Tony Stark (in_extremis) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2010-01-08 16:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | z: om1: !complete, z: om1: affiliation: avengers, z: om1: character: steve rogers, z: om1: character: tony stark, z: om1: location: avengers tower |
Incised
Characters: Steve and Tony
Setting: Avengers Tower, after this.
Content: Brief kissing. No homo.
Summary: The incident with Black Cat was a kind of trauma Steve is not used to and Tony lives for. Tony, the healer.
Making use of the medical bay was not one of Tony's top priorities. He would be comfortable leaving it to the last, never really getting used to it, but he knew this was a statistical impossibility. Of course he was here the first day they moved in. On the bright side, he could give it a real test run, and it wasn't him on the table. The set-up, so far, to Tony's limited medical expertise, was intuitive and user-friendly. Tony's limited medical expertise; return to line, repeat.
Tony was not the Avengers' resident doctor. Tony had better things to do with his time, things he was really good at. Steve knew this as well as anyone, but he still called Tony. Tony still didn't really understand, but he didn't mind, either. He expectantly but quietly attended to his rare duty, occasionally breaking his resolve with a preparatory, sharp intake of breath when he turned away to pick up a clean swab or needle, then clamping his mouth shut again when his gaze returned to Steve sitting unflinchingly in his cold seat, cowl, mail and shirt gone, the blood still not quite cleaned off where it had wicked through the fabric, creased in his elbow, up his perfect, golden bicep. Tony clamped his mouth shut and pressed his lips together because he forgot what he was going to ask. It wasn't, he told himself as he carefully stitched Steve's arm for him, that perfect, golden bicep that made the words slip from his mind, or Steve's broad chest, or even the downy, pale blonde trail of hair on his Adonic abdominals; all of this, he told himself, he had seen enough before. In fact, he was fairly certain he had told Steve he found him perfect, golden and Adonic sometime today, so this was nothing, Tony told himself, that he was in any way unfamiliar with. He was, in fact, alarmingly familiar with how perfect, golden and Adonic Steve was.
What Tony was having a difficult time adjusting to, he told himself, was listening to just their breathing in this great, silent, empty room, not wanting to disturb it with the clatter of some instrument on a tray. It was, he told himself, the strange intimacy of the situation that conflicted with the simultaneous cold disconnect. Machines were easier; there was no illusion of intimacy. They didn't shift and their breath didn't hitch and Tony was, unabashedly, a happily physical, sexual being and Steve really was not in any kind of position to warm at all to Tony's persistent flirtatiousness at the moment, if he ever did at all.
Conclusion: It had nothing to do with Steve, it just happened to be Steve. Certainly, if it were Wanda or Pietro on that table, this tension would increase tenfold. And for the extra burden, it might also be relieved.
Result: Tony was in no way appropriate to be the Avengers' resident doctor.
But Steve had called. And Tony didn't mind.