that left you shaking. Tony followed, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust up into you one last time.

You collapsed onto his chest, completely spent, and Tony wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His heart was pounding beneath your ear, his chest heaving with each breath.

"I think you killed me," he mumbled into your hair. "I'm dead. This is heaven."

"If you're dead, I'm dead," you mumbled back, too exhausted to even lift your head. "We're dead together."

"Romantic."

You managed a weak laugh, nuzzling closer. Tony's hand stroked lazily up and down your back, soothing and gentle.

"Best day ever," he murmured, his voice already drowsy. "Best wife ever. Best life ever."

"Sap," you accused, but you were smiling.

"Your sap."

"My sap," you agreed.

You felt him smile against your hair, his arms tightening around you. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out, and you knew he was asleep. You weren't far behind, exhaustion pulling you under like a warm tide.

Your last conscious thought was how perfectly you fit together, how right this felt, how deeply and completely you loved this impossible, brilliant, infuriating man.

"Tony," Steve says, a warning in his voice.

"No, I mean -" Tony sets down his mug and crosses the room toward you, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the charm offensive preparing to launch. "Steve, you didn't mention that our new recruit was going to be the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on."

Oh, here we go.

"That's because her appearance isn't relevant to her abilities," Steve says, his jaw tightening.

"Of course, of course," Tony says, waving a dismissive hand while never breaking eye contact with you. "I'm sure she's incredibly talented. Skilled. Powerful." He stops directly in front of you, and you catch a whiff of expensive cologne and motor oil. "But can we just acknowledge that she's also absolutely perfect?"

You stare at him for a long moment, taking in the designer jeans, the Black Sabbath t-shirt, the carefully maintained goatee, the expectant smile that says he's used to women melting at his feet.

"Are you done?" you ask flatly.

His smile falters slightly. "I - what?"

"I asked if you're done." You cross your arms over your chest. "Because I'd really like to finish the tour without having to listen to some rich guy with an ego problem try to get in my pants."

The room goes silent.

Natasha's smirk transforms into a full grin. Bruce's eyes widen behind his glasses. Steve makes a choking sound that might be a suppressed laugh.

Tony's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. For possibly the first time in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

"I've dealt with enough men who think a compliment and a smile entitles them to my attention," you continue, your voice calm and measured. "So let me be clear: I'm here to be an Avenger. I'm here to do my job. I'm not here to be another notch on your bedpost or another story you tell at parties. We clear?"

"I - " Tony blinks rapidly. "I wasn't… I didn't mean -"

"Great." You turn back to Steve, whose lips are twitching with barely contained amusement. "Can we continue?"

"Absolutely," Steve says, and there's definitely laughter in his voice now. "Tony, try to control yourself."

As Steve leads you toward the kitchen, you hear Natasha's low chuckle and her murmured, "Oh, I like her."

You don't look back, but you can feel Tony's eyes boring into your back, and you can practically hear the gears in his head grinding as he tries to process what just happened.

Good. Let him squirm.

________________________________________________________________

The rest of the evening is surprisingly pleasant. Bruce is kind and soft-spoken, explaining some of the tech you'll have access to. Natasha is sharp and funny, trading barbs with Clint Barton when he arrives. Steve is the perfect gentleman, making sure you feel welcome and comfortable.

Tony keeps his distance, but you catch him staring at you no less than fifteen times.

When you're all gathered around the massive dining table for takeout - apparently even superheroes can't be bothered to cook on a Friday night - Tony finally makes his second attempt.

"So," he says, leaning back in his chair with forced casualness, "what does someone like you do for fun?"

You look up from your lo mein. "Someone like me?"

"You know." He waves his hand vaguely. "Beautiful, powerful, probably has guys lining up around the block..."

"I train," you say, cutting him off. "I read. I watch movies. Revolutionary stuff."

"What kind of movies?" He leans forward, and you can see him trying to find an angle, a connection. "I've got a pretty extensive collection. We could -"

"Let me stop you right there," you say, setting down your chopsticks. "Whatever you're about to suggest? The answer is no."

Clint snorts into his beer. Natasha doesn't even bother hiding her laugh.

Tony's jaw tightens. "I was just going to offer to show you the theater room."

"Sure you were."

"I was!"

"Tony," Bruce says quietly, "maybe just... let it go, buddy."

But Tony Stark has never let anything go in his entire life, and you can see the determination settling into his features. It's almost fascinating, watching him recalibrate, watching him refuse to accept defeat.

"Okay," he says, holding up his hands. "Okay, I get it. You think I'm some kind of playboy who's just trying to add you to a collection or whatever. But what if I told you that I genuinely think you're interesting? That I'd like to get to know you as a person?"

You meet his eyes, those warm brown eyes that probably make most women weak in the knees, and you see something there - something that might be sincerity, buried under layers of bravado and ego.

For a moment, you almost feel bad.

Almost.

"Then I'd say you should work on your approach," you tell him. "Because leading with 'you're the most stunning woman I've ever seen' doesn't exactly scream 'I value you as a person.'"

His face flushes slightly, and you realize with some surprise that you've actually embarrassed him. Tony Stark, embarrassed.

"That's... fair," he admits quietly.

The table is silent for a beat, everyone watching this exchange like it's a tennis match.

Then Tony straightens up, and you can see him gathering his confidence again. "So what would be a better approach?"

"Not trying at all would be a good start," you say sweetly, returning to your noodles.

Natasha actually laughs out loud at that. "Oh, she's going to fit in just fine."

________________________________________________________________

You think that might be the end of it. You really do.

You're wrong.

Over the next week, Tony Stark launches what can only be described as a campaign of romantic terrorism.

It starts the next morning when you find a note slipped under your door: Didn't mean to come on too strong. Fresh start? - TS

You crumple it up and throw it away.

The morning after that, there's a coffee waiting for you in the kitchen - your exact order, which you'd mentioned once in passing to Bruce. Tony is conspicuously absent, but you know it's from him.

You pour it down the sink.

On day three, he tries a different tactic. You're in the training room, working through a combat sequence, when he appears in the doorway.

"Don't mind me," he says, leaning against the frame. "Just appreciating the view."

You stop mid-kick and turn to stare at him. "Seriously?"

"What? I meant the - the technique! Your technique is very... viewable."

"Get out."

"I'm just -"

"Out."

He leaves, but not before you catch the dejected slump of his shoulders.

Day four brings flowers. An enormous bouquet of roses delivered to your room with a card that reads: Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm really bad at poetry, but I'm trying to impress you.

You have to admit, it's so terrible it's almost charming. Almost.

You give the flowers to Natasha, who puts them in the common area and spends the entire day making fun of Tony's "romantic gesture."

By the end of the first week, the other Avengers are starting to look at Tony with a mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment.

"Tony," Steve says one morning, after Tony has spent ten minutes trying to engage you in conversation about quantum physics - a subject you have zero interest in and he clearly knows nothing about. "Maybe you should just... give her some space."

"I'm giving her space," Tony protests. "I'm being respectful. I'm not being pushy."

You look up from your breakfast. "You literally followed me to the gym yesterday and offered to spot me."

"That's what teammates do!"

"I was on a treadmill, Tony."

Clint chokes on his orange juice. Bruce drops his head into his hands. Even Steve can't quite suppress his wince.

Tony's face goes through several shades of red. "I was... nearby. It was a coincidence."

"You were on the treadmill next to mine, going 0.5 miles per hour, staring at me."

"I was cooling down!"

"For forty-five minutes?"

Natasha is openly laughing now, her shoulders shaking with mirth. "Oh my God, Tony. This is painful to watch."

"Thank you, Natasha, very helpful," Tony snaps, but his eyes are still on you, and there's something almost desperate in them now. "Look, I just -"

"Tony." You set down your fork and look at him directly. "I'm going to say this once, as clearly as I can: I am not interested. Not in dating you, not in sleeping with you, not in being wooed by your money or your charm or your increasingly pathetic attempts to get my attention. I think you're arrogant, self-absorbed, and way too used to getting what you want. So please, for the love of God, leave me alone."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Tony stares at you, his face pale now, and for a moment you see something crack in his expression - something that looks almost like genuine hurt.

Then he stands up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Right," he says, his voice tight. "Message received. Loud and clear."

He walks out of the kitchen, and you hear the elevator ding a moment later.

"Damn," Clint says softly. "That was brutal."

You shrug, ignoring the small twist of guilt in your stomach. "He needed to hear it."

Steve is watching you with those too-perceptive blue eyes. "Maybe," he says carefully. "But Tony... he doesn't handle rejection well. Never has."

"Not my problem," you say, but the guilt twists a little tighter.

________________________________________________________________

For three days, Tony avoids you completely.

You should be relieved. You are relieved. This is exactly what you wanted.

So why do you keep looking for him in the common areas? Why does the tower feel weirdly empty without his constant presence, his terrible jokes, his over-the-top attempts to make you smile?

You're not interested in Tony Stark. You're not.

But on the fourth day, when you pass by his workshop and hear the sound of something crashing, followed by a string of creative cursing, you find yourself stopping.

You should keep walking. This isn't your business.

You push open the door.

The workshop is chaos - tools scattered everywhere, holographic displays flickering, and Tony standing in the middle of it all, staring at what looks like a partially disassembled Iron Man gauntlet with an expression of pure frustration.

"What do you want?" he asks without looking up.

"I heard a crash."

"And you decided to check on me? How touching." His voice is bitter, sharp in a way you haven't heard before. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bother you anymore. You made yourself perfectly clear."

You should leave. You should turn around and walk out and let him sulk in peace.

Instead, you step further into the workshop. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Tony…"

"Look," he says, finally turning to face you, and you're struck by how tired he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is sticking up in about fifteen different directions. "I get it, okay? You think I'm an arrogant asshole who was just trying to get in your pants. And maybe you're right. Maybe that's all I am. But I'm trying to work here, so if you could just -"

"I don't think that's all you are," you say quietly.

He stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open slightly. "What?"

You're not sure why you're saying this. You're not sure what you're doing here at all. But something about the defeat in his posture, the genuine hurt in his eyes, makes you continue.

"I think you're brilliant," you say. "I think you're funny, and brave, and you've done incredible things. I think you hide behind arrogance because it's easier than being vulnerable. And I think you're so used to people wanting you for your money or your fame that you don't know how to just... be a person around someone new."

Tony stares at you like you've grown a second head. "I... what?"

"But," you continue, "I also think you came on way too strong, and your approach was terrible, and you needed to be shut down."

A laugh bursts out of him - short and surprised. "Wow. You really don't pull punches, do you?"

"Not really my style."

He runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it worse. "So what are you saying? That you... what? Want to start over?"

"I'm saying that maybe we could try being friends," you say. "Actual friends. No flirting, no pickup lines, no flowers or notes or following me to the gym."

"I wasn't -" He stops at your look. "Okay, yeah, that was weird. I acknowledge that was weird."

"Very weird."

"In my defense, you look really good when you work out."

"Tony."

"Right, right. Friends. No flirting." He makes a zipping motion across his lips. "I can do that. Totally. I'm great at having female friends. Ask Pepper. Actually, don't ask Pepper, she'll tell you about that time I - never mind. Point is, I can be friends."

You can't help but smile at his rambling. "Good."

"Although," he says, and you can see the familiar spark returning to his eyes, "just to be clear, when you inevitably fall for my charm and wit and devilish good looks -"

"Tony."

"- I will be gracious and understanding and only say 'I told you so' once. Maybe twice. Definitely no more than five times."

"That's never going to happen."

"Sure," he says, grinning now. "Keep telling yourself that."

You shake your head, but you're smiling too. "Show me what you're working on."

His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Really?"

"Really. But if you make one inappropriate comment -"

"I'll be the perfect gentleman," he promises, already pulling up holographic displays. "Scout's honor."

"Were you ever a scout?"

"No, but I could have been. If I'd wanted to. Which I didn't, because camping is terrible and I prefer my technology to my wilderness."

As he launches into an explanation of the new repulsor technology he's developing, complete with wild hand gestures and tangents about quantum mechanics, you find yourself relaxing. This Tony - enthusiastic, brilliant, unselfconscious - is someone you could actually like.

Maybe even someone you could be friends with.

Just friends, you tell yourself firmly.

Nothing more.

________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks are... different.

Tony keeps his word about the flirting. Mostly. There are still moments where he'll say something that toes the line, but he always catches himself, makes a joke, and moves on. It's almost endearing, watching him actively try to be respectful.

You start spending more time in his workshop. At first, it's just occasional visits, but soon you find yourself drawn there in the evenings, watching him work, asking questions, learning about his inventions. He's a good teacher when he's not trying to impress you - patient, enthusiastic, willing to explain things five different ways until you understand.

"You're a natural," he tells you one night, after you successfully calibrate a repulsor array on your first try. "Have you ever thought about engineering?"

"Not really my thing," you say, but you're pleased by the compliment. "I prefer the hands-on approach to problem-solving."

"You mean punching things?"

"Punching things is a valid problem-solving technique."

"Can't argue with that logic."

He starts bringing you coffee in the mornings - your actual order this time, not some elaborate attempt to impress you. Just coffee, handed over with a casual "Morning" before he disappears into his workshop or off to some meeting.

You start saving him a seat at team dinners.

It's small things, gradual things, but you notice them. And you notice the way the other Avengers notice them too.

"So," Natasha says one afternoon, cornering you in the training room. "You and Tony."

"Are friends," you finish firmly. "That's it."

She gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you for a second. "Uh-huh. And that's why you spend every evening in his workshop?"

"He's interesting to talk to."

"He's been interested in talking to you since day one. You're the one who's changed."

You want to argue, but you can't. Because she's right. Something has shifted in the past few weeks. Tony has stopped being the arrogant playboy you dismissed on day one and started being... Tony. The real Tony, underneath all the bravado.

The Tony who works himself to exhaustion trying to make the world safer. The Tony who remembers everyone's coffee orders and favorite foods. The Tony who makes terrible jokes when he's nervous and rambles about science when he's excited. The Tony who looks at you sometimes like you're the most fascinating person in the world, but respects you enough not to say it.

"I'm not interested in him," you tell Natasha, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

She just smiles. "Sure, honey. Whatever you say."

________________________________________________________________

It's week eight when everything changes.

You're looking for Tony - he missed team training, which is unusual - and JARVIS directs you to the workshop. But when you get there, the door is locked.

"JARVIS, is Tony in there?"

"Yes, miss. However, he has requested not to be disturbed."

You frown. "Is he okay?"

There's a pause. "Sir has been... working extensively. I believe he may benefit from a break, but he has not been receptive to my suggestions."

That's concerning. You've learned that when JARVIS starts hinting that Tony needs help, it usually means Tony is in bad shape.

"Can you let me in?"

"I'm afraid I cannot override Sir's direct orders without cause."

"JARVIS," you say firmly. "Let me in."

Another pause. Then: "Of course, miss."

The door slides open, and you step into the workshop.

It's a disaster. Worse than usual. Tools and parts are scattered everywhere, holographic displays flicker and glitch, and in the middle of it all is Tony, hunched over a workbench, his hands shaking as he tries to solder something.

"Tony?"

He doesn't look up. "JARVIS, I said no interruptions."

"When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine."

You move closer and see the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the way he's swaying slightly even while sitting down. "You're not fine."

"I said I'm fine!" He slams his hand down on the workbench, and the soldering iron clatters to the floor. "I just need to - I have to -"

His voice cracks, and that's when you see it: the arc reactor in his chest is flickering.

"Tony." You're at his side in an instant, your hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. Just a glitch in the -" He tries to stand and immediately sways. You catch him, and he's burning up, his skin hot to the touch.

"JARVIS, what's going on?"

"Sir has been experiencing complications with the arc reactor," JARVIS says, and there's something almost worried in the AI's voice. "He has been attempting to repair it himself for the past forty-eight hours without success. I have recommended medical attention, but he has refused."

"Forty-eight hours?" You stare at Tony in disbelief. "You haven't slept in two days?"

"I can't," he says, and his voice is small, almost childlike. "If I sleep, if I stop working, it might… the reactor might -"

"Okay," you say, forcing calm into your voice even though your heart is racing. "Okay, it's going to be fine. We're going to fix this. JARVIS, get Bruce down here. Now."

"Already on his way, miss."

You guide Tony to a chair, and he goes without resistance, which is more alarming than anything else. Tony Stark never goes without resistance.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't want - I didn't want anyone to see me like this."

"Like what?"

"Weak. Broken. Pathetic." He laughs, but it's hollow. "The great Tony Stark, brought down by his own technology. Ironic, right?"

"You're not pathetic," you say firmly. "You're human. And you're an idiot for not asking for help sooner, but you're not pathetic."

He looks up at you, and there's something raw in his expression. "You must think I'm such a mess."

"I think you're scared," you say softly. "And I think you've been dealing with this alone for too long."

Bruce arrives then, medical bag in hand, and you step back to let him work. But you don't leave. You stay there, watching as Bruce examines the reactor, as he and Tony talk in low voices about palladium poisoning and energy output and a dozen other things you don't fully understand.

It takes three hours, but eventually, Bruce manages to stabilize the reactor. Tony slumps in his chair, exhausted and pale but alive.

"You need to sleep," Bruce says firmly. "At least twelve hours. And then we're going to have a serious conversation about your health and your tendency to hide medical emergencies from your team."

"Can't wait," Tony mutters, but there's no heat in it.

Bruce leaves, and you're alone with Tony again. He's staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched, and he looks smaller somehow. Diminished.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he says quietly.

"I'm not." You pull up a chair and sit next to him. "Tony, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep trying to handle everything alone."

"I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden. You're part of a team. That means we help each other."

He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I wanted you to think I was strong. Capable. Someone worth... worth knowing."

Your heart clenches. "Tony…"

"I know, I know. We're friends. You've made that very clear. But I still wanted - I wanted you to see the best parts of me. Not this." He gestures vaguely at himself. "Not the broken parts."

You reach out and take his hand. His fingers are still trembling slightly, but they curl around yours, holding on like you're an anchor.

"The broken parts are part of you too," you say. "And they don't make you less worth knowing. They make you real."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and something passes between you. Something that makes your breath catch and your pulse quicken.

"I should get you to bed," you say, and your voice comes out rougher than intended. "You need to sleep."

"Will you stay?" The question is quiet, almost hesitant. "Just until I fall asleep. I don't - I don't want to be alone right now."

You should say no. You should maintain boundaries, keep things professional, remember that you're just friends.

"Okay," you say instead. "I'll stay."

You help him up to his bedroom - a space you've never seen before, surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the tower. He collapses onto the bed fully clothed, and you sit in the chair by the window.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes already closing. "For not leaving. For not... for not thinking I'm pathetic."

"Never," you promise.

You watch him fall asleep, his face relaxing, the tension finally leaving his body. And you realize, with a jolt that feels like touching a live wire, that Natasha was right.

You're not just friends with Tony Stark.

You haven't been for a while now.

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're in the kitchen early, nursing a cup of coffee and trying to process your revelation from the night before, when Tony appears in the doorway.

He looks better - still tired, but the color has returned to his face, and his hands are steady. He stops when he sees you, something uncertain crossing his expression.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck, but Bruce says the reactor is stable." He moves into the kitchen, pouring himself coffee. "Thank you. For last night. For staying."

"Of course."

He leans against the counter, studying you. "I meant what I said, you know. About wanting you to see the best parts of me. I know I came on too strong at first, and I know you're not interested, but I…" He stops, seeming to struggle with the words. "I value your friendship. More than I've valued anything in a long time. And I don't want to lose that."

Your heart is pounding. This is the moment. You could keep things as they are, safe and simple and uncomplicated. Or you could take a risk.

"What if I said I was interested?" you hear yourself ask.

Tony freezes, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. "What?"

"What if I said that maybe I've been wrong? That maybe I've been seeing you differently lately?"

He sets down the cup very carefully, like he's afraid any sudden movement will shatter this moment. "Are you... are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I don't know." You stand up, moving closer to him. "What do you think I'm saying?"

"I think -" His voice is rough. "I think you're saying that maybe you don't hate the idea of us being more than friends."

"I never hated the idea," you admit. "I hated the approach. The arrogance. The assumption that I'd just fall at your feet like everyone else."

"And now?"

"Now I've seen who you really are. Not the persona, not the performance. Just... you." You're standing right in front of him now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "And I like what I see."

He swallows hard. "I don't… I don't know what to say. I've been trying so hard not to push, not to make you uncomfortable, and now you're -"

You kiss him.

It's not planned, not thought through. You just lean in and press your lips to his, and for a moment he's frozen in shock. Then his hands come up to cup your face, gentle and reverent, and he's kissing you back like you're something precious.

When you pull away, he's staring at you with wonder. "Wow."

"Yeah," you agree breathlessly. "Wow."

"So does this mean - are we -"

"I don't know what we are," you say honestly. "But I'd like to find out. If you're interested."

