Oh, God...

[shieldborne]

Infinity War Open Post






THERE WILL BE SPOILERS.

Drop me a prompt, or ask me to drop you a prompt. Open to doomy pre-IW foreshadowing, fix-it AUs, post-IW angst, character interactions that should have happened but didn't on-screen, crossovers, and whatever else anyone can come up with.

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[starkingenuity]

It’s still dark out. Dawn hasn’t decided to rise and Tony has no real need to get out of bed. Not even for coffee. He watches Steve’s progress, watches him carefully as if looking for cracks in the foundation. There are a few but nothing structurally dangerous anymore. Patches will work for awhile, until he can actively work on repairs. He had a feeling that he lied to Steve in the shower. He doesn’t need love so much as a project, one that isn’t going to leave him, even after construction is complete. Maybe that’s all love is sometimes, a desire to offer support and guidance—

What a ridiculous thought, Tony doesn’t need to poison himself with those.

He gathers up the papers into a pile fit for a man with latent and recovering OCD, sets them to the bedside table, and crawls back up towards the pillows to finish what’s on his plate.

He could use something else, something sweeter, but the cart is too far away and besides, he likes the show.

“So we have six hours before we have to leave to get back over there.” Six hours isn’t a lot of time when they have four days until an invasion and a complicated plan involving a lot of unknowns. Tony doesn’t care. He can probably build a plane with sand and cactus needles if he has to, do why waste a perfectly good bed while they’re both here?

Tony drops his voice noticeably, the tone a deeper register.

“Come back to bed.”

[shieldborne]

If Steve knew he was being analyzed like the chassis of some sort of exotic vehicle, he might feel weird about it. Tony's engineering-brain, and its processes, are a little beyond his comprehension. Steve gets Tony's heart, maybe even his soul, but his mind is multifaceted and operates on a level most human brains don't. Not even serum-enhanced ones. Steve's never liked feeling dehumanized, but it's not quite the same thing, is it, when it comes from a guy who can almost render himself down into a series of equations?

Regardless, Steve isn't expecting or asking for Tony's love in return for his. It's a relief to be able to give and express, and he's waiting to see if Tony decides he should've been more careful what he wished for. Steve's passion isn't exactly destructive, and the bad things that have happened to the people he loved have been incidental, not a direct result of his affection, but still. It's not like he's done anyone any favors.

Six hours sounds like plenty of time to Steve, but he's used to having to think on the fly, and he doesn't have to work too hard to recollect where he was mentally at this time in his life and settle on an approach. The coffee is probably unnecessary, as well. He's already had the sleep he needs to get by. So if Tony's going to flirt--

That was a flirt, right? That definitely sounded like a flirt.

"You coming onto me, Tony?" He pointedly gives up on his coffee, headed back to the bed without hesitation. His body language is loose and soft, but his eyes are going laser-focused. "We only had the one condom, remember? You got something in mind?"

If so, Steve is clearly on board.

[starkingenuity]

((Booooo this never posted!))

There’s a lot more to do together than just penetration, and Tony knows that Steve knows it. He’s got this feeling that the younger man is just feeling things out, maybe testing the waters on Tony’s reaction to things. He hasn’t quite pegged the blond yet himself either. He’s dominant and submissive at the same time, and while tony isn’t thinking of the guy in those generic sorts of terms, he’s building the formulas in his head to give him some sort of indication of where the other man falls on a sliding scale of possible kinks and sexual tastes.

It’s more than just being a giver on Steve’s end. And the sex is more than just an emotional band-aid or a plug for the missing pieces they’ve lost. It’s in Tony’s nature to figure things out and since he can’t Jack Steve into a computer terminal or open up a control panel in his head, he’s got to access this data a different way.

He likes it. It’s not easy, it’s not cut and dry. The blond is a genuine challenge.

Tony shifts so that he can rest the back of his head on his arm, the stretch in muscle defining his chest better. He’s a lot older than he had been but Tony thinks of himself like scotch or a prime steak. Sometimes it’s just better with age.