A laugh bursts out of him, bright and disbelieving. "If I'm interested? I've been interested since the moment I saw you. I've been pathetically, embarrassingly interested."

"I know." You grin. "It was kind of hard to miss."

"I made such an idiot of myself."

"You really did."

"And you still want to give this a shot?"

"Apparently I have terrible taste in men."

He kisses you again, and this time there's more confidence in it, more heat. His hands slide into your hair, and you press closer, and it's perfect and terrifying and -

"Oh my God."

You break apart to find Natasha standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with delight.

"Finally," she says, grinning. "I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a closet."

Tony groans. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." She pulls out her phone. "Steve owes me fifty bucks."

"You bet on us?" you ask incredulously.

"Honey, everyone bet on you. Well, everyone except Clint, who thought Tony would give up after the treadmill incident." She's already typing. "This is going to make my whole week."

As she leaves, still grinning, Tony turns back to you. "So," he says. "This is going to be all over the tower in about five minutes."

"Probably."

"Everyone's going to have opinions."

"Definitely."

"And I'm going to be insufferably smug about being right."

"I'm already regretting this."

But you're smiling, and so is he, and when he kisses you again, you think that maybe, just maybe, this is worth all the complications.

________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks are a study in contrasts.

In public, around the team, you and Tony maintain a careful balance. There's no dramatic PDA, no constant touching, nothing that would make the others uncomfortable. But there are small things: his hand on the small of your back as you walk into a room, the way he saves you a seat next to him, the inside jokes that make you both laugh while everyone else looks confused.

In private, it's different.

In private, Tony is... not what you expected.

You'd assumed, based on his public persona, that he'd be dominant, aggressive, always in control. The Tony Stark the world sees is confident to the point of arrogance, always taking charge, always leading.

But the Tony you're getting to know in quiet moments is something else entirely.

He's hesitant. Careful. Always checking in, always making sure you're comfortable, always letting you set the pace. When you kiss him, he responds eagerly but never pushes for more. When you're alone in his workshop or his bedroom, he seems content to just be near you, to talk and laugh and exist in the same space.

It's sweet. It's respectful.

It's also starting to drive you crazy.

You're in his workshop one evening, three weeks after that first kiss, watching him work on some new piece of tech. He's explaining the mechanics of it, his hands moving expressively, and you're barely listening because you're too busy watching the way his t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, the way his fingers manipulate the delicate components with surprising grace.

" - and that's why the energy output is so much more efficient than the previous model. Are you even listening?"

You blink. "What?"

He's watching you with amusement. "You're not listening at all."

"I'm listening."

"Really? What did I just say?"

"Something about... energy?"

He laughs, setting down his tools. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

You could deflect. You could make a joke. Instead, you stand up and cross to where he's sitting, and before you can second-guess yourself, you swing your leg over his lap, straddling him in his chair.

His eyes go wide. "Oh."

"Hi," you say.

"Hi." His hands hover uncertainly near your hips, like he's not sure if he's allowed to touch. "This is... this is new."

"Is it okay?"

"Is it - yes. Yes, it's very okay. It's extremely okay." He's rambling now, a sure sign he's nervous. "I just wasn't expecting… not that I'm complaining, I'm definitely not complaining, I just -"

You kiss him, and he melts into it, his hands finally settling on your waist. You deepen the kiss, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat that sends heat pooling in your belly.

When you pull back, he's flushed, his pupils dilated. "Wow."

"We've been doing this for three weeks," you say, your hands on his shoulders. "And we haven't... we haven't gone past kissing."

"I didn't want to rush you," he says quickly. "I didn't want you to think that's all I wanted, because it's not. I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. I like -"

"Tony." You cut off his rambling. "I'm not feeling rushed. I'm feeling like maybe you're not interested in more."

His laugh is incredulous. "Not interested? Are you kidding? I'm extremely interested. I'm so interested it's actually kind of embarrassing."

"Then why haven't you made a move?"

He's quiet for a moment, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hips. "Because I didn't want to screw this up," he finally says. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, and I came on way too strong, and I nearly ruined everything before it even started. And now that I actually have you, now that you've given me a chance, I don't want to do anything that might make you change your mind."

Your heart squeezes. "Tony, you're not going to scare me off by wanting me."

"You say that now."

"I mean it." You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. "I want you too. I want this. I want more."

He shudders, his fingers tightening on your waist. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You pull back to look at him. "So maybe we could go to your room? And see what happens?"

For a moment, he just stares at you. Then he's standing up, lifting you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist. "JARVIS, lock down the workshop. No interruptions."

"Of course, sir. Shall I inform the team that you're indisposed?"

"Tell them I'm dead. Tell them I've been kidnapped by aliens. Tell them whatever you want, just make sure no one bothers us."

"Very good, sir."

Tony carries you to the elevator, kissing you the entire way, and you're laughing against his mouth because this is ridiculous and perfect and exactly what you want.

His bedroom is dark when you arrive, but JARVIS helpfully turns on soft lighting. Tony sets you down on the bed carefully, like you're something fragile, and then he's hovering over you, his weight supported on his forearms.

"Hi," he says, and there's something vulnerable in his expression.

"Hi yourself."

"I just want to make sure - you're sure about this? Because we can stop anytime. We can just kiss, or we can just sleep, or -"

You pull him down into a kiss, and this time there's no hesitation, no holding back. Your hands slide under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the arc reactor smooth and cool under your palm. He gasps into your mouth, and you feel him hardening against your thigh.

"I'm sure," you murmur against his lips. "Are you?"

"God, yes."

You push at his shoulders, and he goes easily, rolling onto his back. You follow, straddling him again, and his hands immediately find your hips, holding on like you're an anchor.

"Is this okay?" you ask, grinding down slightly.

His head falls back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed. "So okay. So, so okay."

You lean down to kiss him again, your hands exploring his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He's more muscular than you expected under the t-shirts, his body hard and warm beneath your touch. When you pull back to tug off your own shirt, his eyes go wide.

"Jesus," he breathes. "You're so - you're perfect."

"I'm really not."

"You are to me."

It should be cheesy, but the way he says it makes your heart skip. You reach back to unhook your bra, and his hands come up to help, fumbling slightly with the clasp.

"Sorry," he mutters. "It's been a while, and I'm a little -"

"Tony." You catch his hands, stilling them. "Relax. We've got time."

He takes a deep breath, nodding, and you guide his hands to your breasts. His touch is gentle, almost tentative, and you arch into it, encouraging him. He grows bolder, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp.

"Good?" he asks.

"Very good."

You lean down to kiss him again, and this time there's more urgency, more heat. Your hands work at his shirt, and he helps you pull it off, and then it's skin against skin, and it's perfect.

You work your way down his body, kissing his chest, his stomach, the arc reactor. He tenses when your lips touch the metal, but you don't pull away, and gradually he relaxes.

"You don't have to -" he starts, but you cut him off.

"I want to."

You undo his jeans, and he lifts his hips to help you pull them off. He's hard, straining against his boxers, and when you palm him through the fabric, he makes a choked sound.

"Fuck," he gasps. "That's - that's really good."

You pull down his boxers, and his cock springs free, flushed and hard. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he bucks into your touch.

"Wait," he says suddenly, his hand catching your wrist. "Wait, I - I need to tell you something."

You pause, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just…" He's flushed, his breathing ragged. "I'm not - I'm not usually like this."

"Like what?"

"Like..." He gestures vaguely. "Passive. Submissive. I don't usually let someone else take control like this."

You process that. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No! God, no. It's just -" He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I want you to know that this is different for me. You're different. And I don't know why, but with you, I don't want to be in control. I want you to take what you want from me."

Your breath catches. There's something raw in his admission, something vulnerable that makes you want to protect him and devour him in equal measure.

"Are you sure?" you ask softly.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. "Okay," you murmur against his lips. "Then let me take care of you."

You work your way down his body again, and this time when you take him in your mouth, he cries out, his hands fisting in the sheets. You work him slowly, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him moan, what makes his hips buck involuntarily.

"Please," he gasps after a few minutes. "Please, I need you."

You pull off, wiping your mouth. "What do you need?"

"You. Please."

You strip off the rest of your clothes, and his eyes track every movement, dark with want. When you straddle him again, positioning yourself over his cock, his hands come up to grip your hips.

"Wait," he says. "Condom. I have - drawer."

You lean over to the nightstand, finding the box and pulling one out. You roll it onto him slowly, enjoying the way he watches you, the way his breath comes faster.

Then you sink down onto him, and you both moan.

"Oh fuck," he gasps. "Oh fuck, you feel so good."

You start to move, slowly at first, adjusting to the stretch. His hands are tight on your hips, but he's not controlling your movements - he's just holding on, letting you set the pace.

"Is this okay?" you ask, rolling your hips.

"It's perfect. You're perfect. Please don't stop."

You pick up the pace, riding him harder, and his head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut. He looks wrecked, completely undone, and the sight of him like this - powerful Tony Stark, completely at your mercy - is intoxicating.

"Look at me," you command, and his eyes snap open immediately. "I want you to watch."

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay, yes, anything."

You lean forward, changing the angle, and he groans. "Touch me," you tell him. "Make me come."

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, and you gasp. He circles it carefully, watching your face for reactions, adjusting his touch based on your responses.

"Like that," you gasp. "Just like that."

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "So fucking beautiful like this. Using me. Taking what you need."

His words push you closer to the edge, and you ride him harder, chasing your pleasure. When you come, it's intense, your body clenching around him, and he cries out.

"Can I -" he gasps. "Please, can I -"

"Come for me," you tell him. "Let go."

He does, his hips bucking up into you, his hands bruising on your hips, and you feel him pulse inside you. He's beautiful like this, completely lost in pleasure, and you lean down to kiss him through it.

When you both come down, you collapse onto his chest, and his arms wrap around you immediately, holding you close.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"Yeah."

"That was - I don't even have words."

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Good words?"

"The best words. All the words." He's quiet for a moment, his hand stroking your back. "I meant what I said. About this being different. About you being different."

"I know."

"I don't usually - I'm not usually like that. In bed, I mean. I'm usually more... in control."

You prop yourself up to look at him. "Did you not like it?"

"Are you kidding? That was the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." He cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I loved it. I loved giving up control to you. I loved letting you take what you wanted. I just… I wanted you to know that it's not my usual thing. It's a you thing."

Your heart swells. "I liked it too. A lot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You kiss him softly. "I liked seeing you like that. Vulnerable. Trusting me."

"I do trust you," he says quietly. "More than I've trusted anyone in a long time."

You curl back into his chest, and he holds you close, and for a while you just lie there, basking in the afterglow.

"So," he says eventually, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Does this mean I can finally tell everyone I was right about us?"

You laugh. "You're insufferable."

"You like it."

"Unfortunately, I really do."

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, you wake up in Tony's bed, wrapped in his arms. He's still asleep, his face peaceful, and you take a moment to just look at him. Without the bravado, without the performance, he's just a man. A brilliant, complicated, wonderful man who somehow decided you were worth all his pathetic attempts at wooing.

His eyes flutter open, and he smiles when he sees you. "Morning."

"Morning."

"So," he says, his hand tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "Last night was..."

"Amazing?"

"I was going to say life-changing, but amazing works too." He pulls you closer. "Can we do it again? Like, right now? And then maybe again after breakfast? And then possibly several more times throughout the day?"

You laugh. "Insatiable."

"Only for you." He kisses your forehead. "But seriously, last night... that thing I told you about. About being submissive with you. That's not something I usually share."

"I know."

"The media, the public, they all see me as this dominant alpha male type. And usually, I play into that. But with you..." He trails off, seeming to struggle with the words.

"With me, you can be yourself," you finish softly.

"Yeah." He looks relieved that you understand. "Is that... is that okay? Because I know it's probably not what you expected, and if you're not into it -"

You kiss him, cutting off his rambling. "Tony, I loved it. I loved seeing that side of you. I loved that you trusted me enough to show me."

"Really?"

"Really." You grin. "Plus, I have to admit, having Tony Stark completely at my mercy is kind of a power trip."

He laughs. "I bet. Just don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

You spend the morning in bed, talking and laughing and exploring each other. When you finally emerge, it's nearly noon, and you're both starving.

In the kitchen, you find Natasha and Clint making lunch. They both look up when you enter, and matching grins spread across their faces.

"Well, well," Natasha says. "Look who finally decided to join the land of the living."

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

"JARVIS said Tony was 'indisposed' last night," Clint says, his grin widening. "We figured that meant one of two things: either he was having a mental breakdown, or you two were finally…"

"Clint," you warn.

"I'm just saying, it's about time. The sexual tension was getting unbearable."

Tony appears behind you, his hand settling on your lower back. "Good morning, team. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Someone's in a good mood," Natasha observes.

"I'm always in a good mood."

"Not like this, you're not." She's studying you both with knowing eyes. "This is the 'I finally got laid' good mood."

"Natasha," you groan.

"What? I'm just making an observation."

Steve walks in then, takes one look at all of you, and immediately turns around. "Nope. I don't want to know."

"Steve, come on," Tony calls after him. "Don't you want to hear about how I was right all along?"

"Not even a little bit!"

You bury your face in your hands. "This is going to be a thing now, isn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely," Natasha says cheerfully. "We're never letting either of you live this down."

Tony just grins, pulling you closer. "Worth it," he murmurs in your ear.

And despite the teasing, despite the knowing looks and the jokes that will probably continue for months, you have to agree.

It was definitely worth it.

________________________________________________________________

Over the next few weeks, you and Tony settle into a relationship that's unlike anything you expected.

In public, he's still Tony Stark - confident, charming, always ready with a quip or a joke. But in private, with you, he's different. Softer. More vulnerable. And yes, decidedly submissive.

It's not something you talk about explicitly at first. It's just something that happens naturally. When you're alone together, you take the lead. You decide when to kiss him, when to touch him, when to take things further. And he follows your lead eagerly, happily, like it's exactly what he needs.

One evening, about a month into your relationship, you're in his workshop. He's working on something, and you're reading on the couch, and it's comfortable and domestic in a way that makes your heart ache.

"Can I ask you something?" you say suddenly.

He looks up from his work. "Always."

"Why me?"

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you could have anyone. You're Tony Stark. You're rich, you're famous, you're brilliant. You could have any woman you wanted. So why did you fixate on me? Why did you keep trying even after I shut you down over and over?"

He sets down his tools and comes to sit next to you on the couch. "You really don't know?"

"I really don't."

He takes your hand, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. "Because you were the first person in years who saw through the bullshit. The first person who called me on my crap and didn't let me get away with anything. The first person who made me want to be better."

"Tony…"

"I'm serious. Everyone else, they either want something from me or they're intimidated by me or they buy into the persona. But you? You looked at me and saw exactly who I was, and you weren't impressed. And that was... that was incredible. That was exactly what I needed."

You're quiet for a moment, processing. "And the submissive thing? Is that new, or...?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "It's not new. I've always had those tendencies. But I've never acted on them before. Never felt safe enough to let someone else take control like that."

"Why not?"

"Because Tony Stark isn't supposed to be submissive," he says, and there's bitterness in his voice. "Tony Stark is supposed to be dominant, in control, always on top. That's the image. That's what people expect. And for a long time, I tried to be that person, even in private. But it never felt right. It always felt like another performance."

"And with me?"

"With you, I don't have to perform." He looks at you, and there's such honesty in his eyes. "With you, I can just be myself. All of myself, including the parts I usually hide."

You lean in and kiss him softly. "Thank you for trusting me with that."

"Thank you for not running away screaming."

"Never."

He pulls you into his lap, and you go willingly, straddling him. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel him already hardening beneath you.

"You know," you murmur, grinding down slightly, "I'm starting to really enjoy this dynamic."

He groans. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like having you at my mercy. I like watching you fall apart for me."

"Fuck," he breathes. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me want to drag you to bed and let you do whatever you want to me."

You grin. "Is that a problem?"

"Not even a little bit."

You stand up, pulling him with you. "Come on, then. Let's go to bed."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and the way he says it sends heat pooling in your belly.

In the bedroom, you take your time undressing him, enjoying the way he shivers under your touch. When he's naked, you push him onto the bed and stand back to look at him.

"God, you're beautiful," you say.

He flushes. "I'm really not."

"You are to me." You strip off your own clothes slowly, watching his eyes track every movement. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to lie there and let me use you however I want. You're not going to touch me unless I tell you to. And you're not going to come until I give you permission. Understand?"

His breath catches. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The title sends a thrill through you. You climb onto the bed, straddling his thighs, and wrap your hand around his cock. He's already hard, already leaking, and when you stroke him, he bucks into your touch.

"Stay still," you command.

He freezes immediately, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Sorry."

"Good boy."

He moans at the praise, and you file that away for later. You work him slowly, learning his body, figuring out what makes him gasp and what makes him whimper. When he's trembling, right on the edge, you stop.

"Please," he gasps. "Please, I need -"

"What do you need?"

"You. I need you."

You shift forward, positioning yourself over him, and sink down slowly. He fills you perfectly, and you both moan.

"Don't move," you tell him. "Let me do all the work."

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay, yes, whatever you want."

You ride him slowly, taking your pleasure, and he watches you with dark, desperate eyes. His hands are still fisted in the sheets, his whole body tense with the effort of staying still.

"You're doing so well," you tell him. "Being so good for me."

"Thank you," he gasps. "Thank you, fuck, you feel so good."

You pick up the pace, chasing your orgasm, and when you come, clenching around him, he cries out.

"Please," he begs. "Please, can I come? I need to come, please—"

"Not yet," you say, even though you're still trembling from your own orgasm. "I'm not done with you."

You ride him through the aftershocks, and he's shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead, his cock impossibly hard inside you.

"Please," he whimpers. "Please, I can't - I need -"

"Okay," you say, taking pity on him. "Okay, you can come. Come for me, Tony."

He does, immediately, his whole body going rigid as he spills inside you. He's beautiful like this, completely undone, and you lean down to kiss him through it.

When you both come down, you collapse onto his chest, and his arms wrap around you immediately.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "That was…”

"Good?"

"Transcendent. Life-altering. I don't have enough words."

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I like having you like this. All desperate and needy."

"I like being like this for you," he admits. "I like not having to be in control. I like just... surrendering."

"Good," you murmur. "Because I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

________________________________________________________________

Three months into your relationship, you're more in love with Tony Stark than you ever thought possible.

He's still arrogant and infuriating and too smart for his own good. But he's also kind and generous and surprisingly vulnerable. He brings you coffee every morning and listens when you talk about your day and holds you when you have nightmares.

And in bed, he's everything you never knew you wanted. Eager and obedient and so desperate to please you that it sometimes takes your breath away.

The team has mostly adjusted to you being together. Steve still gets uncomfortable when Tony makes suggestive comments, but that's just Steve. Natasha thinks it's hilarious and never misses an opportunity to tease you both. Bruce is happy for you in his quiet way. Clint has a running bet with Sam about how long it'll be before Tony proposes.

(You pretend not to know about the bet, but you've seen the spreadsheet.)

One evening, you're curled up on the couch in Tony's penthouse, watching a movie, when he suddenly says, "I love you."

You freeze. It's the first time either of you has said it.

"You don't have to say it back," he continues quickly. "I just wanted you to know. I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for a while now, and I just… I needed to tell you."

You turn to look at him, and there's such vulnerability in his expression that it makes your heart ache.

"I love you too," you say softly.

His face lights up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I love you, Tony Stark. Even though you're a disaster and you drive me crazy and you tried to impress me by following me to the gym that one time."

He groans. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?"

"Never."

He pulls you into his lap, and you go willingly, straddling him. "I'm the luckiest man alive," he murmurs against your lips.

"You really are."

"And so humble, too."

You laugh and kiss him, and it's perfect. Everything about this is perfect.

Later, in bed, after you've thoroughly exhausted each other, Tony traces patterns on your bare shoulder.

"Can I tell you something?" he asks quietly.

"Always."

"I never thought I'd have this. Someone who loves me for me, not for my money or my fame or the Iron Man suit. Someone who sees all my broken parts and doesn't run away. Someone who makes me feel safe enough to be vulnerable."

You turn to face him. "Tony."

"I know I was pathetic at first. I know I came on way too strong and made a fool of myself. But I don't regret it. Because it led to this. To us."

"I don't regret it either," you say. "Even the treadmill incident."

He laughs. "Especially the treadmill incident. That was a low point."

"It really was."

"But it was worth it." He pulls you closer. "You're worth it. This is worth it."

You kiss him softly. "I love you."

"I love you too." He grins. "And I'm never letting you go."

"Good," you say. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

And as you fall asleep in his arms, you think about how far you've both come. From that first disastrous meeting to this - to love, to trust, to a partnership that's unlike anything you ever expected.

Tony Stark may have been pathetic in his pursuit of you, but in the end, he won you over not with his charm or his money or his fame, but with his honesty. With his vulnerability. With his willingness to show you all of himself, even the parts he usually hides.

"Worth a shot." You crossed your arms and planted yourself directly in Tony's line of sight. "Appointment was at fourteen-hundred hours. That's 2 PM for those of us who don't speak military time but pretend to."

"I know what fourteen-hundred hours means." Tony still didn't look at you, fingers dancing through holographic schematics. "I was busy. Saving the world. You know, the usual."

"You were in here building what appears to be..." you squinted at the projection, "a coffee maker that also plays Spotify?"

"It's a smart coffee maker that analyzes your circadian rhythms and adjusts caffeine levels accordingly while curating a playlist based on your neurological responses to -" He finally glanced up, catching your expression. "You don't care."

"Not even a little bit." You stepped closer, deliberately disrupting his workspace. "This is your fifth missed appointment, Stark. Fifth. I've had to chase down literal gods who were more cooperative than you."

"Thor likes you. Says you remind him of a Valkyrie. That whole healer thing combined with the death threat energy is apparently very Asgardian."

"Thor respects that I could kill him in seventeen different ways with the supplies in a standard med bay while looking this good doing it. You should too."

That got a smile. Small, but there. "Threatening me, Doc? That's not very Hippocratic of you."

"I took an oath to do no harm. I'm extremely creative about what constitutes 'harm.'" You planted your hands on his workbench, leaning in. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to walk your genius billionaire ass to the med bay right now, or I'm going to tell Pepper you've been dodging checkups again."

"That's a low blow."

"I fight dirty. It's why Fury hired me." You straightened. "Also, I can see you favoring your left side. That repulsor burn from the Hammer tech incident three weeks ago isn't healing properly, is it?"

Tony's expression flickered - just for a second - before the mask slammed back into place. "It's fine."

"If I had a nickel for every time someone said 'it's fine' right before collapsing in my med bay, I'd have enough money to buy Stark Industries."

"Stark Industries isn't for sale."

"My point stands." You moved around the table, and he tracked you with his eyes, wary now. "You know what happens when burns don't heal properly? Infection. Tissue necrosis. Sepsis. Would you like me to continue, or are you getting the picture?"

"You're very graphic for a healer."

"I'm very realistic for someone who's had to put you back together more times than I can count." You were close enough now to see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. "When's the last time you slept?"

"When's the last time you didn't ask me that?"

"When's the last time you gave me a straight answer?"

Tony leaned back in his chair, studying you with that calculating look that probably made shareholders nervous. On you, it had stopped working around appointment number twelve. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I'm like a dog with a bone. Except the bone is your medical negligence and I have a healing degree from Johns Hopkins."

"Johns Hopkins doesn't offer degrees in supernatural healing."

"Shows what you know. They have a whole program now. Very exclusive." You grabbed his coffee mug - half full and probably cold - and moved it out of reach. "Med bay. Now. Or I start telling embarrassing stories at the next team meeting."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. I've got a great one about the time you came in with that thing stuck in your -"

"Okay!" Tony stood abruptly, hands raised in surrender. "Jesus. You're worse than Pepper."

"Pepper uses disappointment. I use blackmail. We're a good team." You gestured toward the door. "After you, Mr. Stark."

"It's Tony. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"When you start showing up for appointments, I'll consider it." You followed him out, and didn't miss the way he moved - careful, guarded. That burn was definitely worse than he'd let on.

The walk to the med bay was silent except for the echo of footsteps in the empty corridor. Most of the team was asleep, like normal people. You and Tony existed in this weird nocturnal overlap, him because he didn't sleep and you because someone had to be awake when the inevitable 3 AM crisis occurred.

"You know," Tony said as you keyed open the med bay doors, "most people find my charm irresistible."

"Most people haven't seen you try to convince them that arc reactor maintenance counts as a medical checkup."

"It's a vital organ!"

"It's a machine in your chest. Different thing." You pointed at the examination table. "Sit. Shirt off."

"Buy me dinner first."

"Stark."

"Fine, fine." He pulled off his Black Sabbath t-shirt with a wince he tried to hide. Didn't work. You'd been doing this too long.

The burn was worse than you'd thought. The skin around his left ribs was angry red, blistered in places, and definitely infected. You felt your jaw tighten, your whole body going rigid with anger and concern. You'd seen a lot as a medical professional, but this level of negligence never stopped making you want to strangle him.

"It's not that bad," Tony said, reading your expression.

"You're right. It's worse." You snapped on gloves, gathering supplies. "This should have been treated weeks ago. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I had more important things to do than -"

"Than take care of yourself? Yeah, I got that memo. It's practically your brand." You pulled up a stool, examining the wound more closely. "This is going to hurt."

"I can take it."

"I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to." You met his eyes, and something passed between you - understanding, maybe. Recognition. "I'm going to clean it first, then heal it. The healing will take the pain, but the cleaning is going to suck."

"Your bedside manner needs work."

"My bedside manner is perfect. I just don't waste it on people who don't follow medical advice." You started cleaning the wound, and felt him tense. "You know, if you actually came to your appointments, I could catch things like this before they become problems."

"Where's the fun in that?" His voice was tight.

"The fun is in not getting sepsis, but maybe that's just me." You worked efficiently, years of practice making your movements sure. "Why do you do this, Tony?"

"Do what?"

"Avoid this. Avoid me. Avoid taking care of yourself." You didn't look up from your work. "You're not stupid. You know what happens when injuries go untreated."

Silence. Then: "Maybe I don't like being reminded that I'm breakable."

That made you pause. You looked up, found him staring at the ceiling, jaw tight. "Everyone's breakable. That's not a character flaw."

"Feels like one when you're supposed to be Iron Man."

"Iron Man is a suit. Tony Stark is a person." You finished cleaning, stripped off the gloves. "And people need maintenance too. Novel concept, I know."

"You're kind of an asshole, Doc."

"Right back at you." You placed your hands over the wound, felt the familiar warmth building in your palms. "Ready?"

He nodded.

The healing always felt like this - a rush of heat, the sensation of tissue knitting together, and underneath it all, the echo of pain transferring from him to you. It wasn't agony, not anymore. You'd learned to process it, let it flow through and dissipate. But you felt it: the sharp burn, the deep ache, the weeks of ignored discomfort he'd been carrying.

When you pulled back, the skin was clean. Healed. Like it had never been damaged.

Tony looked down, then up at you. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just show up next time." You stood, putting distance between you because the air felt too close suddenly. "I mean it, Stark. You pull this again, and I'm staging an intervention. I'll get Rhodey involved."

"Evil."

"Effective." You turned back, found him still sitting there, something unreadable in his expression. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... you're good at this. The healing thing. The caring thing, even if you pretend you don't."

"I'm not pretending anything. I'm your doctor. It's literally my job to keep you alive." But your voice came out softer than you intended.

"Right. Your job." He slid off the table, grabbed his shirt. "Same time next week?"

"You're not going to show up."

"Probably not."

"Then I'll come find you again."

Tony paused at the door, looked back with something that might have been a smile. "Yeah. I figured you would."

___________________________________________________________

The call came in at 11:37 PM: team returning from Moscow, multiple injuries, ETA twenty minutes.

You were already prepping the med bay when they arrived. Natasha walked in under her own power - dislocated shoulder, some bruising. Clint had a gash across his forehead that looked worse than it was. Steve was helping Bruce, who was still green-tinged and disoriented from a forced Hulk-out.

Tony wasn't with them.

"Where's Stark?" you asked, hands already on Natasha's shoulder, feeling for the displacement.

"Said he was fine," Steve answered, easing Bruce onto a bed. "Flew back separately."

"Of course he did." You relocated Natasha's shoulder with a quick jerk and a pulse of healing warmth. She didn't even flinch. "JARVIS, where's Tony?"

"Sir is in his workshop, Doctor."

"Is he injured?"

A pause. "Sir has instructed me not to answer medical inquiries."

"JARVIS."

"He's bleeding, Doctor. I estimate he has sustained significant injuries to his torso and left arm."

Natasha caught your wrist as you turned to leave. "He made us promise not to tell you."

"He can take that promise and shove it somewhere anatomically uncomfortable." You looked at Steve. "You're in charge. Anyone starts dying, come find me."

"We'll be fine," Steve said. "Go."

You found Tony in his workshop, still in the Iron Man suit from the waist down, the top half discarded on the floor. He was bent over the workbench, one hand pressed to his side, the other trying to manipulate a holographic display.

"JARVIS is a snitch," he said without turning around.

"JARVIS has a functioning sense of self-preservation. Unlike you." You crossed the space between you, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around.

Blood. Too much of it, seeping between his fingers where he pressed against his ribs. His left arm hung wrong, and there was a gash across his chest that made your stomach drop.

"It looks worse than it is," Tony said.

"Shut up." Your hands were already moving, assessing. Broken ribs, definitely. Possible internal bleeding. The arm was dislocated. The chest wound was deep but had missed anything vital. "You flew back like this?"

"Autopilot is a beautiful thing."

"You're an idiot." You grabbed his good arm, started pulling him toward the door. "Med bay. Now."

"I'm fine here."

"You're bleeding all over your workshop. Move."

"Doc -"

"I swear to God, Stark, if you don't start walking right now, I will drag you, and I don't care how undignified it looks." You met his eyes, let him see how serious you were. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to hide down here and bleed out because you're too proud or too scared or too whatever to ask for help."

Something in his face cracked. Just a little. "I didn't want you to see."

"Too late. I'm seeing. Now let me fix it."

He let you lead him to the med bay. Let you ease him onto the table. Let you cut away what was left of his shirt and really see the damage.

"Moscow went sideways," he said quietly as you worked. "New tech. Didn't account for the cold affecting the suit's response time."

"Tell me later. Right now, shut up and let me concentrate." You cleaned the chest wound first, hands steady even though your heart was racing. This was bad. Not fatal, but bad.

When you placed your hands over the wound and started healing, the pain hit you like a freight train. You gasped, nearly pulled back, but forced yourself to hold on. Your legs threatened to give out, but you braced yourself against the table, teeth gritted, hands shaking slightly as the pain flooded through your system. This wasn't just physical pain - there was something else underneath it. Fear. Exhaustion. The weight of carrying too much for too long.

"Stop," Tony said, trying to sit up. "You're hurting."

"I'm fine." You weren't. The pain was overwhelming, but you pushed through it, felt the tissue knitting together, the bleeding stopping. "Stay still."

"Doc -"

"I said stay still!" It came out sharper than you intended, but you were drowning in his pain, his fear, and you needed him to just let you help.

When you finally pulled back, you were shaking. The wound was healed, but you felt like you'd been hit by a truck. You braced yourself against the table, breathing hard.

Tony's hand caught your wrist. "Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine." You straightened, forced yourself to focus. "Ribs next. This is going to hurt."

"I know."

You placed your hands over his ribs, felt the breaks, the fractures. Started healing. The pain was different this time - sharp, stabbing, but manageable. You worked through it, feeling bone knit back together, tissue repair itself.

"Why do you do this?" Tony asked quietly.

"Do what?"

"Take the pain. You don't have to. You could just heal without absorbing it."

"Doesn't work that way. The pain has to go somewhere." You moved to his shoulder, felt the dislocation. "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."

"That's not how that saying goes."

"I'm revising it." You relocated the shoulder and healed the damage in one smooth motion, gritting your teeth against the sharp spike of agony. When you stepped back, you were exhausted. "Done."

Tony sat up slowly, testing his movement. Everything worked. Everything was healed. He looked at you, really looked, and you saw the moment he understood what it had cost you.

"You're an idiot," he said softly.

"Right back at you." You turned away, started cleaning up supplies because you needed something to do with your hands. "You could have died, Tony. If that wound had been two inches to the right…"

"But it wasn't."

"But it could have been!" You spun back, and suddenly all the fear and anger and exhaustion was bubbling up. "You could have died in that suit, alone, and we wouldn't have known until JARVIS reported it. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not."

"Then stop doing this! Stop hiding injuries, stop avoiding checkups, stop acting like you're invincible when you're not!" Your voice cracked. "You're not invincible, Tony. You're human. And humans die."

Silence. Tony stared at you, something raw and vulnerable in his expression. "I know."

"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying really hard to prove otherwise."

"Maybe I just don't want to be weak."

"Needing help isn't weakness. It's being human." You moved closer, and you were so tired, so wrung out from healing him that your filters were gone. "You scare me, you know that? Every time you go out there, every time you don't come back with the team, every time you hide in your workshop instead of letting me help… you scare me."

"Doc."

"I'm not done." You poked his chest, right over where the wound had been. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to make me care and then throw yourself into danger like you don't matter. You matter, Tony. To the team. To Pepper. To..." You stopped, realizing what you were about to say.

"To you?" he finished quietly.

You looked away. "You're my patient. Of course you matter."

"That's not what you were going to say."

"Drop it, Stark."

"Tony." He caught your hand, the one still poking his chest. "It's Tony. And for the record? You scare me too."

That made you look back. "I scare you?"

"Terrify me. You see right through all the bullshit. You don't let me get away with anything. You're brilliant and caustic and you take my pain like it's nothing -"

"It's not nothing."

"I know. That's what scares me." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "You care. Even when I don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves it." Your voice came out whisper-soft. "Even genius billionaire playboy philanthropists with death wishes."

"I don't have a death wish."

"Could've fooled me."

Tony smiled, small and sad. "Maybe I just don't know how to stop fighting long enough to live."

And that - that broke something in you. Because you understood. God help you, you understood.

"Then learn," you said. "Let me teach you."

"Is that a medical prescription?"

"It's a friend prescription." You squeezed his hand. "Show up for your appointments. Stop hiding injuries. Let people help you. Revolutionary concepts, I know."

"You're kind of amazing, you know that?"

"I'm really not. I'm just stubborn." You pulled your hand back, needed the distance. "Go get some sleep, Tony. Real sleep, not passing out in your workshop."

"Will you be here? When I wake up?"

"Someone has to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"That's not an answer."

You looked at him - really looked. Saw the vulnerability he was trying to hide, the hope he didn't want to show. "Yeah. I'll be here."

"Okay." He slid off the table, steadier now. Healed. "Thanks, Doc."

"Don't thank me. Just don't make me do that again."

"No promises."

"Tony."

He paused at the door, and looked back. "But I'll try. For you."

It wasn't enough. But it was a start.

___________________________________________________________

The mission had been a success, which meant everyone was alive and relatively intact. You'd patched up minor injuries on-site - Natasha's split knuckles, a gash on Sam's arm, Steve's perpetual bruising that healed almost as fast as you could treat it.

Tony had stayed in the suit the whole time, which meant he was either fine or hiding something.

You were betting on option two.

Now, trapped in the Quinjet for the three-hour flight back to New York, you watched him pretend to sleep in one of the seats, helmet off but armor still on. You tucked one leg underneath you, getting comfortable for the long haul. Everyone else was actually sleeping - it had been a long forty-eight hours - but you knew Tony's tells by now. You could read him like a medical chart you'd memorized.

You moved across the cabin, dropped into the seat next to him. "You're not fooling anyone."

His eyes opened. "I'm resting my eyes."

"You're avoiding me."

"Can't avoid you. We're in a flying metal tube."

"And yet you're trying." You gestured at the suit. "Take it off."

"Again with the demands. You know, most people ask nicely."

"Most people aren't trying to examine you for injuries you're definitely hiding." You kept your voice low, aware of the sleeping team around you. "Armor off, Stark. Now."

"What if I say no?"

"Then I'll assume the worst and tell Pepper you're being difficult about medical care again."

"You play dirty."

"I play to win." You waited, and after a long moment, he sighed and triggered the release. The armor retracted piece by piece, revealing the compression suit underneath.

And the blood seeping through at his side.

"Son of a bitch," you muttered. "JARVIS, medical kit."

A panel opened, and you grabbed the kit, already moving. "Compression suit off too."

"It's not that bad."

"I'll be the judge of that." You helped him peel the suit down to his waist, and there it was—a puncture wound, small but deep, still bleeding sluggishly. "What did this?"

"Rebar. Building collapse. Didn't think it went through."

"It went through." You cleaned the wound, and he hissed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because we had a job to finish."

"The job is finished. You're still bleeding." You prepped for healing, but hesitated. The Quinjet was cramped, the team was sleeping nearby, and you were exhausted from two days of constant vigilance. "This is going to take a lot out of me."

"Then don't. Just bandage it. I'll be fine until we get back."

"You'll be fine now." You placed your hands over the wound, felt the familiar warmth building. "Shut up and let me work."

The healing was harder this time. You were tired, he was tired, and the pain that transferred was sharp and deep. You felt the puncture like a spike through your own side, felt the hours he'd been carrying it, felt the exhaustion underneath.

When you pulled back, you were dizzy. Tony caught you before you could sway.

"Okay, that's it," he said firmly. "No more healing until you've rested."

"I'm fine."

"You're dead on your feet. When's the last time you slept?"

"When's the last time you did?" you shot back.

"Touché." He kept his hand on your arm, steadying you. "But seriously. You can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Taking care of everyone else and ignoring yourself." His voice was quiet, intense. "You're running yourself into the ground, Doc."

"That's rich coming from you."

"I know. That's how I recognize the signs." He shifted, and suddenly you were very aware of how close you were sitting, how his hand was still on your arm, how tired you both were. "You can't save everyone."

"Watch me."

"That's not -" He stopped, jaw tight. "You're going to burn out."

"So are you."

"I know." The admission was quiet. "I'm working on it."

That surprised you. "You are?"

"Trying to. It's hard." He looked away, and in the dim light of the Quinjet, he looked younger. Vulnerable. "I don't know how to stop. Every time I slow down, I think about New York, about the wormhole, about all the things out there that want to hurt people I…" He stopped. "People."

"People you care about," you finished softly.

"Yeah."

You understood. God, you understood too well. "That's why you build. Why you suit up. Why you can't stop."

"And you? Why can't you stop?"

"Because people need me. Because I can help. Because if I don't..." You trailed off, realizing you'd never said it out loud before. "Because if I don't, people die."

"That's not your responsibility."

"Yes, it is. I have this ability. I have to use it."

"Even if it kills you?"

The question hung in the air between you. You didn't have an answer.

"We're a mess," Tony said finally.

"Yeah. We really are." You leaned back in the seat, suddenly too tired to maintain the walls. "I don't know how to stop either."

"Maybe we figure it out together."

You looked at him. "Is that your way of saying you'll actually show up for appointments?"

"It's my way of saying maybe we both need someone to tell us when we're being idiots."

"I already do that."

"And I'm saying maybe I should return the favor." His hand was still on your arm, warm and steady. "You take care of everyone. Who takes care of you?"

"I don't need -"

"Everyone needs, Doc. Even you." He shifted closer, and you should have moved away but you didn't. "Let me help. For once."

"You want to help me?"

"Crazy, right? But yeah. I do." His voice dropped lower. "You've been chasing me around for months, making sure I don't kill myself through negligence. Maybe it's my turn."

"That's not how this works."

"Why not?"

You didn't have an answer for that either.

The Quinjet hummed around you, the team slept on, and you sat there in the dim light with Tony Stark looking at you like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"I don't know how to let people help," you admitted finally.

"Yeah. I got that. Recognizes recognize." He smiled, small and genuine. "But maybe we start small. You stop healing when you're exhausted. I stop hiding injuries. We both try to sleep occasionally."

"That's a terrible plan."

"You have a better one?"

You didn't. And you were so tired of carrying everything alone. "Fine. But if you miss another appointment, all bets are off."

"Deal." His thumb brushed over your arm, and you felt that touch like electricity. "Get some sleep, Doc. I'll wake you when we land."

"You should sleep too."

"I will. Promise."

You didn't believe him, but you were too exhausted to argue. You let your eyes close, let yourself drift, and just before sleep took you, you felt Tony's hand squeeze your arm gently.

Maybe you weren't as alone as you thought.

___________________________________________________________

You found him in the common area three days later, surrounded by the team, holding court like he always did. Everyone was laughing at something he'd said, and he looked relaxed. Happy.

You'd been in surgery for six hours - one of Fury's agents, touch and go, finally stable. You were exhausted, still had blood on your scrubs, your hair falling out of its bun, and you'd come up for coffee before going back to check on your patient. You wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

" - and that's when the Doc told me that if I didn't show up for my appointment, they'd tell Pepper I was being difficult," Tony was saying. "Like I'm some kind of child who needs managing."

The team laughed. You froze in the doorway.

"I mean, I get it," Tony continued, playing to his audience. "It's their job to be paranoid about every little scratch. But there's a difference between medical care and being a control freak, you know?"

Something cold settled in your chest.

Natasha saw you first. Her smile faded. "Tony -"

But you were already moving, crossing the room with your coffee. You didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge the sudden silence.

"Doc," Tony said, and there was something careful in his voice. "Didn't see you there."

"Clearly." You poured coffee, hands steady through sheer force of will. "Don't let me interrupt. You were saying something about control freaks?"

"I was just -"

"No, please. Continue." You turned, leaned against the counter, and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Tell everyone about how unreasonable I am. About how I'm just paranoid. About how caring whether you live or die makes me a control freak."