Dark eyes watch Steve come towards him and there is no doubt that the inventor is hungry for something more than the food he’s decided to ignore. His free hand rests on his chest where the reactor used to be, fingers slowly moving down towards his navel and the waistband of his boxers.

“I didn’t get much of a preview before we started,” he grins, more sultry than silly.

[shieldborne]

Steve is aware of a number of things they can do, some of which are an acquired taste, and whatever this is between them is new enough that he'd rather tread lightly than risk alarming Tony. His own instincts in bed are lavishly emotional, even sentimental, whether he's assuming a dominant role, a submissive one, or neither. Possibly sex for him isn't just an outlet for physical urges and repressed anxiety, but also an acceptable way to channel the need to give and receive affection he denies himself thanks to the era he comes from. His sensibilities are well adapted to the modern world by now, but some anachronisms remain.

So his eyes are focused and fiery as they sweep down Tony's body to watch the path of his hand, but this time the look is less dark, almost more worshipful than predatory. He stands next to Tony's hip, resting one hand on his thigh and stroking slowly as if he's tracing the outline of the muscles there. "Preview as in foreplay or as in you think you wanna see me dance? Because if it's the latter, you're gonna be disappointed. I definitely don't dance."

Well. At this point in his life he could probably fake a foxtrot or a slow dance with a partner, but it would not be sensual.

Oh, wait. There is a third option here, and with a little smirk, Steve hooks his thumb under the waistband of his own underwear and nudges them down his legs. "I get it, you're trying to prove to me jerking off won't make me go blind, is that it?"

He's a little hard, but far from fully erect at the moment, grasping himself in a matter-of-fact, perfunctory way and watching Tony's reaction. "You only just took my virginity, Tony; maybe you better give me some more explicit directions."

[starkingenuity]

All Steve needed to say was ‘explicit instruction’ for Tony’s grin to widen. He’s not by any means old fashioned and while he’s enjoyed a lot of different things over the years, he’s never gotten tired of being bossy. Having people do what he wants is at the core of his being, if mostly just to leave him alone so that he can work or enjoy himself. Usually, those two are the same things.

What he wants from Steve is many fold, not all of which, he realizes, is outright sexual. Steve stands for something in his life, not all good but certainly not all bad either. He’s a paragon, something to aspire to be so that his father (and the world) might love him best.

He doesn’t want to degrade Steve, exactly, and he’s not interested in revenge, but he does want to win.

“I don’t want you to touch yourself at all,” Tony says without a hint of coyness. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I’ll decide when you get to come. If you get to come. I’m just trying to live up to my selfish reputation here, Rogers.” Tony says, a slow smirk on his face.

Shit. This shouldn’t be so much fun.

“I want you to suck me off. Slowly. Make it worth me while. And then we’ll see if you get a reward.” Is that a little too daddy-son or teacher-student scenario? Steve is much younger than he is, but Tony isn’t into that particular kink. He just wants to fuck Captain America’s face. Is that so wrong?

[shieldborne]

Sometimes, Steve likes to troll. It's fun, when people see you as the All-American Boy, to turn their expectations of wholesomeness against them and shock them with something comparatively filthy. And that's what he was trying to do just now, obliquely offering to masturbate for Tony to watch. Nothing he hasn't done before, but the suggestion would raise eyebrows from most of the people who know him. And before tonight he's pretty sure he'd have gotten the startlement he was looking for from Tony.

But now they've fucked (or made love, or both). And they've been more honest with one another than has ever happened before, and it might be an exaggeration so say Tony has his number now, but he's apparently moved past shockability and then some, because he just flips the tease right around and back on Steve and the result, half-order, half dirty talk, takes his breath away.

Steve's eyes got very wide, and he's struck speechless for a couple seconds. Both of his hands drop to his sides, though, as if his body's made the decision to obey before his brain even catches up with it. He looks...hungry. Needy. Tony's taken a shot and hit a bullseye.

"Is that so," he rasps, and there's no teasing inflection in it. It's not a question, it's an affirmation. He clears his throat, flush beginning at his ears and creeping rapidly down his neck. "On my knees, or on the bed?"