"That's not what I meant."

"No? Then what did you mean?" You took a sip of coffee, and it tasted like ash. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you were making fun of me for doing my job. For giving a shit whether you bleed out in your workshop."

The room was silent now. Steve looked uncomfortable. Natasha was watching you with sharp eyes. Clint had suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.

"I wasn't making fun of you," Tony said quietly.

"Really? Because it sounded a lot like you were getting laughs at my expense." You pushed off the counter. "But hey, what do I know? I'm just the control freak who keeps you alive."

"Doc…"

"It's Doctor, actually. Since we're apparently not friends." You headed for the door, and you hated that your hands were shaking. "Enjoy your coffee klatch. Try not to get injured. I'd hate to be paranoid about it."

You made it to the hallway before you heard footsteps behind you.

"Wait." Tony caught up, grabbed your arm. "Just wait."

You spun on him. "What? What do you want, Stark?"

"I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

"Did it? Because it sounded pretty clear to me." You pulled your arm free. "I get it. I'm annoying. I'm pushy. I don't let you get away with your bullshit. But I do it because I care, and if that makes me a control freak, then fine. I'm a control freak."

"You're not -"

"I just spent six hours putting someone back together. Six hours of surgery, of taking their pain, of fighting to keep them alive. And I came up here for five minutes of peace and coffee, and I got to hear you mock me to the team." Your voice cracked. "So yeah, Tony. I'm a little sensitive right now."

His face changed. "I didn't know."

"You didn't ask." You turned away. "I have to get back to my patient."

"Doc. Please." He moved in front of you, blocking your path. "I'm an asshole. I say stupid things when I'm uncomfortable. You know this."

"What were you uncomfortable about?"

"You!" It burst out of him. "You make me uncomfortable. You see too much, you care too much, and I don't know what to do with that."

You stared at him. "So you mock me?"

"So I deflect. It's what I do." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You scare the hell out of me, okay? You and your healing hands and your sharp tongue and the way you look at me like I matter. Like I'm not just Iron Man or Tony Stark, genius billionaire, et cetera. You look at me like I'm just... me. And that's terrifying."

"Why?"

"Because what if I'm not enough?" His voice dropped. "What if you see the real me and decide I'm not worth the effort?"

The anger drained out of you, replaced by something else. Something that hurt worse. "You really think that?"

"I don't know what I think. I just know that you've gotten under my skin, and I don't know what to do about it, so I make stupid jokes and push you away because that's easier than -" He stopped.

"Than what?"

"Than admitting I need you." He said it quietly, like a confession. "Than admitting that you've become important to me. That when you're not around, I notice. That I look for you in rooms. That I actually want to show up for appointments because it means I get to see you, even if you're yelling at me."

You couldn't breathe. "Tony…"

"I'm sorry. For what I said. For being an asshole. For all of it." He stepped closer. "You're not a control freak. You're someone who cares, and I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to handle that."

"You're right. You are an idiot." But your voice was soft now.

"I know. It's part of my charm."

"You don't have charm. You have audacity and good hair."

"You think my hair is good?"

"Shut up." But you were almost smiling. Almost. "You hurt me."

"I know. I'm sorry." He reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn't, his hand cupped your cheek. "Let me make it up to you."

"How?"

"I'll show up for my next appointment. On time. Without you having to hunt me down."

"That's a low bar."

"I'll also stop making jokes about you to the team. And I'll try… really try to be less of an asshole about accepting help."

"Still a low bar."

"I'll take you to dinner. Somewhere nice. Somewhere that's not the compound cafeteria." His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. "Let me try to do this right."

Your heart was pounding. "Do what right?"

"This. Us. Whatever this is." He was close now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "Because it's something, right? I'm not imagining it?"

"No," you whispered. "You're not imagining it."

"Okay. Good. Because I've been going crazy thinking I was alone in this."

"You're not alone." You reached up, covered his hand with yours. "But if you ever mock me to the team again, I will end you."

"Noted. Feared. Respected." He smiled, and it was real. Vulnerable. "Are we okay?"

"We're getting there." You stepped back, needed the space to think. "I have to get back to my patient."

"I know. Can I walk you?"

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He fell into step beside you, and his hand brushed yours. Not quite holding, but close. "For the record? You're not annoying. You're persistent. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yeah. Annoying is someone who doesn't know when to quit. Persistent is someone who cares enough not to." He glanced at you. "You care. About all of us. About me. Even when I don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves it, Tony. Even you."

"See? That right there. That's why you scare me." But he was smiling. "You actually believe that."

"Because it's true."

You reached the med bay, and he stopped at the door. "Dinner. Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. I'll pick you up."

"That's not a question."

"Do you want it to be?"

You looked at him. Saw the hope, the fear, the vulnerability he was trying to hide. "No. Seven is fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You smiled. "But you're still coming to your appointment next week."

"Wouldn't miss it." He caught your hand, squeezed gently. "Go save lives, Doc. I'll see you tomorrow."

You watched him walk away, your fingers still tingling from where his hand had held yours. Something warm unfurled in your chest, spreading through you like heat. Something that felt dangerously like hope. Something that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure.

___________________________________________________________

He showed up for his appointment.

On time.

You were so shocked you almost dropped your tablet.

"Don't look so surprised," Tony said, strolling into the med bay like he owned it. Which, technically, he did. "I said I'd be here."

"You say a lot of things." But you were smiling. You'd been smiling a lot lately. Ever since dinner three nights ago, and the breakfast the morning after, and the lunch yesterday where he'd stolen food off your plate and you'd threatened him with a fork.

"I'm a man of my word. Sometimes. When properly motivated." He hopped up on the examination table without being asked. "So what's the damage, Doc?"

"That's what I'm here to find out." You pulled up his chart, scanned the notes. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? Pretty good. Slept six hours last night."

You looked up. "Six consecutive hours?"

"Don't sound so shocked. You're the one who told me to try sleeping."

"I tell you to do a lot of things. You rarely listen."

"I'm listening now." His eyes were warm. "You're a good influence."

"I'm a terrible influence. I threatened to poison your coffee yesterday."

"Because I said your diagnostic approach was 'cute.' Which, in my defense, it is."

"Medicine isn't cute, Stark."

"Tony. And everything you do is cute. It's a problem." He was grinning now, and you wanted to kiss him. You'd been wanting to kiss him for days, ever since that dinner when he'd talked about his mom and you'd talked about why you became a healer and somewhere in the middle you'd both realized this was real.

"Shirt off," you said instead. "I need to check your arc reactor."

"You just want to see me shirtless."

"I see you shirtless all the time. It's part of my job."

"But now it's different." He pulled off his shirt, and yeah, it was different. Because now you knew what his skin felt like under your hands when you weren't healing - warm and alive and his. Now you knew he had a scar on his shoulder from a childhood bike accident and that he was ticklish just below his ribs. Now you felt something entirely new course through you, something that had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with wanting.

You stepped closer, professional despite the way your heart was racing. The arc reactor hummed under your fingers as you checked the connections, the tissue around it, the integration with his chest cavity.

"Everything looks good," you said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're taking care of yourself." You met his eyes. "I'm proud of you."

Something in his expression softened. "You know, I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before."

"Then people are idiots." You stepped back, made notes on your tablet. "Blood pressure is good. Heart rate is normal. No new injuries. No hidden wounds. You're actually healthy, Tony."

"Miracle of miracles."

"It's not a miracle. It's you making better choices." You set down the tablet. "Keep it up."

"Yes, Doctor." He slid off the table, pulled his shirt back on. "So, we done here?"

"Officially? Yes. Unofficially..." You hesitated.

"Unofficially?"

"I wanted to say thank you. For dinner. For listening. For trying."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"I do, though. Because I know it's not easy for you. Letting people in. Accepting help. Being vulnerable." You moved closer. "But you're doing it anyway."

"Only for you." He said it lightly, but you heard the truth underneath. "You make me want to try."

"Good. Because you make me want to try too." You reached up, straightened his collar even though it didn't need straightening. "I'm not good at this. The relationship thing. I'm too focused on work, too intense, too -"

"Perfect?" He caught your hands. "You're perfect. Intense and focused and brilliant and perfect."

"I'm really not."

"You are to me." He pulled you closer, and this time you let him. "I know we're doing this backwards. I know we should probably take it slow. But I don't want slow. I want you. All of you. The healer, the hardass, the person who cares too much and takes everyone's pain and refuses to let me get away with anything."

Your breath caught. "Tony…"

"I'm falling for you, Doc. Pretty sure I've been falling since you first cornered me in my workshop and threatened to tell Pepper on me." He smiled. "You're it for me. Just so you know."

"That's a big statement."

"I'm a big statement kind of guy." His hands framed your face. "Tell me I'm not alone in this."

"You're not alone." You covered his hands with yours. "I'm falling too. Have been for a while. Since you showed up bleeding and still tried to make jokes. Since you looked at me like I was more than just the team doctor. Since you started trying, really trying, to take care of yourself."

"So we're doing this?"

"Yeah. We're doing this." You smiled. "But I'm still your doctor. Which means I still get to yell at you when you do stupid things."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He leaned in, and you met him halfway.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing like the sharp banter and verbal sparring that had defined you for months. It was sweet and real and perfect.

When you pulled back, you were both smiling.

"So," Tony said. "Same time next week?"

"You're really going to keep showing up for appointments?"

"I'm really going to keep showing up for you." He kissed you again, quick and light. "Besides, I have motivation now."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"If I show up on time, do I get a reward?"

You laughed. "What kind of reward?"

"I'm thinking more kisses. Maybe dinner. Possibly you wearing that leather jacket I saw in your closet."

"You went through my closet?"

"I was looking for a shirt. Your apartment is confusing."

"My apartment is organized. You're just nosy." But you were grinning. "Fine. You show up on time, you get rewards."

"Best medical plan ever." He grabbed his jacket. "Walk you back to your office?"

"I have patients to check on."

"Then I'll walk you to your patients." He offered his arm, and you took it.

As you left the med bay together, his hand warm in yours, you felt lighter than you had in months. Maybe years. Because for the first time, you weren't carrying everything alone. You had someone who understood what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and refused to let you do it solo. You had someone who understood. Someone who was trying. Someone who saw you and didn't run away.

"Hey Doc?" Tony said as you walked.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For not giving up on me."

You squeezed his arm. "Thanks for being worth it."

He smiled, and it was real and warm and yours. "Always."

You'd been working night shift in the ED at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for eight months now, and in that time, you'd developed what could only be described as a problem when it came to Dr. Abbot.

The problem was this: every time he stood close enough that you could smell his cologne your brain short-circuited. Every time he gave orders in that calm, authoritative voice, you wondered what else he could command you to do. And every time he rolled up his sleeves, forearms flexing as he worked, you had to remind yourself that fantasizing about an attending physician while elbow-deep in a trauma was probably not professional.

But God, the man made it difficult.

"You good?" Jack's voice cut through your thoughts, and you realized you'd been staring at him for a solid five seconds while holding a suture kit.

"Yeah. Fine." You handed it over, trying not to notice the way his fingers brushed yours.

His mouth quirked - just barely - like he knew exactly what you were thinking. "Uh-huh."

Lena, the charge nurse, gave you a look from across the bay. The kind of look that said I see you, and you're not subtle.

You were definitely not subtle.

___________________________________________________________

It was 3 AM when the ED finally quieted down. The post-bar-fight rush had cleared out, the last ambulance had been diverted to another hospital, and the waiting room had emptied to just one guy sleeping off a hangover in the corner.

You were in the break room, eyes half-closed, clutching a cup of coffee like it was the only thing tethering you to consciousness.

The door opened.

Jack.

Of course it was Jack.

He looked tired - the kind of tired that came with twelve hours on your feet, most of it spent saving lives - but he still moved with that easy confidence, the slight dip in his right shoulder, the hitch in his step more pronounced now. He'd been running between traumas all night.

"Rough shift," he said, heading for the coffee pot.

"Understatement."

He poured himself a cup, leaned against the counter, and looked at you. Really looked at you. The kind of look that made your stomach flip and heat pool low in your belly.

"You've been distracted tonight."

Your heart kicked up. "Have I?"

"Mmm." He took a sip of coffee, eyes never leaving yours. "You have. And I think I know why."

Oh, fuck.

"Do you." It wasn't a question. Your voice came out breathier than you intended.

Jack set his cup down, took two steps forward, and suddenly he was right there, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that you could see the flecks of gray in his stubble, the faint scar along his jawline.

"You've been looking at me like you want something," he said, voice low and rough. "So here's your chance. Tell me I'm wrong."

You should've said something professional. Something about boundaries and workplace conduct.

Instead, you said, "You're not wrong."

The smile that spread across his face was slow, predatory, and absolutely devastating.

"Good girl."

And then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was everything you'd imagined and nothing like you'd expected - commanding, thorough, the kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your brain go fuzzy. His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, and he angled your head exactly how he wanted it.

When he pulled back, you were breathing hard.

"Lock the door," he said.

You did.

When you turned back around, Jack was watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle with anticipation. He crooked a finger. "Come here."

You crossed the small room, and he caught you by the hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him - hard and thick against your stomach - and oh.

"Feel that?" His voice was a low rumble against your ear. "That's what you do to me. Every goddamn shift, watching you walk around in those scrubs, bending over, biting your lip when you're concentrating." His hand slid down, gripping your ass. "Drove me fucking crazy."

"Jack…"

"I'm going to fuck you," he said, matter-of-fact, like he was giving orders in a trauma bay. "But first, I'm going to make you come on my fingers. And you're going to be quiet, because we're still in a hospital, and I don't need Lena coming to investigate. Understand?"

You nodded, unable to form words.

"Use your words, sweetheart."

"Yes. I understand."

"Good." He kissed you again, slower this time, and his hand slid beneath the waistband of your scrub pants. "Spread your legs a little. That's it."

You did, and his fingers found you - already wet, already aching.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth. "You're soaked."

"Your fault," you managed.

He chuckled, low and dark. "Yeah. It is." His fingers circled your clit, slow and deliberate, and you gasped. "Easy. I've got you. Just feel it."

He worked you with the same focused precision he brought to everything else - attentive, controlled, reading every hitch in your breath and adjustment of your hips. When he slid two fingers inside you, your knees buckled.

"I've got you," he said again, his other arm banding around your waist, holding you steady. "You're doing so good. Just let go."

His thumb pressed against your clit while his fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids, and you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out.

"That's it. Right there, isn't it?" His voice was a low rasp in your ear. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me."

You came hard, shaking in his arms, and he talked you through it - "Good girl, just like that, fuck, you're gorgeous" - until you were boneless and panting against his chest.

"Okay?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"More than okay."

"Good. Because we're not done." He withdrew his hand, and you watched, dazed, as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. "Jesus, you taste good."

Your brain was still offline, but your body was very much online and ready for round two.

Jack turned you around, guiding you to brace your hands against the counter. You heard the rustle of fabric, and then he was behind you, one hand on your hip, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

"Tell me if anything doesn't feel right," he said, and you felt the blunt pressure of him. "Breathe."

You did, and he pushed inside - slow, steady, giving you time to adjust. And God, he was big. Thick and long and filling you so completely you could barely think.

"Fuck," you gasped.

"You okay?" His hand tightened on your hip.

"Yes. Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it." He pulled back and thrust in again, deeper this time, and you had to bite your fist to keep quiet. "That's it. Take it. You're doing so fucking good."

He set a rhythm - deep, measured strokes that hit every nerve ending and made your toes curl. His hand slid up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, and the angle shifted just enough to make you see stars.

"Jack… fuck!"

"I know. I've got you." His voice was strained now, control fraying at the edges. "Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock."

You slid a hand between your legs, fingers finding your clit, and the dual sensation was almost too much.

"That's my girl," he groaned. "Fuck, you feel incredible. So tight. So perfect."

His rhythm faltered, thrusts becoming harder, less controlled, and you knew he was close. The thought sent you over the edge, orgasm crashing through you, and you barely managed to muffle your cry against your arm.

"Fuck!" Jack's hips stuttered, and he came with a low groan, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both breathing hard.

Then Jack carefully withdrew, and you heard him dealing with the condom (when had he put that on? You'd been too far gone to notice). His hands were gentle as he helped you straighten your scrubs, turning you around to face him.

"You good?" he asked, cupping your face.

"So good."

He kissed you, soft and sweet this time. "We should probably get back before someone notices we're both missing."

"Probably."

But neither of you moved.

Jack's mouth quirked into that almost-smile. "For the record? You were right."

"About what?"

"The big dick energy thing." His eyes glinted with amusement. "I heard you and Lena talking last week."

Your face went hot. "Oh my God."

"Don't be embarrassed." He kissed you again. "You weren't wrong."

"Miss has indeed arrived, sir," JARVIS replied with what you swore was amusement in his artificial voice. "Her vitals suggest extreme fatigue."

"Traitor," you muttered at the ceiling.

Tony appeared from around the corner, wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and jeans that probably cost more than most people's cars. He took one look at you and his expression shifted from playful to concerned in a nanosecond - though he'd deny it if you called him on it.

"Okay, what fresh hell did they put you through today? You look like you went twelve rounds with Happy and he actually tried."

"Thanks, Tony. Really feeling the love." You kicked off your shoes and immediately regretted it when your feet touched the cold floor and protested the change in pressure.

He crossed the distance between you in a few strides, hands going to your shoulders. "I'm serious. You look exhausted. What happened to my girl who left here this morning making terrible puns about 'working hard or hardly working'?"

"She died somewhere around hour six of standing in heels because apparently sitting down is for quitters." You leaned into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with motor oil. He'd been in the workshop. "I'm pretty sure my feet have filed for divorce. They're citing irreconcilable differences."

"Well, we can't have that. I'm very attached to your feet. They're connected to your legs, which are -" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Tony."

"...which are very tired and need immediate attention from a genius billionaire philanthropist who happens to have excellent hands. It's in all the magazines. 'Tony Stark: Great Hands.' That's a direct quote."

Despite everything, you laughed. "That is absolutely not what any magazine has ever said."

"Pepper's magazine did. I had her publish it. It's called 'Tony Stark Quarterly' and it has a very limited circulation." He was already steering you toward the bedroom, hands gentle but insistent on your shoulders. "Come on, zombie girl. Operation Relaxation is now in effect."

"Operation Relaxation? Did you actually just come up with that, or have you been planning this?"

"I'm a genius. I can multitask. I came up with it just now AND I've been planning it since JARVIS told me you sounded dead on your feet during your lunch break call." He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. "Stay. Don't move. I'm going to run you a bath that will make you forget you even have a job."

"Tony, you don't have to."

He pressed a finger to your lips. "Shh. The genius is working. Also, yes I do, because A) I love you, and B) you're cranky when you're tired and I have a vested interest in you not being cranky. Mostly A, though. Like, seventy-thirty."

"Seventy-thirty?"

"Sixty-forty?"

"Tony."

"Ninety-ten, final offer." He grinned and kissed your forehead. "Don't move. I mean it. If you move, JARVIS will tell on you."

"I will indeed, Miss," JARVIS confirmed.

You flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. From the bathroom, you could hear Tony moving around, the sound of water running, cabinets opening and closing. There was a concerning crash, followed by a very casual "I'm okay! That was already broken!"

"Tony, what are you breaking in there?"

"Nothing important! Just my dignity. It'll recover."

A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a triumphant expression. "Okay, so I may have gone a little overboard, but in my defense, going overboard is kind of my thing. It's like my signature move. That and the repulsor rays."

He helped you up - actually helped, with hands that were surprisingly gentle for someone who spent most of his time building weapons and robots. Well, former weapons. Mostly robots now. And suits. And -

"I can hear you thinking from here," Tony said, guiding you toward the bathroom. "Stop it. No thinking allowed during Operation Relaxation."

"You're really committed to that name, aren't you?"

"I had JARVIS make a logo and everything."

The bathroom was... well, it was exactly what you'd expect from Tony Stark going "a little overboard." The massive soaking tub was filled with steaming water, and the scent of lavender and something else - eucalyptus maybe? - filled the air. Candles flickered on every available surface, which seemed like a fire hazard but was admittedly romantic.

"Did you use all the candles in New York?"

"Just the good ones. The bad ones I left for people with less refined taste." He started helping you out of your work clothes with the kind of efficiency that would've been clinical if not for the way his fingers lingered, gentle and warm against your skin. "Also, I may have had JARVIS order that fancy bath salt stuff you were looking at online last week."

You paused, turning to look at him. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything about you. It's creepy. I'm aware. But also romantic, so it balances out." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he slid your shirt off. "Now get in the tub before I have to make a joke about the water getting cold, which would ruin the whole mood I'm creating here."

The water was perfect - hot enough to make you sigh in relief but not so hot it was uncomfortable. You sank in up to your shoulders and felt your muscles start to unknot themselves.

Tony rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the tub, which was not something you ever thought you'd see Tony Stark do voluntarily. "Okay, foot massage time. Give me your foot."

"Tony, you don't have to."

"Foot. Now. Don't make me use the armor to get it."

You lifted one foot out of the water, and his hands wrapped around it, thumbs pressing into your arch with exactly the right amount of pressure. You couldn't stop the groan that escaped.

"And that's the sound of my girlfriend remembering why she keeps me around," Tony said smugly, working his thumbs in slow circles. "It's not just the money and the good looks. It's also the excellent foot massages."

"You've never given me a foot massage before."

"I've been saving it. Building anticipation. It's called strategy." His fingers worked up to your ankle, then your calf, kneading the tight muscles. "Also, I may have watched several YouTube videos while the bath was running. Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation."

"Your secret is safe with me." You let your head fall back against the edge of the tub, eyes closing. "This is... really nice, Tony. Thank you."

"Yeah, well. You work too hard. Someone's gotta take care of you." His voice was softer now, less performative. "And before you say you can take care of yourself, I know you can. But you don't have to. That's what having a genius boyfriend is for."

"I thought it was for fixing my laptop when I download suspicious files."

"That too. I'm multifaceted. It's part of my charm." He switched to your other foot, and you melted a little more. "So, tell me about your day. What made it so terrible? Do I need to buy your company and fire everyone? Because I will. I've done it before."

"Please don't buy my company."

"Too late, already texted Pepper. She's on it."

"Tony!"

"I'm kidding. Mostly." His hands moved up your calf again, working out a particularly tight knot that made you wince. "Easy. I got you. Breathe."

You did, and his hands gentled, working the muscle more carefully. It was strange, seeing Tony like this - focused and careful, all his manic energy channeled into taking care of you. It made your chest feel tight in a completely different way than exhaustion.

"My day was just... long," you said finally. "Too many people, too many problems, too much standing in shoes that looked better than they felt. The usual."

"So what you're saying is, you need me to invent better shoes. I can do that. I'll call them Stark Heels. They'll have repulsor technology in the soles for extra support."

"That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"All my best inventions do." He released your foot and reached for a washcloth, soaping it up with something that smelled expensive. "Sit forward."

You did, and he started washing your back with slow, careful strokes. It was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex - just Tony, taking care of you, his touch gentle and sure.

"You know what your problem is?" he asked, working the washcloth over your shoulders.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"Your problem is that you're too good at your job. People rely on you, so they pile everything on, and you just... take it. Because you're capable and responsible and all those other adjectives that make me look bad in comparison."

"Tony…"

"I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm making a point." He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, right at the hairline. "My point is, you're allowed to say no sometimes. You're allowed to be tired. And you're definitely allowed to come home and let your incredibly handsome boyfriend pamper you."

"Incredibly handsome and incredibly humble."

"That too. It's a burden, really, being this perfect." His hands slid around to your shoulders, thumbs working into the tight muscles there. "But seriously. You don't have to be 'on' all the time. Not here. Not with me."

You reached back, finding his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "I know. Thank you. For this. For... everything."

"Yeah, well. You're welcome." He squeezed your hand. "Now finish relaxing while I go find something for us to eat. And by find, I mean order, because you know I can't cook."

"You can cook. You just choose not to."

"I choose not to because the last time I tried, I set off the fire suppression system and JARVIS threatened to call Pepper. It was traumatic." He stood, wiping his hands on a towel. "Take your time. I'll be out there, being domestic and ordering Chinese food."

"Tony?"

He turned back, eyebrow raised.

"I love you."

His expression softened, that rare genuine smile that he saved just for you. "I love you too. Even when you're a zombie. Especially when you're a zombie, actually. You're less likely to run away when I'm being sappy."

"I would never run away from your sappiness."

"Lies. You literally left the room last week when I tried to recite that poem."

"That wasn't a poem. That was you reading the periodic table in alphabetical order."

"It was a science poem. You're just not cultured enough to appreciate it." He blew you a kiss. "Relax. That's an order from your boyfriend who loves you and also happens to be a superhero, so you have to listen."

After he left, you sank deeper into the water, letting the heat and the scent and the quiet work their magic. Your muscles were finally starting to unclench, the tension of the day dissolving like the bath salts Tony had probably spent too much money on.

You could hear him in the other room, talking to JARVIS about food options, his voice carrying that animated quality it always had when he was engaged with something. Even something as simple as ordering dinner.

By the time you finally dragged yourself out of the tub - pruney and relaxed and feeling almost human again - Tony had laid out your favorite pajamas on the bed. Except they weren't pajamas. They were one of his MIT t-shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs.

"JARVIS said you prefer my clothes," Tony called from the living room. "Something about them being 'comfy' and 'smelling like me.' Which is weird, but I'm choosing to take it as a compliment."

You pulled on the shirt, smiling. It was soft and worn and smelled exactly like him. "It's definitely a compliment."

When you padded out to the living room, Tony was sprawled on the couch, already changed into sleep pants and a different t-shirt. He'd dimmed the lights, and there were takeout containers spread across the coffee table.

"I got all your favorites," he said, patting the couch next to him. "Plus some of my favorites, because I'm eating too and I have excellent taste."

You curled up next to him, and he immediately pulled you closer, arranging you so your head was on his chest and his arm was around your shoulders. It was comfortable and familiar and exactly what you needed.

"Better?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Much better." You stole a spring roll from one of the containers. "You're pretty good at this whole 'taking care of people' thing."

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm good at everything." He paused. "Except cooking. And feelings. And - okay, I'm good at some things. But taking care of you is definitely one of them."

You ate in comfortable silence for a while, some documentary about space playing on the TV that Tony was half-watching and half-commenting on ("That's not how that works. JARVIS, make a note to send them a strongly worded email about their terrible science.").

But you could feel his attention on you, the way he kept checking to make sure you were eating, that you were comfortable, that you had everything you needed. It was sweet in a way that Tony would never admit to being.

"Thank you," you said again, tilting your head to look up at him. "For tonight. For being... you."

"Well, I can't really be anyone else. I tried once, but the costume was uncomfortable and I have commitment issues." His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "But seriously. You don't have to thank me. This is what people do when they love each other. They take care of each other. Even if one of them is a genius billionaire and the other one is... also pretty great, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I'm trying to be humble. Is it working?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Good. Humility is overrated anyway." He leaned down, kissing you softly. It was gentle and sweet and tasted like Chinese food, and it made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing it always did when Tony kissed you like you were something precious.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark and warm. "How are you feeling? Still tired?"

"Less tired. More... relaxed." You shifted, moving to straddle his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders. "Thanks to you."

His hands settled on your waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of his shirt you were wearing. "Well, I am pretty amazing. It's been documented."

"So humble."

"It's one of my best qualities." He pulled you closer, until you were pressed against him, and kissed you again. This time it was deeper, more intent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made heat pool low in your belly.

You broke the kiss, breathless. "Tony..."

"Yeah?" His hands were sliding up your sides now, taking the shirt with them. "Tell me what you need."

"You. Just... you."

"Well, that I can definitely provide." He stood, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. "JARVIS, clear my schedule for the rest of the night. I'm going to be very busy."

"Of course, sir. Shall I activate privacy mode?"

"You're a good AI, JARVIS. The best AI. I'm definitely not replacing you with a newer model."

"Your reassurance is overwhelming, sir."

Tony carried you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. The city lights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in a soft glow.

"You know," he said, crawling over you, settling between your legs, "I had a whole plan for tonight. Very romantic. Very smooth. But then you came home looking like you'd been through a war, and I had to improvise."

"I like your improvisation." You pulled him down for another kiss, your fingers threading through his hair.

"Good. Because I'm about to improvise a lot more." His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the boxer briefs up. "Tell me if anything doesn't feel good. Tonight is about you."

"Tony…"

"I know I don't have to. I want to." He kissed your neck, teeth grazing lightly. "Let me take care of you. Please."

The please did it. Tony Stark didn't say please often, and when he did, it meant something.

"Okay," you whispered.

His smile against your skin was triumphant. "That's my girl."

He took his time, kissing his way down your body, pushing the shirt up and off. His mouth was hot against your skin, tongue tracing patterns that made you shiver. When he reached your breasts, he lavished attention on each one, sucking and licking until you were arching into him, hands fisted in his hair.

"Still with me?" he asked, looking up at you with dark eyes.

"Very much with you."

"Good. Don't go anywhere." He continued his path downward, kissing across your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs. When he finally removed the boxer briefs, his breath ghosted over your center, making you shudder.

"Tony, please!"

"I love it when you beg. It's my second favorite sound you make." He licked a long stripe up your center, and you gasped. "That's my first favorite."

He proceeded to take you apart with his mouth, tongue and lips and fingers working in concert until you were writhing beneath him, one hand gripping his hair and the other fisted in the sheets. He was relentless and thorough, paying attention to every gasp and moan, adjusting his approach based on your reactions.

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and stars behind your eyes, pleasure rolling through you in waves that seemed to go on forever.

Tony kissed his way back up your body, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "And that's why they call me a genius."

"Pretty sure that's not why," you managed, still catching your breath.

"It should be. I'm adding it to my resume." He kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I can't remember what I was stressed about."

"Perfect. That was the goal." He settled beside you, pulling you close. "We can stop here if you want. Tonight is about you being comfortable."

You ran your hand down his chest, feeling the arc reactor beneath the shirt, the warmth of his skin. "What if I want more?"

His breath hitched. "Then I am absolutely on board with more. Very on board. Enthusiastically on board."

"Tony."

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking and kiss me."

"Now that I can do."

He kissed you deeply, thoroughly, rolling you beneath him. You could feel him hard against your thigh, and you reached down, palming him through his pants. He groaned into your mouth.

"You're going to kill me," he muttered, but he was already pushing his pants down, kicking them off. "Death by beautiful girlfriend. Not the worst way to go."

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"I really do."

He lined himself up, pausing to look at you. "You sure? We can still -"

"Tony. I love you. I want you. Please."

He pushed inside slowly, carefully, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none - just the perfect stretch, the feeling of being full, complete.

"Okay?" he asked, voice strained.

"Perfect."

He started to move, slow and deep, one hand braced beside your head and the other on your hip. It was intimate and intense, his eyes never leaving yours, like he was trying to memorize every expression.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. "So perfect. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Tony!"

"I mean it." His thrusts were getting faster now, less controlled. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Better than the suits. Better than the company. Better than - fuck - better than everything."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck. His hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles.

"Come for me," he whispered against your ear. "Want to feel you. Please, baby. Come for me."

The combination of his words, his fingers, the angle of his thrusts - it was too much. You came with a cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later, your name a prayer on his lips.

He collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest, both of you breathing hard. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.

"So," he said after a moment, "on a scale of one to ten, how well did I do at making you forget about your terrible day?"

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Eleven."

"Eleven. I like that. JARVIS, make a note. I got an eleven."

"Noted, sir. Shall I alert the media?"

"No, this one's just for me." He tilted your face up, kissing you softly. "Feeling better?"

"So much better. Thank you, Tony. For everything."

"Anytime. Literally anytime. You have a bad day, you come home to me, and I will make it better. That's my job now. Professional bad day eraser. I'm adding it to my business cards."

"You don't have business cards."

"I'll make some. They'll be very fancy. Probably holographic."

You snuggled closer, feeling the exhaustion from earlier returning, but this time it was the good kind - the satisfied, relaxed kind that came from being thoroughly loved and cared for.

"I love you," you murmured, already half-asleep.

"I love you too." He pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms secure around you. "Now sleep. Tomorrow you're calling in sick and we're spending the whole day in bed."

"Tony, I can't."

"Already done. I had JARVIS send an email. You have the flu. Very serious. Definitely contagious. You need at least three days of bed rest with your boyfriend."

"Three days?"

"I'm very thorough. It's one of my best qualities."

You were too tired and too content to argue. Instead, you just smiled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart - the arc reactor humming softly beneath it.

"Thank you," you whispered one more time.

"Always," he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

"Hi."

There's a pause. Then: "Jesus Christ."

You smile, settling back against your pillows. "Miss me?"

"You have no idea." His voice drops lower, intimate. "Been thinking about you all week. About that dress. About what you did to me in my kitchen."

"Yeah?" You let your free hand trail down your stomach, over the thin fabric of your nightgown. "What else have you been thinking about?"

"Your mouth. Your hands. The way you look when you come." He exhales slowly, and you can hear the want in it. "The way you taste. The sounds you make when I'm inside you."

Heat pools low in your belly. "Where are you right now?"

"Houseboat. Bedroom." There's a pause, the sound of movement. "Where are you?"

"My bed." You slide your hand lower, between your thighs. "Thinking about you."

"Fuck." His breathing changes, gets heavier. "What are you wearing?"

"A nightgown. Thin. Nothing underneath."

He groans, low and rough. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Maybe."

"Jesus… tell me. Tell me what you're doing."

"My hand's between my legs." You circle your clit slowly, feeling yourself getting wet. "Thinking about your mouth. About how good you felt inside me."

"Fuck - I want to see you. Want to watch you touch yourself."

"You'll have to use your imagination." You press harder, pleasure sparking through you. "Tell me what you're doing, Paul."

"What do you think I'm doing?" His voice is strained now, breathless. "Got my hand on my cock, thinking about you. About how tight you were. How wet."

"Are you hard?"

"So fucking hard. Been hard since you said 'hi.'"

You smile, circling your clit faster. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

"Want to taste you again. Want to make you come on my tongue until you're shaking." His breathing is ragged now. "Want to fuck you slow this time. Want to watch your face while I'm inside you. Want to hear you say my name when you come."

"Paul!" Your fingers slide lower, push inside, and you gasp.

"Fuck. Are you -"

"Yes." You pump your fingers slowly, imagining they're his. "Wish it was you. Wish it was your fingers inside me."

"Me too. God, me too." You can hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, and it makes you clench around your own fingers. "You sound so good. So fucking good. Love the sounds you make."

"Tell me - tell me what you like about me."

"Everything." His voice is thick, rough with need. "Love your confidence. The way you look at me like you're deciding whether to fuck me or walk away. Love your body… your tits, your ass, the way you move." He groans. "Love how you taste. How you feel wrapped around my cock. How you take control. How you're not afraid to tell me what you want."

"I want you," you breathe, fingers moving faster. "Want to feel you inside me again. Want to make you lose control."

"You already do. Every time I think about you, I lose it." His breathing is harsh now, punctuated by soft groans. "Fuck - I'm close. Are you close?"

"Yes!" You press your palm against your clit while your fingers work inside you. "Keep talking. Tell me more."

"You're so fucking beautiful. The way you looked riding me - taking what you wanted - using my cock to get yourself off…" He breaks off with a groan. "Want to see you again. Want to touch you. Want to make you come so many times you forget your own name."

"Paul - I'm -"

"Come for me. Want to hear you come. Want to know I'm making you feel good even when I'm not there."

His words push you over the edge. You come with a gasp, clenching around your fingers, pleasure washing through you in waves. You can hear him groaning on the other end of the line, his breathing ragged as he follows you over.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, trying to recover.

"Fuck," he finally says, voice rough and satisfied.

"Yeah."

"When can I see you?"

You smile, still catching your breath. "Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock."

"I'll be waiting."

"I know you will."

________________________________________________________________

The next night, you arrive at eight-fifteen wearing jeans and a simple blouse - nothing fancy, nothing designed to drive him crazy. You don't need to try that hard anymore.

Paul's waiting on the deck, and when he sees you, his whole face lights up. It's different from before - less cocky, more genuine. Like he's actually happy to see you, not just happy to fuck you.

"Hi," he says, and there's something soft in his voice.

"Hi."

He reaches for you, pulls you close, and kisses you. It's slower, deeper, like he's savoring it. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and when he pulls back, he's looking at you like you're something precious.

"Missed you," he murmurs.

"It's been four days."

"Still missed you."

You let him lead you inside, and this time you take your time looking around. The houseboat is still cluttered - papers everywhere, books stacked on every surface, empty coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays - but there's something charming about it. It's so completely him.

"Want a drink?" he asks.

"Not yet." You turn to face him, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. He's watching you like he's trying to memorize every detail. "Come here."

He does, and you kiss him again, slower this time. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt. His hands settle on your waist, holding you close but not demanding, not rushing.

When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.

"Bedroom?" he asks.

"Not yet." You push him gently toward the small couch. "Sit down."

He does, watching you with dark, curious eyes. You can see the bulge already forming in his pants, the way his hands flex against his thighs like he's trying not to reach for you.

You step between his legs, and his hands come up automatically to your hips. You let him touch you this time, let him pull you closer until you're standing right between his spread thighs.

"I want to try something different tonight," you say, running your fingers through his hair.

"Yeah?" His voice is already rough. "What's that?"

"I want to taste you." You watch his eyes darken, his pupils dilating. "Want to make you feel good. Want to watch you fall apart."

"Fuck…" His grip on your hips tightens. "Yes. Please."

You smile, lean down to kiss him again. This time you take your time, exploring his mouth, feeling the way he responds to you. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against you.

When you pull back, you drop to your knees between his legs.

His breath catches. "Jesus."

"Relax." You run your hands up his thighs, feeling the muscle tense beneath your touch. "Let me take care of you."

Your fingers find his belt, and you take your time unbuckling it, drawing out the anticipation. He's watching you with dark, hungry eyes, his breathing already uneven. When you unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper, he lifts his hips to help you pull them down.

His cock is already hard, straining against his boxers, and you can see the wet spot where he's leaking. You palm him through the fabric, and he groans, head falling back against the couch.

"Look at me," you say softly.

He does, and the vulnerability in his eyes takes your breath away. This is different from before - he's not trying to be in control, not trying to dominate. He's just... open. Waiting for you.

You pull down his boxers, and his cock springs free, hard and flushed and beautiful. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he groans again, louder this time.

"You're so hard," you murmur, watching his face. "Have you been thinking about this?"

"Yes! Fuck - been thinking about your mouth since the first night."

You lean forward, lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, and he gasps, hips jerking. His hand comes up to your hair, fingers threading through it, not pushing or pulling, just... holding. Like he needs to touch you, needs the connection.

"So good," he breathes. "You feel so good."

You take him into your mouth, just the head at first, swirling your tongue around the tip. He tastes like salt and musk and something uniquely him, and the sound he makes - low and desperate - sends heat flooding through you.

"Fuck - your mouth."

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his fingers tighten in your hair. Not painful, just desperate. You can feel him trying not to thrust, trying to let you control the pace, and the restraint makes you want him even more.

You pull off, lick along the shaft, and look up at him. His eyes are dark and glazed, his mouth open as he pants. "You okay?"

"So fucking okay." His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "You're so beautiful like this. So fucking beautiful."

The tenderness in his voice makes your chest tight. You turn your head, press a kiss to his palm, and his breath catches.

Then you take him deep again, as far as you can, and he moans - loud and unguarded and completely vulnerable. His hips jerk up involuntarily, and you let him, let him fuck your mouth in shallow thrusts while you work him with your hand and tongue.

"God - fuck! I'm not going to last -" His voice is wrecked, desperate. "You feel too good - your mouth.”

You pull off, stroke him with your hand while you catch your breath. "I want you to come for me, Paul. Want to taste you."

"Jesus Christ…" His hand in your hair tightens, and you can see he's close, his whole body tense. "Keep going - please."

You take him back into your mouth, sucking hard, and his control shatters. He comes with a groan, hips bucking, and you swallow everything he gives you, working him through it until he's shaking.

When you finally pull off, he's staring at you with something like awe in his eyes. His hand is still in your hair, gentle now, and his other hand is still cupping your face.

"Come here," he says, voice rough.

You stand, and he pulls you down onto his lap, kissing you deeply. He doesn't seem to care that he can taste himself on your tongue - if anything, it seems to turn him on more. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your back, cupping your face, threading through your hair.

When he pulls back, he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen.

"That was…" He shakes his head. "You're incredible."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He kisses you again, softer this time. "Stay tonight. Please. I want -" He pauses, like he's not sure how to say it. "I want to hold you. Want to fall asleep with you. Want to wake up with you."

You should say no. Should remind him of the rules, the boundaries. This is just sex, nothing more. But the way he's looking at you - vulnerable and hopeful and so fucking genuine - makes you hesitate.

"Okay," you hear yourself say. "I'll stay."

His smile is brilliant, and he kisses you again, deep and slow and full of something that feels dangerously close to affection.

"Bedroom?" he asks.

"Bedroom."

________________________________________________________________

He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he reveals. When you're finally naked, he lays you down on his narrow bunk and just... looks at you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, running his hands up your sides. "Every part of you. Your body, your mind, the way you look at me."

"Paul…"

"I mean it." He leans down, kisses your collarbone, your sternum, the curve of your breast. "You're incredible. The way you take control. The way you know exactly what you want. The way you make me feel -" He breaks off, shakes his head. "I've never felt like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like I'd do anything to keep you coming back." He looks up at you, and there's something raw in his eyes. "Like I'm completely at your mercy and I don't even care."