If there was any doubt he's into this idea, the reaction below his waist ought to allay that fear.

[starkingenuity]

“On the bed.” They could be talking about the plan, the tone was so conversational and so matter of fact. They could be talking about a television show or an article on a website. They could be discussing the finer points of the Coke versus Pepsi debate. Tony crosses his legs at the ankle, shifting s little to get comfortable. No big deal, right?

He can and has been reading Steve’s body language with a mental notepad at the ready, recording details on each reaction he sees. The big picture isn’t quite apparent yet, which makes this puzzle so worthwhile. That, more than their strange, off beat relationship or the lengths that they need to go through to save the universe, has his mind ticking like an atomic clock. Precise. Incessant.

Tony lifts his head so that both of his arms can be used to leverage his upper body at a slightly more acute angle, providing himself the visual stimulation he can’t help but enjoy. Most men, he imagines, likes to watch their dick disappear into the mouth of another person and Tony is no different there. In order to achieve that goal, however, Tony needs to rid himself of his boxers.

Or, more accurately, he needs to have Steve do it for him.

“At ease, Soldier,” he teases in a direction for Steve to take his hands out of the picture entirely. “And double time on undressing me. It’s going to be light soon and I don’t have voice automated blinds here.”

[shieldborne]

It's quite a contrast from a few hours ago, when Tony was in his arms begging for more, Steve reflects silently. A different game? Testing the waters? It's a relief to give up control, honestly, and he's not ignorant of the dynamic that's bubbling up between them now, so Tony isn't going to freak him out this way. There's a little tension in his shoulders when he moves to tug Tony's underwear down, but he's gentle. He could just rip right through the fabric, and he's contrarian enough that he considers it briefly, but no. He really...doesn't want a fight. Not even a friendly one.

"Can we not, with the military talk, though?" He asks quietly. "Not like this. I can take it as a joke outside the bedroom, but it's...fraught."

He gives Tony a strangely timid glance, half apologetic, because he doesn't want to break the mood. "You're good with nicknames; I'm sure you've got something else."

That request made, he clambers onto the bed and kneels between his calves, leaning in to nuzzle and make delicate, teasing licks up his inner left thigh. It's reminiscent of the way he was worshipping his hands before, by the wall, while Tony attempted to undo his own belt and fly. Evidently it's a thing with him.

[starkingenuity]

There’s a lot here that can break a mood, and Tony has said some pretty insensitive things in the past, so being asked to keep the talk less regimented (pun intended) wasn’t something to spoil the mood. Steve wanted to be Steve with him. He’d said as much during their heart to heart, hadn’t he? He doesn’t want to be Captain America. Captain America is a part of him but not the sum. And he’s come a long way from the Army.

Despite Steve’s insistent nuzzling, perhaps because he’s trying to deflect a bit of what he said there into pleasure so they can enjoy each other without having to discuss it further, and despite Tony not being turned on enough to ignore where Steve’s mouth has been or where it is going, Tony pushes himself down, between Steve’s straddling legs, and pulls up his face with his hands at the same time.

He can give gentle, affectionate kisses too. It’s not just Steve’s wheel house to be the romantic sort. Tony might not be great at grand gestures, but he’s learned that it takes more than huge gifts and money.

“No nicknames,” Tony murmurs against now damp lips, arms around too broad shoulders. “You’re just Steve here.” There. Grand gesture. Tony’s somewhat proud of himself.

[shieldborne]

Steve doesn't ask for much, when it comes down to it, in the way of concessions to his feelings. And he genuinely doesn't mind the half-playful, half-scathing monikers outside the bedroom. 'Capsicle' is actually one of his favorites, despite the unpleasant event it references. He's been frozen, Tony probably thinks he's got a wooden stick up his nether regions--or at least he must have before tonight. It's clever, it's funny, it's catchy. But here, he'd rather err on the side of sweetness, and when Tony responds in kind, any hesitance he had ebbs away in a rush.

He looks a little surprised, but kisses back with a quiet moan and sigh. There. Yes. That's all he needs.