Your chest tightens. This is getting too close to something real, something more than just sex. You should stop it, should remind him of the rules.But instead, you pull him up for a kiss, deep and slow and full of everything you can't say.

He makes love to you this time - there's no other word for it. It's slow and intimate and tender, his hands gentle on your body, his mouth worshipping every inch of you. When he finally slides inside you, you both gasp at the sensation, and he pauses, forehead pressed against yours.

"Okay?" he whispers.

"Yes. More than okay."

He moves slowly, each thrust deep and deliberate, and you can feel every inch of him. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he holds it above your head while he rocks into you. His other hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and he watches your face like he's trying to memorize every expression.

"You feel so good," he murmurs. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."

"Paul!"

"I know. I know this is just sex. But right now -" He thrusts deeper, and you both moan. "Right now it feels like more."

You can't argue with that. Because it does feel like more. The way he's touching you, looking at you, moving inside you - it's not just fucking. It's something else. Something that scares you and thrills you in equal measure.

When you come, it's slow and deep and overwhelming, pleasure rolling through you in waves. He follows shortly after, groaning your name against your neck, and you hold him close, feeling his heart racing against yours.

Afterward, he doesn't pull away. He stays inside you, holding you, pressing soft kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. When he finally does pull out, he immediately pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you.

"Stay," he whispers again. "Please stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur back.

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, the houseboat rocking gently beneath you, you think that maybe this arrangement is becoming something more than you planned.

Something that feels dangerously close to real.

But for tonight, you let yourself have this. Let yourself be held. Let yourself feel wanted for more than just your body.

Tomorrow you can worry about the rules.

It started innocently enough. A glance here, a lingering look there. But lately, it's gotten worse. Or better? You're not entirely sure which.

Like right now.

Tony's in the kitchen, reaching up to grab a coffee mug from the top shelf. He's wearing those gray sweatpants - the ones that should be illegal in seventeen countries - and a worn MIT t-shirt that's riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin at his lower back. And his ass... God, his ass in those sweatpants is a work of art that belongs in the Louvre.

You're supposed to be reading the news on your tablet. Instead, you're staring. Again.

"You want coffee, honey?" Tony asks, glancing over his shoulder.

You jerk your eyes up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. "What? Yes. Coffee. I want coffee. The beverage. Hot bean water. Yes."

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "You okay over there? You sound like JARVIS when his processors are overheating."

"I'm fine!" Your voice comes out at least an octave too high. "Totally fine. Normal. Regular amounts of fine."

Tony gives you that look - the one that says he knows something's up but he's going to let it slide for now - and turns back to pour your coffee. Which means his back is to you again. Which means you're staring again.

You are a disaster of a human being.

________________________________________________________________

It continues throughout the week. You can't help yourself.

When he's in the workshop, bent over one of his project tables, studying schematics with that intense focus he gets. The way his jeans hug his frame, the curve of his…

"JARVIS, is the temperature regulation broken? It feels warm in here," you say, fanning yourself.

"The temperature is a comfortable 68 degrees Fahrenheit, Mrs. Stark," JARVIS replies, and you swear there's amusement in his artificial voice.

When Tony's doing his morning workout, and he's in those compression shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. You walk past the home gym three times with increasingly flimsy excuses.

"Just... getting water."

"Forgot my... phone."

"Need to... check on that thing. In this general area. That definitely exists."

Tony, doing planks, looks up at you with sweat dripping down his temple and grins. "You know, if you want to watch, you can just watch. I don't mind an audience. It's very motivating, actually. Makes me want to perform."

You flee.

This is getting ridiculous. You're a grown woman. You're married to this man. You've seen him naked more times than you can count. You've done things with him that would make a romance novelist blush.

But somehow, admitting that you have a thing for his butt feels... weird? Embarrassing? Like some kind of objectification that you shouldn't be engaging in?

Even though he literally told you last week that he loves your legs and could "write sonnets about what you do to a pair of heels."

You're overthinking this. You know you're overthinking this.

And then Tuesday happens.

________________________________________________________________

Tony emerges from the bedroom wearing pants that should come with a warning label.

They're designer - Tom Ford, probably, or maybe those Italian ones he likes - in a deep charcoal gray that looks almost black. They fit him like they were painted on. And they make his ass look like something Michelangelo would have wept over.

You're on the couch, and you actually feel your brain short-circuit.

"I've got that meeting with the board today," Tony says, adjusting his watch. "Should be back by three. We still on for dinner tonight?"

You can't speak. Words have abandoned you. The English language has left the building.

"Sweetheart?"

"Mm-hmm," you manage, which is impressive considering your higher brain functions have completely shut down.

Tony walks across the living room to grab his phone from the coffee table, and you track the movement like a heat-seeking missile. The way those pants hug every curve, the way the fabric stretches when he moves, the way his -

He turns around, and you snap your eyes up to his face so fast you see stars.

"You sure you're okay?" He steps closer, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. "You look flushed. JARVIS, run a health scan."

"Mrs. Stark's vitals are elevated but not concerning," JARVIS reports. "Heart rate and body temperature are increased, consistent with -"

"THAT'S FINE, JARVIS, THANK YOU," you interrupt loudly.

Tony's eyes narrow with that calculating look he gets when he's solving a problem. "Okay, seriously, what's going on? You've been acting weird all week. If something's wrong, you can tell me. Is it something I did? Because I have a list of things I've probably done wrong, but I'd like to know which specific one we're addressing."

"It's nothing you did wrong," you say quickly.

"So there is something."

Damn it. He's too smart for his own good.

"It's stupid," you mutter.

"I once built a robot that only spoke in Shakespearean insults. I'm the last person who gets to judge stupid." He sits down next to you, taking your hand. "Come on. Talk to me."

You take a deep breath. This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous.

"I just... I like..." You gesture vaguely in his direction.

"My sparkling personality? My rugged good looks? My humble nature?"

"Your ass!" you blurt out. "I really, really like your ass, okay? Like, a lot. An embarrassing amount. I can't stop looking at it, and those pants are making it so much worse, and I feel like a creep, but oh my God, Tony, you have no idea what you do to me when you wear things like that."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Tony blinks. Once. Twice.

Then a slow, absolutely devastating grin spreads across his face.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is dripping with amusement. "Could you repeat that? I want to make sure JARVIS got it on record."

"Oh my God." You bury your face in your hands.

"JARVIS, please play that back. Specifically the part where my wife -"

"Don't you dare!"

Tony's laughing now, that full-body laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He pulls your hands away from your face, still grinning like he's won the lottery.

"Let me get this straight," he says. "You've been acting like a malfunctioning robot all week because you think my ass is hot?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds…"

"Flattering? Ego-boosting? Like exactly the kind of thing I would absolutely love to hear?" He cups your face in his hands. "Honey, I'm married to a woman who thinks I'm hot. This is literally the best day of my life. Well, top ten. The day I married you is still number one. And that time I got the suit to break Mach 3. But this is definitely up there."

"You're not... weirded out?"

"Weirded out? I'm married to you. I've seen you eat cereal with orange juice because we were out of milk. I've watched you have full conversations with DUM-E. You once fell asleep with your face in a bowl of pasta." He kisses your forehead. "You thinking I have a great ass doesn't even crack the top fifty weird things in this relationship. Besides..."

He stands up, turning around and looking at you over his shoulder with a smirk that should be illegal.

"I mean, you're not wrong. I do have a great ass. It's all those stairs in the workshop. Really tones the glutes."

You laugh despite yourself, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders.

Tony turns back around, and there's something different in his eyes now. Something heated. "You know what? The board meeting can wait."

"Tony, you can't just…"

"I'm Tony Stark. I can do whatever I want. And right now, what I want..." He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of you on the couch, his face inches from yours. "...is to take my wife to bed and let her appreciate all of my best assets. Thoroughly."

Your breath catches. "Yeah?"

"Oh, absolutely. I mean, if you've been holding out on me, keeping this little secret..." His lips brush against your ear. "I think we need to have a very serious conversation about it. In the bedroom. Possibly multiple times."

"JARVIS," Tony says, straightening up and pulling you to your feet. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the day."

"Shall I tell the board you're indisposed, sir?"

"Tell them I'm attending to important personal matters. My wife needs my immediate attention."

"Very good, sir. Shall I activate privacy mode?"

"You're damn right you should."

Tony sweeps you up - actually sweeps you up like something out of a romance novel - and carries you toward the bedroom.

"This is ridiculous," you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"This is marriage, honey. And I'm about to make sure you never feel embarrassed about telling me what you want ever again."

________________________________________________________________

He kicks the bedroom door closed behind you and sets you down, but before your feet fully touch the ground, his mouth is on yours. The kiss is hungry, demanding, full of promise and that particular brand of Tony Stark confidence that never fails to make your knees weak.

"So," he murmurs against your lips, walking you backward toward the bed. "My ass, huh?"

"Are you ever going to let this go?"

"Absolutely not. This is going in my highlight reel." His hands slide under your shirt, warm against your skin. "Right up there with 'that time I built a particle accelerator in my basement' and 'that time my wife admitted she's been objectifying me.'"

"I wasn't -"

"You totally were. And I love it." He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. "You know what else I love? That you're finally telling me what you want."

His fingers work the button of your jeans, and you help him slide them down your legs. When you're standing there in just your underwear, Tony takes a step back, his eyes raking over you with an appreciation that makes you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"God, look at you," he breathes. "How did I get this lucky?"

"Charm, good looks, and a concerning amount of money?"

"See, this is why I married you. Beauty and brains." He sheds his own shirt, revealing the arc reactor and the body that, yes, you've seen a thousand times, but still makes your mouth go dry. "Now, where were we? Oh right. You were admiring my assets."

He turns around, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk, and your face flushes hot.

"Don't be shy now," he teases. "You've been staring all week. Might as well get a good look."

And God help you, you do. Those pants are still criminally tight, and now that you have permission, you let yourself really look. The curve of his spine, the way the fabric clings to him, the shape of -

"Like what you see?"

"You're the worst," you say, but there's no heat in it.

"And yet, you married me." He turns back around, stalking toward you with predatory grace. "Now get on the bed."

You comply, settling back against the pillows, and Tony follows, crawling over you with that intense focus he usually reserves for his inventions. His mouth finds yours again, and this kiss is slower, deeper, a thorough exploration that leaves you breathless.

His hands map your body like he's memorizing every curve, every response. When he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside, his mouth trails down your neck, across your collarbone, lower.

"Tony," you gasp when his tongue circles your nipple.

"Mm?" He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Something you want to say?"

"You're taking your time."

"I'm savoring. There's a difference." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the edge of your panties. "Besides, anticipation is half the fun."

"I've been anticipating all week."

"Fair point." In one smooth motion, he slides your panties down your legs. "But I'm going to make it worth the wait."

He settles between your thighs, and the first touch of his tongue makes you arch off the bed. Tony's always been good at this - attentive, thorough, reading your body like one of his schematics. He knows exactly where to lick, where to suck, how much pressure to apply.

"Fuck," you breathe, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him, and when he slides two fingers inside you, you actually see stars.

"That's it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "Let me hear you."

You're not quiet. You've never been quiet with Tony, and he loves it. Loves the sounds you make, the way you say his name, the way your body responds to his touch.

When you're right on the edge, trembling and desperate, he pulls back.

"Tony!"

"Patience," he says, grinning wickedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "We're just getting started."

He stands up long enough to shed those sinful pants, and when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate the view. All of him. Including, yes, that ass that started this whole thing.

"See something you like?" he asks, catching you staring.

"Get over here."

"Bossy. I like it." He climbs back onto the bed, but instead of covering you, he lies down on his back. "Come here."

You move to straddle him, but he stops you.

"Other way," he says, and the heat in his voice makes your stomach flip.

Oh.

You turn around, straddling him in reverse, and his hands immediately grip your hips.

"Perfect view," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Now, I believe we were exploring your particular... interests?"

One hand slides up your back, then down, curving over your ass. He squeezes, and you gasp.

"You like that?" His voice is low, teasing.

"Yes."

"Good." His hand comes down in a light smack, and the sound echoes in the quiet room.

The sensation is electric - not painful, just enough to send heat flooding through you. You moan, and Tony makes a satisfied sound.

"Oh, we're definitely doing this again," he says. Another smack, slightly harder this time, on the other side. "You look so good like this, honey. Absolutely gorgeous."

His other hand slides around to find your clit, circling with just the right pressure while he continues the rhythmic spanking. The combination is overwhelming - pleasure and sensation and the sheer intimacy of letting him see you like this, vulnerable and wanting.

"Tony, please," you gasp.

"Please what? Use your words."

"I need you. Inside me. Now."

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

He guides you up, positioning himself, and when you sink down onto him, you both groan. The angle is deep, intense, and for a moment you just stay there, adjusting to the fullness.

"Move," Tony says, his hands gripping your hips. "Show me what you want."

You start to ride him, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl. Tony's hands are everywhere - gripping your hips, sliding up your back, coming down in occasional smacks that make you clench around him.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans. "So perfect. So good for me."

You brace your hands on his thighs, using the leverage to move faster, and the new angle makes you cry out.

"That's it," Tony encourages. "Take what you need. God, you're so beautiful like this."

One hand slides around to your clit again, and the dual stimulation is almost too much. You're close, so close, tension coiling tight in your belly.

"Tony, I'm…"

"I know. I can feel it. Come for me, honey. Let go."

His fingers press harder, circling faster, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, pleasure rolling through your body as you cry out his name. You clench around him, and Tony groans, his grip on your hips tightening.

"Fuck, yes, just like that," he gasps. "You're going to make me -"

Before he can finish, he's pulling you off him and flipping you onto your stomach. His hand presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down, and then he's entering you again from behind.

The new position is even deeper, and you're still sensitive from your orgasm. Tony sets a punishing pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other coming down on your ass in sharp smacks that make you moan into the pillow.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his voice rough. "When you were watching me all week?"

"Yes," you gasp. "God, yes."

"You should have said something sooner." Another smack. "Could have been doing this the whole time."

His rhythm falters, becoming erratic, and you know he's close. You push back against him, meeting his thrusts, and he groans your name like a prayer.

"Where?" he manages.

"Inside," you gasp. "I want to feel you."

That's all it takes. Tony thrusts deep one last time, and you feel him pulse inside you as he comes, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. He collapses over you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then Tony carefully pulls out and rolls to the side, immediately pulling you against his chest.

"So," he says, once he's caught his breath. "That was fun."

You laugh, the sound muffled against his shoulder. "Understatement."

"We should definitely do that again. Like, regularly. I'm thinking Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe Saturdays if we're feeling ambitious."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you love it." He kisses the top of your head. "But seriously, sweetheart. Don't ever feel weird about telling me what you want. I'm your husband. I want to know these things. I want to make you happy. In all the ways."

You tilt your head up to look at him. "Even when it's something silly like having a thing for your butt?"

"Especially then. Do you know how good it feels to know my wife finds me attractive? Like, really attractive? Enough to get flustered and tongue-tied?" He grins. "It's a massive ego boost. And my ego can always use boosting."

"Your ego is fine."

"My ego is excellent, thank you very much. But it's even better when you're feeding it." His hand traces lazy patterns on your back. "Besides, turnabout is fair play. You think I don't stare at you? I've nearly walked into walls watching you move around the penthouse."

"You have not."

"I absolutely have. Ask JARVIS. He's had to redirect me multiple times."

"This is true, Mrs. Stark," JARVIS chimes in, and you both jump. "Sir has collided with three doorframes, two walls, and one rather expensive vase while observing you."

"JARVIS, we talked about privacy mode," Tony says.

"Privacy mode was disengaged twelve seconds ago when you began discussing household architecture, sir. I assumed the intimate portion of the afternoon had concluded."

"You know what they say about assuming," Tony mutters.

You're laughing now, the kind of full-body laughter that makes your sides hurt. Tony joins in, and soon you're both giggling like teenagers, tangled together in the sheets.

"We're ridiculous," you say.

"We're perfect," Tony corrects. He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And I love you. Butt obsession and all."

"I love you too. Even though you're never going to let me live this down."

"Absolutely not. This is going in the wedding vows renewal. 'For better or worse, for richer or poorer, and for admiring Tony's exceptional ass.'"

You swat his chest, but you're smiling. Because this is your life now—married to a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist who makes you laugh and makes you feel desired and isn't afraid to be ridiculous with you.

"Hey," Tony says softly, his fingers tilting your chin up so you're looking at him. "Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with that."

"It's just a butt thing, Tony."

"It's not, though. It's you being vulnerable. Sharing something you were nervous about. That matters." His thumb brushes across your cheek. "I want you to always feel like you can tell me anything. No matter how silly you think it is."

Your heart swells. This man - this brilliant, complicated, wonderful man is yours.

"Okay," you whisper. "I promise."

"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet. "Now, how about we order in for dinner? I'm thinking Thai. And then maybe round two? I have some other ideas I'd like to explore."

"Oh really?"

"Mm-hmm. See, I've been thinking about your legs in those heels you wore last week, and I have some theories I'd like to test..."

You laugh, pulling him closer. "You're insatiable."

"Only for you, honey. Only for you."

And as JARVIS dims the lights and Tony's hands start wandering again, you think that maybe, just maybe, being married to Tony Stark is the best decision you've ever made.

Even if you do have a thing for his butt.

But Tony wasn't listening. You could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders inside the Iron Man suit, the way his repulsors hummed with barely contained energy. He'd been different since Siberia came up, since Zemo's name started circulating, since -

Your blood ran cold.

No. No, please, not now. Not like this.

"Tony," you called out, your voice steadier than you felt. "Tony, wait!"

"I've got something you all need to see," a voice crackled through the comms. It wasn't one of yours. The screens on nearby equipment flickered to life - hacked, you realized with growing horror. Zemo. It had to be Zemo.

And then the footage began to play.

You recognized it immediately. December 16th, 1991. A road in the woods. The car crash that wasn't an accident. You'd seen this video once before, years ago, when Hydra had shown it to you after they'd finally broken through the programming - when they'd forced you to watch what they'd made you do.

"No," you whispered, but the word was lost in the sudden silence as everyone turned to look at the screens.

The Winter Soldier program. But not Bucky Barnes.

You.

The footage was grainy but unmistakable. Your face - younger, blank, dead-eyed - as you pulled Howard Stark from the wreckage. As you killed him with your bare hands. As you staged the scene. As you walked away without a flicker of humanity in your expression.

The timestamp. The Hydra insignia in the corner. The file name: WINTER PROGRAM - ASSET 2.

Time stopped.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but watch Tony's helmet retract, watch his face appear, watch the exact moment he processed what he was seeing.

"Tony…" you started, taking a step forward.

His eyes found yours across the tarmac. Brown eyes that had looked at you with such warmth, such love, such trust just this morning when you'd kissed him goodbye. Now they were wide with shock, with dawning comprehension, with something that looked like his soul was being ripped out of his chest.

"Tell me that's not you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me that's not—tell me I'm seeing things. Tell me this is fake."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I can explain."

"TELL ME THAT'S NOT YOU!" The scream tore out of him, raw and agonized, and you flinched like he'd struck you. Around you, the other Avengers stood frozen, witnesses to the most intimate devastation. "Tell me you didn't - tell me you didn't kill my parents. Tell me you didn't murder them and then… and then -"

His voice broke. Actually broke. Tony Stark, who always had a quip, always had a comeback, couldn't finish his sentence.

"I was under Hydra's control," you said desperately, taking another step toward him. Your own voice was shaking, tears already streaming down your face. "Tony, I wasn't myself. They programmed me, they made me - I didn't have a choice, I didn't even remember until -"

"Until when?" His voice had gone cold now. Deadly quiet. Somehow that was worse than the screaming. "Until when did you remember?"

You couldn't answer. Couldn't force the words out.

"How long have you known?" Each word was precisely enunciated, sharp as a blade. "How long have you been lying to me? How long have you been sleeping in my bed, letting me tell you I love you, letting me plan a future with you, knowing that you murdered my parents?"

"Six months," you whispered. "I remembered six months ago."

The sound he made was inhuman. Wounded. Like you'd physically reached into his chest and crushed his heart in your fist.

"Six months." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Only pain. "Six months you've been lying to my face. Six months of 'I love you, Tony' and 'everything's going to be okay, Tony' and the whole time - the whole goddamn time -"

"I DO love you!" You were sobbing now, openly, desperately. "Tony, I love you more than anything, I was trying to find the right way to tell you, I was trying to -"

"The right way?" His voice rose again, cracking with fury. "The RIGHT WAY? There is no right way to tell someone you murdered their parents! There's no right time to mention, 'Oh, by the way, that car crash that destroyed your childhood? That was me. That hole in your life that never healed? I put it there.'"

"I'm not that person anymore!" You were begging now, you could hear it in your own voice. "Tony, please, I'm not - Hydra made me into a weapon, but I broke free, I'm not -"

"You're not what? A murderer?" He took a step toward you, and you could see the tears on his face now too, cutting tracks through the grime and sweat. "Because the video I just watched says otherwise. My parents' blood on your hands says otherwise."

"Tony."

"Did you ever actually love me?" The question stopped you cold. His voice had gone quiet again, but this time it was filled with such profound hurt that it felt like a physical blow. "Or was that part of it too? Get close to the son, make sure he never suspects, play the long game?"

"How can you even ask me that?" Your voice broke on the words. "You know me, you know I love you."

"I don't know anything!" He was shouting again, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I don't know you at all! I thought I did. I thought - God, I was going to propose. Did you know that? I had a ring picked out. I was planning this whole thing, and the entire time you were - you were -"

He couldn't finish. He turned away, his shoulders heaving.

"Tony, please," you begged, trying to close the distance between you. "Please let me explain, please just listen."

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. He spun back to face you, and the look in his eyes made you stop dead. "Don't come near me. Don't touch me. Don't - I can't -"

"Stark," Steve started, taking a cautious step forward. "Maybe we should all just -"

"YOU KNEW!" Tony rounded on him, and Steve actually stepped back. "Did you know about this, Rogers? Did you know what she did?"

"No," Steve said firmly. "Tony, I swear, I had no idea."

"I don't believe you!" Tony's voice was ragged now, desperate. "I don't believe any of you! You all knew about Bucky, you all protected him, why not her too? Why not protect another one of Hydra's pet assassins?"

"That's not fair," Natasha said quietly. "Tony, she's not -"

"NOT FAIR?" He laughed again, that horrible broken sound. "You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that I fell in love with the person who killed my parents? Is it fair that I trusted her, that I told her everything, that I let her into every part of my life? Is it fair that the best thing that ever happened to me is also the worst?"

"Tony, I'm sorry," you sobbed. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, if I could take it back I would, if I could change it I would, please, Tony, please."

"Sorry doesn't bring them back!" He was screaming now, his voice raw. "Sorry doesn't give me back my father! Sorry doesn't - my mom - she was - do you have any idea what you took from me?"

"I know," you whispered. "I know, and I hate myself for it, I hate what they made me do, I would do anything to undo it."

"But you can't." His voice had gone flat. Empty. Somehow that was the most terrifying sound yet. "You can't undo it. They're dead. They've been dead for years. And I've been in love with their killer."

"I'm not a killer," you said desperately. "Not anymore. I'm not -"

"Yes, you are." Each word was deliberate. Final. "You killed them. You. Not Hydra. Not the programming. You. Your hands. Your face is the last thing my father saw before he died."

"That's not fair!" You were shouting now too, anger mixing with the grief and guilt. "I didn't have a choice! They controlled me, they made me."

"I don't care!" The words exploded out of him. "I don't care if you were controlled! I don't care if you didn't have a choice! They're still dead! And you still did it! And I still - I still -"

His voice broke completely. He pressed his hands to his face, and his whole body shook.

"I hate you," he said, and the words were muffled but clear. "God help me, I hate you so much right now."

The words hit you like bullets. Like your own fists had once hit his father. You actually staggered back.

"Tony…"

"I wish I'd never met you." He lowered his hands, and his face was a mask of anguish. "I wish you'd never walked into my life. I wish I'd never fallen in love with you. I wish - I wish you'd stayed whoever you were before, stayed away from me, because this… this is -"

"Please don't do this," you begged. "Please, Tony, I love you, I love you so much!"

"WE'RE OVER!" The words echoed across the tarmac. Several of the Avengers flinched. Wanda had her hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Sam looked away. Even Rhodey, Tony's best friend, looked devastated.

"No," you whispered. "No, Tony, please -"

"We're over," he repeated, and this time his voice was dead. Hollow. "We're done. Finished. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear your voice again. I never want -"

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

"I loved you," he said quietly. "I loved you more than I've ever loved anyone. And you destroyed me. You destroyed everything."

"I can fix this," you said desperately, even though you knew it was a lie. "Tony, please, let me fix this, let me make it right."

"You can't." He shook his head. "There's no fixing this. There's no making this right. My parents are dead, and you killed them, and I - I can't."

The suit's helmet snapped back into place, hiding his face.

"Stay away from me," his voice came through the speakers, mechanical and cold. "Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't come to the tower. Don't - just stay away. If I ever see you again, I don't know what I'll do."

"Tony, please -" You tried to move toward him, but he raised a repulsor, and you froze.

"I mean it," he said. "Stay. Away."

And then he was moving, and the rage that had been directed at you found a new target. He went for Steve first, repulsor blast sending the super soldier flying. Then Sam, then Wanda, then anyone who got in his way.

"Tony, stop!" Rhodey shouted, trying to grab his friend. "This isn't -"

But Tony wasn't listening. He was fighting like a man possessed, like he could punch his way through the pain, like he could blast away the betrayal. Every hit he landed was an outlet for the devastation he couldn't process. Every explosion was a scream he couldn't voice.

You tried to help, tried to stop him, but the moment you got close, he turned on you with such fury that you actually feared for your life.

"I SAID STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

The repulsor blast caught you in the chest, sending you crashing into a nearby vehicle. Your enhanced body absorbed most of the impact, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in your chest.

"Tony!" Steve was shouting. "Tony, stand down!"

But Tony was beyond reason. He was fighting everyone, friend and foe alike, and you could see it in every movement - he was breaking. Coming apart at the seams. The man you loved was shattering right in front of you, and you were the one who'd swung the hammer.

"Please," you sobbed, but no one was listening. "Please, somebody stop him, he's going to hurt himself."

"He's hurting everyone," Natasha said grimly, deflecting a repulsor blast. "We need to contain him."

"Don't hurt him!" The words tore out of you. "Please, don't hurt him, he's just - he's in pain, he's - "

"We know," Clint said, not unkindly. "But we can't let him keep doing this."

It took all of them working together to finally bring Tony down. Steve's shield. Wanda's magic. Natasha's tactics. Even then, he fought like a wild animal, screaming his rage and pain until his voice gave out.

When he finally stopped, when he finally collapsed to his knees in the wreckage, you tried one more time.

"Tony," you whispered, crawling toward him. "Tony, I'm so sorry, I'm so - "

His head snapped up, and the look he gave you was pure venom.

"I told you to stay away from me."

"I love you," you said, the words breaking. "I love you, and I'm sorry, and I know I can't fix this, but please, please don't."

"You want to know the worst part?" His voice was hoarse, wrecked. "The worst part is that I still love you. Even now, even knowing what you did, some stupid part of me still loves you. And I hate myself for it almost as much as I hate you."

The words were a knife to the heart.

"So do us both a favor," he continued, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Disappear. Leave. Go somewhere I'll never have to see you again. Because if you stay, if you keep trying to apologize, if you keep reminding me that the person I love most in this world is the person who destroyed it - I don't think I'll survive it."

"Tony."

"Go." The word was final. "Just go."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to fight. Wanted to drop to your knees and beg until he listened, until he understood, until he forgave you.

But you could see it in his eyes. There was no forgiveness here. No understanding. No path back to what you'd had.

You'd killed his parents. And in doing so, you'd killed everything you'd built together.

So you stood. Slowly. Painfully. Your body ached from the fight, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest, the feeling that your heart was being ripped out with every step you took away from him.

"I love you," you said one last time. "I'll always love you. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He didn't respond. Didn't even look at you. Just knelt there in the wreckage, surrounded by the scattered remains of the Avengers, looking more broken than you'd ever seen him.

You turned and walked away. Each step felt impossible. Each breath felt like drowning. Behind you, you could hear someone trying to comfort Tony, but his voice was just a murmur under the roaring in your ears.

You'd known this day might come. From the moment you'd remembered what you'd done, you'd known that the truth could destroy everything. You'd just hoped - foolishly, desperately - that love might be enough to survive it.

But some things were too broken to fix. Some betrayals were too deep to forgive. Some wounds never healed.

You'd killed Tony Stark's parents. And in doing so, you'd killed the only future you'd ever wanted.

The last thing you heard before you disappeared into the chaos of the airport was Tony's voice, broken and raw, saying words you'd never forget:

"I wish I'd never loved you."

And the worst part was that you wished the same thing. Because loving him, and losing him like this, was a pain worse than anything Hydra had ever done to you.

At least when they'd programmed you, you hadn't been able to feel anything.

Now you felt everything.

And it was destroying you.

________________________________________________________________

Three weeks later, Tony would find the letter you'd left in his workshop. Pages and pages of explanations, apologies, memories of your time together. He'd read the first line - "I know you'll never forgive me, but I need you to know the truth" - and then he'd burned it without reading the rest.

Some truths were too painful to bear.

Some loves were too broken to save.

"I'm afraid my sensors cannot identify the nature of Sir's affliction," the AI responded, and you could have sworn you heard concern in that smooth British accent. "It does not register as any known toxin, pathogen, or radiation."

"Because it's not real," Tony insisted, but his voice had gone thin. Thready. "Magic isn't real. It's just... advanced science we don't understand yet. Clarke's Third Law and all that."

You watched the arc reactor flicker again. Watched the way his hands trembled as he tried to pull up another diagnostic screen. The hologram dissolved before he could touch it.

"Tony." You caught his face between your palms, forcing him to look at you. His skin was cold. Too cold. "Listen to me. Before you left, Strange warned us about the Obsidian Covenant. He said if any of them marked you -"

"Strange is a hack with a theatrical flair and a really unfortunate goatee."

"He said only true love's kiss could break their curse."

The workshop went very, very quiet.

Tony stared at you. Then he laughed - a broken, rattling sound that scared you more than anything else had. "Oh, that's rich. That's... no. No, come on. True love's kiss? What is this, a Disney movie? I'm a man of science. I've built suits that can survive reentry. I've held an Infinity Stone. I'm not going to be taken out by some fairy tale -"

He collapsed.

You caught him, barely, his weight dragging you both to the floor. The arc reactor was barely glowing now, and his breath came in shallow gasps.

"JARVIS, how long does he have?"

"Minutes, miss. I'm sorry."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Tony's eyes were closed, his head heavy against your shoulder. You'd faced down terrorists with this man. Aliens. Gods. You'd patched his wounds and celebrated his victories and fallen so completely in love with him that it had become as fundamental as breathing.

And he didn't believe in magic.

"You're an idiot," you whispered against his temple. "A brilliant, stubborn, beautiful idiot."

Then you kissed him.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Tony's lips were cold under yours, unresponsive, and terror clawed up your throat -

Light exploded through the workshop.

Not the blue-white of the arc reactor, but something warmer. Golden. It poured from where your lips met his, cascading across his skin in waves of luminescence. The holographic displays blazed back to life, spinning wildly. Tools rattled on their magnetic strips. The very air hummed with power, with something ancient and undeniable.

Tony gasped against your mouth, his hand suddenly strong as it came up to cup the back of your head. The kiss deepened, and you felt the exact moment the curse shattered - like glass breaking in reverse, all the pieces flying back together and making him whole.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were open. Clear. The arc reactor glowed steady and bright.

"Well," Tony said, his voice rough but alive, so wonderfully alive. "That's... scientifically impossible."

You laughed, the sound half-sob. "You're welcome."

He sat up slowly, staring at his hands, at the workshop still shimmering with fading golden light. Then he looked at you - really looked at you - and something in his expression cracked open.

"True love's kiss," he repeated, wonder and disbelief and something tender warring in his voice. "I've built artificial intelligence. I've created new elements. But you..." He touched your face with infinite gentleness. "You just rewrote everything I thought I knew about the universe."

"Does that bother you?"

Tony pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "Terrifies me," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think that's the point."

When he kissed you again, there was no magic - just the two of you, and the truth that had saved his life.

Tony Stark had a way of making you feel like every nerve ending in your body had suddenly woken up and decided to throw a parade. It didn't help that he seemed to show up at HQ more frequently these days, consulting on weapons tech or arguing with Fury about something that was probably none of your business.

The first time you'd caught him staring, you'd convinced yourself it was coincidence. You'd been walking past one of the glass-walled conference rooms, arms full of file folders, when you'd felt the weight of someone's gaze. You'd glanced up to find Tony Stark - the Tony Stark - looking directly at you through the glass, his conversation with Agent Hill apparently forgotten mid-sentence.

Your heart had stuttered. You'd looked away immediately, hurrying down the corridor with burning cheeks.

The second time, you'd been in the cafeteria, sitting alone with your sad desk salad, and you'd felt it again. That prickling awareness. You'd lifted your eyes to find him three tables away, coffee cup halfway to his lips, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. When your eyes met, he'd smiled and you'd nearly choked on a cherry tomato.

After that, it kept happening.

In hallways. In the parking garage. Once, memorably, in the elevator where you'd been alone with him for twelve excruciating floors, hyperaware of how his expensive cologne filled the small space, how his eyes kept sliding toward you in the mirrored walls. He'd opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then the doors had opened and you'd practically fled.

You told yourself you were imagining things. That Tony Stark couldn't possibly be interested in you - shy, awkward, nobody you. He probably looked at everyone like that. Like he was trying to figure out how they worked, what made them tick.

It didn't stop you from thinking about him at night, though. Didn't stop the fantasies that made you bite your lip in the darkness of your apartment, your hand slipping between your thighs as you imagined what it would be like if he ever actually talked to you. If those clever hands ever touched you. If that smart mouth ever…

You shook your head, forcing yourself back to reality as you navigated the corridors of SHIELD HQ. It was late afternoon, most people either in meetings or already heading home. You'd stayed late to finish a report, and now you were just trying to get to the parking level without running into anyone.

Naturally, that's when you saw him.

Tony was leaning against the wall about twenty feet ahead, looking at something on his phone, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that probably cost more than your car. Your steps faltered. The hallway was long and empty - no way to avoid him without being obvious about it.

You clutched your bag tighter and kept walking, eyes fixed straight ahead, trying to project an aura of professional competence even as your pulse kicked into overdrive.

"Working late?"

His voice stopped you dead. Smooth, warm, with that hint of amusement that always seemed to lurk in Tony Stark's tone.

You turned slowly, finding him watching you with those dark, intelligent eyes. Up close, he was even more devastating - the perfectly groomed goatee, the way his suit jacket stretched across his shoulders, the arc reactor glowing faintly beneath his shirt.

"I… yes. Just finishing up some reports." Your voice came out steadier than you'd expected, though you could feel heat creeping up your neck.

"Dedication. I like that." He pushed off the wall, slipping his phone into his pocket. "You're in data analysis, right? Sub-level three?"

He knew where you worked. Your brain short-circuited slightly. "Yes. How did you -"

"I make it my business to know things." That smile again, the one that made your stomach flip. "Plus, I've seen you around. Hard not to notice -"

The alarm cut him off.

A sharp, blaring siren that made you both freeze. Red emergency lights began flashing along the corridor, and a computerized voice echoed through the building: "SECURITY BREACH. INITIATING LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL. ALL PERSONNEL PROCEED TO NEAREST SAFE ROOM IMMEDIATELY."

Your eyes widened. Lockdown protocols meant sealed doors, contained sections - it was designed to trap threats within specific areas of the building.

Heavy metallic thunks echoed through the hallway as emergency bulkheads began sliding into place at both ends of the corridor.

"Shit," Tony muttered, already moving. His hand wrapped around your wrist—warm, strong, sending electricity up your arm. "Come on!"

He pulled you into motion, both of you running toward the nearest safe room, but you could see the door already sliding shut, the red light above it flashing. You weren't going to make it.

"Here!" Tony yanked you sideways, toward a door you'd never really noticed before. A storage closet, marked with faded lettering. He twisted the handle and shoved it open, pulling you inside just as the final bulkhead sealed with a resounding clang that echoed through the now-empty hallway.

The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly you were plunged into dimness.

The closet was small. Very small. Barely six feet by four feet, lined with metal shelving units holding cleaning supplies, old equipment, boxes of God-knows-what. A single weak emergency light in the corner provided barely enough illumination to see by.

And Tony Stark was pressed against you in the confined space, his chest nearly touching yours, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

You could feel the heat of him. Smell his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. Your back was against the shelving unit, and when you tried to shift to give him more room, a box jabbed into your spine.

"You okay?" His voice was lower now, intimate in the small space.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Your heart was hammering - from the sudden lockdown, from the running, from the fact that Tony Stark was right there, so close you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.

"Probably a drill," he said, but he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Or someone tried to access something they shouldn't have. Happens more often than you'd think."

"How long do lockdowns usually last?" You managed to ask, hyperaware of how his thumb was absently stroking the inside of your wrist. Could he feel your racing pulse?

"Depends. Could be five minutes, could be an hour." His eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and you could see him looking at you in a way he'd never been able to before when you'd always hurried away. "Guess we'll have to find a way to pass the time."

The air in the closet suddenly felt thicker. Warmer.

"I've been wanting to talk to you," Tony said quietly. "For weeks now. But you always run away before I get the chance."

Your breath caught. "I don't - I'm not running away."

"No?" One corner of his mouth quirked up. "So you just happen to need to be somewhere else every time I'm around?"

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me," you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "I'm nobody. Just a data analyst. You're - you're you."

Something shifted in his expression. He stepped closer or maybe the closet was just that small and suddenly there was no space between you at all. His free hand came up to rest on the shelf beside your head, caging you in.

"You think I stare at nobody?" His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. "You think I show up at SHIELD more than necessary because I love bureaucracy?"

Your mouth went dry. "You've been... what?"

"Coming here hoping to run into you. Trying to figure out how to approach you without scaring you off." His eyes dropped to your lips, then back up. "Driving myself crazy wondering if you feel this too."

"Feel what?" But you knew. God, you knew, because you felt it too - this magnetic pull, this electricity that made your skin hypersensitive and your thoughts scatter.

"This." He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Tell me I'm not imagining it."

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the heat of him, the way your body was responding, the wetness already gathering between your thighs just from his proximity.

"You're not imagining it," you whispered.

That was all the permission he needed.

Tony's mouth crashed against yours, and suddenly the lockdown, the closet, the entire world outside ceased to exist. There was only this - his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched the ache you'd been carrying for months, his tongue sliding into your mouth when you gasped, the way his hand released your wrist to grip your hip instead, pulling you flush against him.

You moaned into his mouth, your shyness evaporating like mist under the intensity of his kiss. Your hands found his shoulders, his neck, threading into his hair and pulling him closer even though there was no closer to get.

He groaned and the sound went straight to your core. His hand slid from your hip to your ass, squeezing, and then he was lifting you slightly, pressing you harder against the shelving unit as his hips rolled forward.

You felt him - hard and thick against your stomach - and whimpered.

"Fuck," Tony breathed against your lips. "The sounds you make."

He kissed you again, deeper this time, filthy and demanding, and you met him with equal fervor. Your shy, professional persona had completely shattered, replaced by pure need. You rolled your hips forward, seeking friction, and felt him twitch against you.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. "Take what you need, sweetheart."

His hips rocked against yours in a slow grind that made you gasp. Even through layers of clothing the pressure was delicious. You could feel every inch of him, hard and insistent, rubbing against you in exactly the right spot.

"Tony," you whimpered, and his teeth scraped against your pulse point.

"Love hearing my name in that pretty mouth." His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you ground against each other. "Been thinking about this. About you. Wondering what you'd sound like when you let go."

You should have been embarrassed. Should have been mortified that you were dry humping Tony Stark in a storage closet at your workplace. But you couldn't bring yourself to care, not when it felt this good, not when his dirty words were making you wetter by the second.

"Harder," you breathed, surprising yourself with your boldness.

Tony pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with lust and something like delighted surprise. "Yeah? You want it harder, baby?"

You nodded, biting your lip, and his answering smile was absolutely sinful.

"Fuck, you're perfect." He adjusted his grip, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other remained on your hip, and then he was grinding against you with more force, more purpose. The ridge of his cock dragged against your clit through your clothes with each thrust, and you couldn't hold back your moans.

"That's it. Don't hold back." His lips found your ear. "Want to hear every sound. Want to know exactly how good I'm making you feel."

"So good," you gasped, your hips moving frantically now, chasing the pleasure building in your core. "Tony, I'm - oh God!"

"You close, sweetheart? Gonna come for me just like this?" His voice was rough, strained. "Fuck, I can feel how hot you are even through your clothes. Bet you're soaked, aren't you?"

You whimpered, nodding, beyond words now. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on as he ground against you relentlessly.

"Come on, baby. Let go. Come for me." His teeth caught your earlobe, and that was it - that was all it took.

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, pleasure exploding through your body in waves that made you cry out. Tony's mouth covered yours, swallowing your moans as you shook apart in his arms, your hips still moving, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure.

"Fuck, yes, that's so good," Tony groaned against your lips, and then his rhythm stuttered. His grip on you tightened almost painfully as he pressed hard against you, his whole body going rigid. You felt him pulse against you, heard the broken sound he made as he came in his pants like a teenager.

For a long moment, you just breathed together, foreheads pressed together, hearts racing in tandem.