He nuzzles into Tony's neck, smiling. "I like that. You're still in charge, though. Whatever you want, I want, just say the word."

[starkingenuity]

Steve’s in charge too much. Tony likes having the reigns. Yes, he runs a company (ran, really, and Pepper has always done so much of the heavy lifting that he can’t take all of the credit), but running a company isn’t always about being in charge. Neither is leading a team in many ways—

He lets his mind to mind run with that for awhile and sticks it on the back burner, on simmer, because he can’t just let it completely drop, but he also doesn’t want to let it get in the way of these moments.

“Of course I am. Respect your elders,” Tony teases instead, as he can’t help himself in that way. He could tell Steve to carry on, but now that he’s firmly beneath him and Steve’s weight, a small portion of it at least, is on him, Tony doesn’t want to lose this sensation to a blow job. No matter how good.

It has nothing to do with submission or dominance, of feeling confined in any way. Steve just feels real and he feels present and more than anything, that is what Tony needs.

“Get these off,” Tony demands, hands slipping down Steve’s waist towards his underwear. His hands coast beneath the elastic. His desire to be selfish (or himself) has ebbed neatly away. “You can jerk us off together. Probably will keep you from going blind if you’re not the only one getting anything out of it,” he concludes.

[shieldborne]

Power dynamics can be terribly ambiguous. Steve views his charge of the team as a tremendous responsibility; he gives orders, sure, but in the end he's supposed to make sure there are no unnecessary sacrifices, and to never ask anyone to do what he won't do himself. A commanding officer has to balance protecting his team with trusting them to do what they know they can accomplish. Done the way Steve tries to do it, it's almost a nurturing role, hence his tendency to quiet, warm (and potentially somewhat annoying) pep talks.

Of course, he's also way worse at taking orders than his military history would suggest. That may or may not extend to the bedroom--certainly he seems to be amenable right now--but dominance versus submission between them, whether deliberate or informal, could end up being a tricky little dance. Then again, that might make it more fun.

Steve gives a quiet, uncomplicated little laugh at 'respect your elders'. Even age is ambiguous with them, isn't it? Steve is chronologically older, but with less life experience since he was unconscious for the vast majority of it. But both of them have seen some shit, that's for sure. There is a strange sense of comfort, though, in Tony claiming seniority. He kinda likes that.

"Yes, sir," he says, just a little bit coy. Because 'sir' doesn't have to be military, after all.

Unfortunately, he has to back off a little in order to get the underwear off, but once that's handled he returns to the position he was in like there are magnets drawing them together. He licks his palm before wrapping his hand around the both of them, leaning his body over Tony and resting his weight on one elbow. "Like this?"

His eyes meet the other man's, watching for discomfort or fear, but half cuddled-up and having his dick stroked lovingly is hopefully as far from a callback to trauma as they can get. "Does that mean you're gonna let me come, or have you not decided yet?"

[starkingenuity]

If emotion is something to push down, something to hide and to examine only when the collection jar is full and that the weight of everything inside of it has compressed and distorted each individual piece, then Tony’s jar is about ready to explode into shards and ruin. Sex was supposed to be a vehicle for safe release, to be a valve to maintain the pressure at meaningful levels. Sex before the world ended really had been just that. Sex now that he’s one of only two people alive with the only other person alive, despite being surrounded by other alive people trapped six years perpetually in their past, is incredibly emotional.

He has no frame of reference for this. He has positions and pleasures and muscle memory of what this should be like, but his brain has a tripped a circuit along the way. He knows he should tease. He should deny Steve pleasure, he should be in charge and be present and be the god damned leader for this ritual of intimacy. But he can’t. All Tony can do is shake his head, and then nod his head, before his arms wrap around Steve’s neck and his fingers press against his spine.

There is work to be done. Dangerous work, work with the biggest stakes they’ve ever faced and a reward that they can simply never enjoy. There is another Tony, maybe in his workshop, maybe on a mission, maybe having sex with Pepper on the floor of a building almost finished construction. There’s another Steve too, sleepless, hitting a bag filled with sand, feeling the pressure of loss great enough to destroy most people and using it to throw each punch.

When the world turns to dust and then carries on like it’s never happened or going to happen, all Tony wants to do is connect.

Sex is a connection. It’s not a release. It’s not a pleasure. It’s a bond. It’s a promise. “We do everything together,” he whispers, kissing while he speaks or before he speak or after. Maybe all three. If he’s going to come, Steve must do so too. And if he’s going to survive any of this, he can’t do it alone.

What he wants is to feel the blond inside of him again. Or he wants to be inside of the blond. He wants the grittiness, the shared breath. He wants to lose the safety net too. The propriety of safety to this bout of pleasure. Maybe he’ll demand it next time. There’s always going to be a next time, until he physically is incapable of it. It’s not comforting to him the way it is to Steve that he’ll return to the same dust as everyone else, either literally from Thanos’ snap, or the act of murder that they had committed by erasing their present to replace it with a new version of their past.

It’s going to be a long early morning. Tony comes first, and when Steve’s hot semen explodes across the pattern already marking his chest, Tony feels better. The jar hasn’t exploded and the emotions packed inside of it haven’t been too badly compacted. He’s freed some, made space for more. It helps that Steve loves him through this. Love is the best connection a man can hope for. It’s a tether Tony doesn’t mind having attached.

The sun is up when the act is complete and Tony, for once, doesn’t wriggle away to clean up. It’s a monumental leap, more than letting Steve make love to him could ever be. He doubts the blond understands that.

[shieldborne]

It's probably Steve's fault in some indirect way, like so much of what they've been through together. He moves through the world on his own terms, in his own path, and everything around him ripples and shifts in his wake. His ethos has weight; his passion has more. Maybe decades ago when he was first going down on chorus girls he was able to do it without overflowing with tenderness. Probably not, though.

He's been stripped of everyone and everything. What remains is one mission and one man. Tony is in the somewhat risky position of being the only outlet Steve has, the only outlet he will have, for his affection. It might feel good or it might be overwhelming. Or both. Either way, getting away from emotions through sex is unlikely.

Especially when Tony looks up at Steve like this, playful cockiness falling away into a perfect echo of what Steve himself is feeling. Emptiness reaching for emptiness, craving to be filled. And they can do that, even if only for a few moments. Even if they may end up breaking one another in the long term, here they are, and Steve aches with it.

"Everything," he promises, kisses back, lips to lips, and then slides his arm gently under Tony's shoulders, holding him closer. And he doesn't stop there, kissing his cheeks, under the hinge of his jaw, as far down his throat as he can reach without disrupting the stroking his other hand is doing. "Everything. I promise."

This one, he'll keep. There's Bucky, trapped somewhere, and he won't forget about saving him--but this Bucky belongs to the other Steve. There are a hundred things he can think of that they should change, lives to be saved and evil to be destroyed. They can do that together. They can put one another first. They have to.

He wants to.

Same as earlier, he murmurs endearments to Tony as they move together, and he'd be the first to admit he would rather be inside him again--or have Tony fucking him; that'd be a new experience and he wants it--but this is as intimate, in its own way. He makes more noise this time around, moaning and gasping against the other man's skin, crying out when he comes.

"I'm here," he pants out, nuzzling into his hair as he starts to come down. "I'm here, Tony, I'm with you."

Not 'till the end of the line'. That was his and Bucky's line. But it's the same sentiment. Dangerously, devastatingly, frighteningly parallel.

[starkingenuity]

Time can be a fickle thing. They have time to spare up until the moment they don’t and standing apart in the elevator heading back to the lobby to make it to the church before Steve’s younger self does turns into a nail biter. Outwardly, Tony is calm. He needs to get his armor and wait up in the crumbling steeple, out of sight and smell and earshot. He can monitor without being monitored, and that will be the only way that they can convince a more naïve and idealistic (but still hurting) Captain to go along with what they need him to do. Inwardly, he’s a wreck, cursing traffic and jaywalking ahead of the inevitable, if slow, color change of lights on street corners.