"Holy shit," Tony finally said, his voice rough and wondering. "That was…"

"Yeah," you agreed breathlessly.

He pulled back enough to look at you, and even in the dim emergency lighting, you could see the satisfaction in his eyes. "So. Shy girl from data analysis. Who knew you had that in you?"

You felt heat flood your cheeks, your shyness trying to reassert itself, but Tony's thumb stroked your jaw gently.

"Don't you dare get embarrassed now. That was the hottest thing I've experienced in -" He paused. "Actually, I don't think I've ever come that hard with my clothes on."

Before you could respond, the alarm cut off. The emergency lights stopped flashing, replaced by normal lighting, and a calm voice announced: "Lockdown lifted. Threat contained. All personnel may resume normal activities."

Reality crashed back in. You were in a storage closet at SHIELD headquarters. You'd just had an orgasm while grinding against Tony Stark. You could feel the dampness in your underwear, the slight ache in your thighs from how tightly you'd been wrapped around him.

Tony seemed to read your thoughts. "Hey. Look at me."

You met his eyes.

"No regrets," he said firmly. "That was fucking incredible, and I'm not done with you. Not even close."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"I don't want to go back to work." His smile was pure mischief. "I don't want to pretend that didn't just happen and go back to stealing glances at you in hallways. I want to take you home. I want to peel these clothes off you and make you come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I want to hear all those pretty sounds you make without having to keep quiet. I want -" He paused, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me you want that too."

Your mind was spinning. This was insane. You barely knew him. You'd just met, really, despite months of stolen glances. This wasn't like you at all.

But God, you wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted to see where this combustible chemistry led.

"Yes," you whispered. "I want that."

Tony's smile was brilliant. "Thank fuck. Come on."

He took your hand and opened the closet door, checking the hallway. It was still empty, most personnel probably still in safe rooms or dealing with the aftermath of the lockdown. He pulled you toward the parking garage, moving with purpose.

"What about… shouldn't we check in? Make sure everything's okay?" You asked, even as you followed him willingly.

"JARVIS, status on the lockdown?" Tony said to the air.

"Rogue SHIELD agent attempting to access classified files, sir. Apprehended by Agent Romanoff. No casualties, minimal damage. Your presence is not required."

You blinked. "Is that -"

"My AI. He's everywhere." Tony grinned at you as you reached his car - a sleek Audi that probably cost more than you'd make in five years. "Perks of being me. Now get in."

The drive to his penthouse was a blur of city lights and building tension. Tony's hand rested on your thigh the entire time, his thumb drawing maddening circles that kept you on edge. Every time you glanced at him, he was either watching the road with a slight smile or looking at you with undisguised hunger.

"You're thinking too much," he said as he pulled into his private garage. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

"I just… this is crazy. We don't even know each other."

Tony turned off the car and shifted to face you. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"I - what?"

"Ask me anything. We'll do the getting-to-know-you thing. I'm an open book." His smile was softer now. "Well, mostly open. Some pages are classified."

Despite yourself, you laughed. "Okay. Um. Favorite color?"

"Red. Like the suit. Your turn - favorite food?"

"Thai. Pad see ew specifically."

"Good choice. There's an amazing place in Queens I'll take you to." He said it so casually, like he was already planning future dates. "Biggest fear?"

"Becoming irrelevant," you answered honestly, surprising yourself. "Fading into the background so much that I disappear entirely."

Something flickered in Tony's eyes - understanding, maybe. "You could never be irrelevant. Trust me, I've been watching you for months. You light up every room you're in, even if you don't realize it."

Your heart squeezed. "Your turn."

"Biggest fear? Letting people down. Failing when it matters most." His hand squeezed your thigh. "But right now, the only thing I'm afraid of is that you'll change your mind about coming upstairs with me."

"I won't," you said softly. "I want this. I want you."

"Thank God." He was out of the car in seconds, coming around to open your door and pull you out. "Because I'm about two seconds away from losing my mind if I don't get my hands on you properly."

The elevator ride to his penthouse was torture. Tony stood behind you, his hands on your hips, his lips brushing your neck as the floors ticked by. You could see your reflection in the mirrored walls - your flushed cheeks, your dilated pupils, the way you leaned back into him helplessly.

"Look at you," he murmured against your ear. "So fucking beautiful. Been driving me crazy, you know that? Walking around SHIELD in those professional little outfits, all buttoned up and proper. Made me want to mess you up. Make you fall apart."

"Tony," you breathed, and his hands tightened on your hips.

"Love the way you say my name. Can't wait to hear you scream it."

The elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse, and you barely had time to register the floor-to-ceiling windows, the modern furniture, the sheer wealth on display before Tony was spinning you around and kissing you again.

This kiss was different from the frantic desperation in the closet. This was slower, deeper, more thorough. Like he was savoring you, learning you. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head to exactly the angle he wanted, and you melted into him.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard.

"Bedroom," he said roughly. "Now. Before I fuck you against this window where all of Manhattan can see."

The image that conjured made you whimper, and Tony's eyes darkened.

"Oh, you like that idea? Noted for later." He took your hand and led you through the penthouse to a massive bedroom dominated by a king-size bed with charcoal gray sheets. The city glittered beyond the windows, but you barely noticed.

Tony turned to face you, and suddenly the air felt charged again. Heavy with anticipation.

"Last chance to back out," he said quietly. "Once I start, I'm not going to want to stop."

"Good," you said, finding your courage. "Because I don't want you to stop."

His smile was predatory. "Come here."

You crossed to him, and his hands immediately went to your blouse, fingers working the buttons with surprising dexterity. "I've been fantasizing about undressing you. Taking my time. Discovering every inch of you." Each button revealed more skin, and his knuckles brushed against you deliberately, making you shiver. "But right now? Right now I need you naked. Need to see all of you."

Your blouse fell to the floor. Your bra followed seconds later, and then Tony's hands were on your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasped.

"Fuck, you're perfect." He dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, and your knees nearly buckled. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak before his teeth scraped gently, and you couldn't hold back your moan.

"That's it. Let me hear you." His hands moved to your slacks, unfastening them and pushing them down your hips along with your underwear. "Step out."

You obeyed, and then you were completely naked while he was still fully dressed. It should have made you self-conscious, but the way Tony was looking at you - like you were the most incredible thing he'd ever seen - made you feel powerful instead.

"Lie down on the bed," he commanded softly. "On your back. Legs spread."

Heat flooded through you at his tone - authoritative but not cruel, dominant but respectful. You climbed onto the bed, your heart racing, and did as he asked.

Tony stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed body. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his tie and pulled it off. Then his jacket. His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, revealing the arc reactor and the defined muscles of his chest and abs.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've jerked off thinking about this?" He asked conversationally as he unbuckled his belt. "About having you spread out for me like this? About tasting you, fucking you, making you come over and over until you can't remember your own name?"

"Tony," you whimpered, your thighs falling open wider involuntarily.

"That's my girl." His pants hit the floor, and then his boxer briefs, and oh God, he was magnificent. His cock was thick and hard, curving slightly toward his stomach, the tip already glistening with precum. "Touch yourself. Show me how wet you are."

Your hand slid down your body, between your thighs, and you both groaned when your fingers slid through your folds. You were soaked, swollen and sensitive, and when you circled your clit, pleasure sparked through you.

"Fuck, that's hot." Tony wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking slowly as he watched you. "But I think we can do better than your fingers, don't you?"

He climbed onto the bed, settling between your thighs, and the first touch of his tongue against your pussy made you cry out.

"Oh fuck, you taste incredible," Tony groaned against you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as his tongue explored every fold, every sensitive spot. He licked from your entrance to your clit in long, slow strokes that had you writhing.

"Tony, please!"

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need." His lips closed around your clit and sucked, and you nearly came off the bed.

"More! Please, more, I need -"

Two fingers pushed inside you, and the stretch was perfect. Tony curled them, finding that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue continued its assault on your clit.

"You're so tight," he murmured between licks. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock. Gonna fill you so good, baby. Gonna make you come so hard you see God."

His dirty talk combined with the skilled work of his mouth and fingers was too much. Your orgasm built rapidly, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until…

"Tony! Oh God, Tony, I'm -"

"Come for me," he commanded, and you shattered.

Your back arched off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Tony didn't let up, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive and pushing at his head.

He pulled back with a satisfied grin, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. "Fucking beautiful. But we're just getting started."

He crawled up your body, settling his weight on you, and the feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating. His cock pressed against your thigh, hot and hard, and you reached down to wrap your hand around it.

Tony hissed. "Careful, sweetheart. I'm already close just from tasting you."

"I want you inside me," you said boldly. "Please, Tony. Need to feel you."

"Fuck." He reached over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom, but you stopped him.

"I'm on birth control. And I'm clean. I want -" You bit your lip, suddenly shy again despite everything. "I want to feel you. All of you."

Tony's eyes darkened to almost black. "You sure?"

"Yes. Please."

"Christ, you're going to kill me." He tossed the condom aside and positioned himself at your entrance. "You want all of me, baby? Want me to fill this pretty pussy up?"

"Yes!" You gasped as he pushed inside, just the tip at first, stretching you.

"So fucking tight," Tony groaned. He pushed deeper, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Taking me so well. Such a good girl."

The praise made you clench around him, and he noticed immediately.

"Oh, you like that? Like being my good girl?" He was fully seated now, and the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. "You are, you know. So perfect for me. Knew you would be."

He started to move, slow and deep at first, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

"Harder," you pleaded. "Please, Tony, harder."

"Fuck, yes." His pace increased, his hips snapping against yours with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. "This what you need? Need me to fuck you hard?"

"Yes! God, yes!"

Tony's hand slid into your hair, gripping and tugging your head back to expose your throat. His teeth scraped against your pulse point before biting down, and the sharp pleasure-pain made you cry out.

"Mine," he growled against your skin. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"Yours! I'm yours, Tony!"

His other hand came down on your ass in a sharp smack that made you gasp and clench around him.

"Fuck, you like that too?" Another spank, harder this time. "Such a dirty girl under all that shyness. Love it. Love discovering all the things that make you fall apart."

He shifted angles, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, and you could feel another orgasm building already.

"Touch yourself," Tony commanded. "Play with your clit. Want to feel you come on my cock."

Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. The added stimulation combined with Tony's relentless thrusts was too much.

"That's it, baby. Can feel you getting tighter. You gonna come for me? Gonna squeeze my cock while you come?"

"Yes! Tony, I'm so close."

"Look at me." His hand in your hair tightened, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Want to see your face when you come. Want to watch you fall apart for me."

The intensity in his gaze, the feeling of him inside you, the pressure on your clit - it all combined into a perfect storm. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, and you screamed his name as pleasure consumed you.

"Fuck, yes, that's so good," Tony groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Gonna come, baby. Gonna fill you up. You want that? Want my cum inside you?"

"Yes! Please, Tony, want it so bad!"

"Open your mouth."

You obeyed without thinking, and Tony leaned down and spit directly into your open mouth before kissing you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours. The filthy act sent another shock of pleasure through you, and you moaned into his mouth.

Tony's hips stuttered, and then he was coming with a broken groan, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his release. The feeling of his warmth flooding you triggered another small orgasm, and you clenched around him, milking every last drop.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slicked and satisfied. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were draped across his chest.

"Holy shit," he said eloquently.

You laughed breathlessly. "Yeah."

His hand stroked up and down your spine lazily. "So. Shy girl from data analysis. You've been holding out on me."

"I didn't know I had that in me," you admitted. "I've never - I mean, I've had sex before, but not like that. Never like that."

Tony tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Good. Because I plan on doing that a lot more. That okay with you?"

"Very okay," you said softly.

He kissed you, slow and sweet this time, and you could feel him already starting to harden again against your thigh.

"Give me like ten minutes," he murmured against your lips. "Then I'm going to fuck you again. Slower this time. Want to take my time with you."

"Okay," you whispered, and settled against his chest, listening to the arc reactor's gentle hum and the steady beat of his heart.

True to his word, about ten minutes later, Tony's hands started wandering again. This time, his touch was softer, more exploratory. He mapped every curve, every dip, every sensitive spot, learning your body like it was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

"Roll over," he murmured. "On your stomach."

You obeyed, and felt him straddle your thighs. His hands massaged your shoulders, your back, working out tension you didn't even know you were carrying. It was intimate and sweet, and when his lips followed the path of his hands, pressing kisses down your spine, you felt something shift in your chest.

"You're so beautiful," Tony said quietly. "Inside and out. I meant what I said earlier - you light up every room. I noticed you the first day you started at SHIELD. Couldn't take my eyes off you."

Tears pricked at your eyes unexpectedly. No one had ever made you feel this seen, this valued.

"Turn over, sweetheart. Want to see your face."

You rolled onto your back, and Tony settled between your thighs again. This time, when he pushed inside you, it was slow and deliberate. He braced himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours, and the eye contact was almost overwhelming.

"That's it," he murmured as he began to move. "Just like that. So perfect."

This was different from the first round. Less frantic, more intimate. Each thrust was measured, purposeful, designed to make you feel every inch of him. His hips rolled in a rhythm that had you gasping, but it was the way he was looking at you - like you were precious, like you mattered - that made your chest tight.

"Tony," you whispered, and he kissed you softly.

"I've got you, baby. Just feel. Just be here with me."

One of his hands found yours, threading your fingers together and pinning your hand beside your head. The other cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone as he continued those slow, deep thrusts.

It was too much. The physical pleasure combined with the emotional intensity, the way he was making you feel cherished and desired and seen. Tears started sliding down your temples, and Tony noticed immediately.

"Hey, hey." He slowed, concern flickering across his face. "You okay? Do you want to stop?"

"No!" You tightened your legs around him. "Don't stop. Please don't stop. It's just—it's so much. I feel so much."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "I know, sweetheart. I feel it too."

He kissed away your tears, his movements never stopping, just maintaining that slow, devastating rhythm that was unraveling you from the inside out.

"You're incredible," he murmured against your lips. "So brave. So beautiful. So fucking perfect."

"Tony, I—" The words caught in your throat, too big, too soon, too intense.

But he seemed to understand anyway. His hand tightened on yours. "I know. I know, baby. I feel it too."

"I love you," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Tony's rhythm faltered for just a second, and then he was kissing you deeply, pouring everything he couldn't say into the kiss.

"I love you too," he breathed against your lips. "Fuck, I love you too."

The confession broke something open inside you. Your orgasm built slowly this time, a gradual crescendo rather than a sudden explosion. Tony seemed to sense it, adjusting his angle slightly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with each thrust.

"Come with me," he said softly. "Want to feel you. Want us to fall together."

His hand released yours to slide between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing gentle circles. That was all it took. Your orgasm washed over you in waves, gentler than before but somehow more profound, and you felt Tony follow seconds later, his groan muffled against your neck as he filled you again.

You held each other as you came down, neither of you speaking, just breathing together in the aftermath.

Finally, Tony rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, mixing with your own arousal, and the filthy reality of it made you clench.

"Don't worry," Tony said, amusement in his voice. "We'll clean up. Eventually."

You laughed softly. "Eventually?"

"Well, I'm not done with you yet." His hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing. "Still got at least one more round in me. Maybe two."

"Tony," you protested weakly, even as heat pooled in your belly again.

"What? You think I'm going to let you go after that? After you said—" He paused, something vulnerable flickering across his face. "Did you mean it?"

You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "Yes. I know it's crazy. We barely know each other. But yes, I meant it."

"Good." He pulled you down for a kiss. "Because I meant it too. And I'm going to spend the rest of the night proving it to you."

He was true to his word. After a brief rest, his hands started wandering again, and you found yourself responding eagerly despite your exhaustion.

"On your hands and knees," Tony said, his voice taking on that commanding edge again that made you shiver.

You positioned yourself as requested, and felt Tony's hands on your hips, positioning you exactly how he wanted you.

"Fuck, this view," he groaned. "Gonna wreck you, baby. Gonna make you scream."

He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, and the new angle made you cry out. He felt even deeper like this, hitting spots that made your toes curl.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of me." His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he set a punishing pace. "Such a good girl. Taking my cock so well."

One hand slid up your spine to fist in your hair, pulling your head back. The sharp tug sent pleasure-pain radiating through you, and you moaned.

"You like it rough, don't you, baby? Like when I use you?" His other hand came down on your ass in a sharp smack. "Answer me."

"Yes! God, yes, I love it!"

"Love what? Say it."

"Love when you use me! Love when you fuck me hard! Love your cock!"

"Fuck yes." Another spank, harder this time, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal dripping down your thighs. "So fucking perfect. My perfect girl. Mine to fuck. Mine to fill. Mine to breed."

The word sent a shock through you. "Tony!"

"You want that? Want me to breed this pretty pussy? Fill you up until you're dripping? Until you're carrying my baby?"

It should have terrified you. Instead, it made you clench around him, made you push back to meet his thrusts.

"Oh fuck, you do want it." Tony's rhythm became almost frantic. "Gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna pump you so full of my cum. Gonna breed you properly."

"Please!" You were babbling now, lost to the pleasure and the filthy fantasy. "Please, Tony, want it, want you to breed me!"

His hand released your hair to reach around and find your clit, rubbing hard and fast. "Come for me. Come on my cock while I breed you. Want to feel you milk me dry."

The combination of his words, his fingers on your clit, and the relentless pounding was too much. Your third orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train, and you screamed his name as you came.

"Fuck, yes, that's it!" Tony groaned, and then he was coming too, his hips pressed flush against your ass as he emptied himself inside you. "Take it all. Every drop. So good, baby, so fucking good."

You collapsed forward onto the bed, and Tony followed, covering your back with his body, both of you trembling and gasping.

"Holy shit," you managed after a moment.

Tony laughed breathlessly. "Yeah. That was… fuck."

He pulled out carefully, and you could feel the evidence of your activities leaking out of you. Tony's fingers followed the trail, pushing it back inside, and you whimpered at the oversensitivity.

"Love seeing my cum dripping out of you," he murmured. "Love knowing I marked you inside and out."

"Tony," you protested weakly. "I can't - I need a break."

"I know, sweetheart. Come on. Shower time."

He helped you up, supporting you when your legs wobbled, and led you to the bathroom. The shower was massive, with multiple shower heads and enough room for several people. Tony turned on the water, adjusting the temperature before pulling you inside.

The hot water felt incredible on your sore muscles. Tony grabbed some expensive-looking body wash and began soaping you up, his hands gentle now, caring for you.

"You okay?" He asked softly. "I wasn't too rough?"

"No. It was perfect. You were perfect." You leaned into his touch. "I've never felt like this before."

"Good." He tilted your face up to kiss you under the spray. "Because I plan on making you feel like this as often as possible."

His hands slid down your body, and despite your exhaustion, you felt heat stirring again. Tony seemed to notice, because his smile turned wicked.

"One more?" He asked. "Nice and slow? I'll do all the work."

You nodded, and he lifted you easily, pressing your back against the tile wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he positioned himself at your entrance.

This time, when he pushed inside, it was gentle. Tender. His thrusts were slow and shallow, more about the intimacy than the friction. You rested your head on his shoulder, letting him support your weight, letting him take care of you.

"So good," Tony murmured. "So perfect. Love how you feel around me. Could stay inside you forever."

You were too tired for another intense orgasm, but the gentle pleasure was building nonetheless. Tony seemed content to just move inside you, holding you close, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed. "One more. Give me one more and then we'll sleep. I've got you."

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your oversensitive clit and rubbing gentle circles. The pleasure built slowly, a warm glow rather than a burning fire, and when you finally came, it was soft and sweet, making you sigh rather than scream.

Tony followed moments later, his release more of a gentle pulse than an explosion, and he held you through it, murmuring praise and endearments.

He carefully lowered you back to your feet, keeping an arm around you to make sure you didn't fall. You were practically asleep standing up, exhausted in the best possible way.

Tony finished washing you both quickly, then dried you off with a fluffy towel and led you back to the bedroom. The sheets had been changed and Tony pulled back the covers and helped you in.

You were asleep almost before your head hit the pillow, barely aware of Tony sliding in behind you and pulling you against his chest.

______________________________________________________________

You woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the feeling of Tony's lips on your shoulder.

"Morning, beautiful," he murmured against your skin.

You turned in his arms, finding him already awake and watching you with soft eyes. "Morning."

"How do you feel?"

You took inventory. Sore, definitely. Muscles you didn't know you had were aching. But also satisfied, content, happy in a way you couldn't remember being before.

"Good," you said honestly. "Really good."

"Good." He kissed you softly. "Because I meant everything I said last night. I love you. I want this. Want you. Want to see where this goes."

Your heart swelled. "I want that too."

"Yeah?" His smile was brilliant. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go. You're stuck with me now."

"I think I can live with that," you said, and kissed him again.

Outside, the city was waking up. Inside, wrapped in Tony Stark's arms, you felt like you'd finally found where you belonged.

And when Tony's hand started sliding down your body again, you didn't protest. After all, you had nowhere else to be.

"Round five?" He asked with a grin.