The first part of their mission, however successful, could be undone and reset based on this next leg and Tony would hate himself forever if his personal time ended up scratching out something he needs to complete. This isn’t about accepting an award or giving an interview. This matters.

Thankfully, the clock is on their side. Their arrival disturbs nothing and Tony takes the gear he needs, deciding not to linger with Steve under the dulled eyes of painted and stained glass saints. “Can you hear me?” he asks, just once, when he has settled himself in the tower, standing at the window where the bell used to be. He can see traffic, but not the stretch of street that the younger blond will be walking down. FRIDAY, however, can scan much further than his eyes ever will. A moment after Steve acknowledges that their comms are in working order, FRIDAY informs them both that the Captain’s signature has been detecting on the corner opposite the church.

Tony brings up a digital overlay of the chapel below, rough figures of the broken pews and Steve outlined across his HUD as the doors downstairs open.

He’s holding his breath, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t care why. He’s too focused on the pair, one off to the side and one approaching the tabernacle, pausing, and stiffening. “Who’s there?”

((this is going to be so fun to write))

[shieldborne]

Steve's tension is less obvious. Once they step out of the room, he has his game face on once more, calm and brisk on their walk rather than jittery and irritable. Still, there's something about the way he watches their surroundings that says he's on the lookout for trouble. Because what are the chances Thanos somehow catches on to their plan? Slim, probably. Steve doubts he thinks of them as particularly significant. That the Avengers in their fractured state made the last stand against him doesn't mean they were the only or even the most memorable people to put themselves in his way. Desire for survival makes the meekest of species mighty.

He has the Time Stone. If he wanted to nip this in the bud, and knew it was going to occur, he could. Steve's strategy-brain is working overtime. And he's going to have to make a point of warning his younger self, too.

The church is strangely reassuring, once again. Steve remembers what he was thinking on this particular morning. He'd seen Iron Man at work not long ago, zipping around the Tower, and it tasted sour, a perfect accompaniment to dark thoughts brewing in his head regarding science and progress and the future. He abandoned his drawing of the New York skyline, came in here, and started drawing mechanized monstrosities that were nevertheless hopelessly archaic compared to the technology he was about to witness.

"You talkin' to me, or was that a prayer?" he responds to Tony's murmur, facetiously. "I hear you, my son. How long has it been since your last confession?"

Maybe not the time to be funny, but he's got to knock the tension down somehow. A moment later even that window of opportunity is closed. The doors open, and Steve feels a wild urge to run for it. Facing himself is always...uncomfortable.

"Hey," he says. "Stand down. I'm unarmed. Just a friendly existential crisis. I've been waiting for you."

He holds up both hands peaceably and stays where he is. The younger Cap will have to come to him. Something this weird, he knows, will inevitably read as a threat at first. The silence is long and heavy, and younger-Steve's footfalls are slow and wooden as he approaches. The older version finds himself marveling; he didn't realize he was that intimidating until now.

"What the fuck is this?" young Steve's voice is quiet but aggressive, sharp-edged. "Are you supposed to be some kind of goddamn clone??"

"Sorry," the older says, still unmoving. "It's actually weirder than that. Will you sit? You should probably sit."

((This night suck. It’s been awhile.))

[bottledblond]

Half of Steve’s brain believes that this could be one of those side effects from time spent in the water that SHIELD is always testing him for. He’s finally having a breakdown, or at the very least, he’s having auditory and visual hallucinations. The other half is prepared for the crazed weirdness of the twenty-first century because of Howard’s son can fly, it seems only logical that there are other Steve Rogerses too. Clones, he decides, even if the other Steve negates that. What can possibly be weirder than clones? Buck used to carry around science fiction dime novels, though Steve himself generally went for detective stories (or romances, if that was all he could trade for). Clones played pretty heavily in plot lines across the board, though they were usually horribly disfigured or brainless.

The man staring at him seems effected by neither.

At least he does look somewhat different, not in age exactly, for the elasticity of his skin was the same as he saw whenever he looked in the mirror. His eyes are the same blue, flecked with a little less green than they had been growing up, and framed by too-long lashes. His height is the same, though their footwear is different. Sneakers make him feel a bit shorter than the man he’s looking at in his boots seems to be. Jawline, shoulder span, stance-- No. It’s the color of his hair that’s decidedly off, brassy, almost, as if it’s artificial. Steve’s gaze zeroes in on that singular imperfection as he pulls his hands from the pockets of his brown bomber jacket. He might not have a weapon, but that doesn’t mean he’s unarmed.

“Think I’ll stand,” he said in a way that sounded good-natured, even jovial to Tony after that initial outburst, but is obviously guarded and wary to his other self. He’s regained his composure, that’s for sure, but only because his weight is now properly on his back foot and his limbs are loose.

One doesn’t have to ball one’s fingers into fists to be ready be prepared to fight. Besides, Steve can spring into action, literally, before most people can pull the trigger on their weapons.

“How about I stand and you get on with your explaining.”

((nope, your writing is always good.))

[shieldborne]

Damn that bleach blond hair-color. They could have washed it in purple shampoo a few times to cut the brassiness, but he and Tony were otherwise occupied. Steve doesn't regret that. It was always going to be awkward, having this discussion, whether he came in brassy blond or with knee-length pastel rainbow curls. He's looking at himself now, and Tony really did do a good job with the haircut, but how does he look so much younger? Maybe there's some distortion in his own mind when he sees himself in the mirror, because this guy...

Well. That's irrelevant. More important is the stance, and it makes Steve want to laugh a little in recognition. Of course, at this point in his life he was more of a boxer-brawler, before the months of SHIELD-sponsored lessons in krav maga and taekwondo. The last thing he wants is to fight himself, though. He does plenty of that already.

"If I hit you, I'd just end up with my own face hurting," he says wryly, considers a moment, and sits on the dais leading up to the altar. It puts him at a tremendous physical disadvantage, should they come to blows, but he knows he has backup. And the other Steve does not know, and will hopefully not find out.

"I'm you. From the future," he says, dimly aware this is straying into meme territory but choosing to ignore the irony. "Someone you could potentially end up being, at least, if events in this world go the way they did where I come from. And you don't want events to go the way they did where I come from, because if they do, half of the living things in the universe will die."

"I know that sounds nuts, and I know you already feel like you've given everything you could, because I feel that way, too. But the universe isn't fair, so you're gonna need to hear me out."

Re: ((nope, your writing is always good.))

[bottledblond]

Technically, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. He feels outnumbered right now, even if there’s just a supposedly older version of himself sitting alone in front of him, and while he never minds being the lone soldier in a fight against an army, he doesn’t like walking into a situation where he doesn’t and can never have the strategical advantage. Not if what this man tells him is actually the truth. If he’s truly from the future, and his memory is as good as his own, he already knows what could and will happen.

Steve doesn’t like it. Steve doesn’t like the location. He doesn’t like the exhaustion in the other’s voice. He doesn’t like the spot he’s in. And he doesn’t like how distrustful he is of himself.

“You’ve got to appreciate the spot you’ve put me in. If you’re me, from the future,” saying it sounds so stupid that he finds his stance shifting slightly towards center again, “then you know I don’t take well to being lied to.” And he’ll sniff it out too. It took him exactly thirty seconds to dismantle the room he woke up in. The lighting in here isn’t as good as it had been at the SHIELD facility, but if he can pick out the strangeness in a half listened to baseball game, a not-quite-right hairstyle, and an off-kilter uniform, he can find something wrong here too.

More than just that odd hair color.

“You’re going to have to give me some proof.” Steve only has faith in one thing, and that’s the guy who used to be worshipped every Sunday in this church. Nothing else beats out God. He clings to that notion now more than ever, even if God’s gotten himself a facelift too, just like the city.

[shieldborne]

That's the thing, isn't it? Steve hates to be lied to, and he's not that great at lying. There are some things that just...shouldn't be shared, not all at once, not here, not now. And Tony expects him to be able to know which things those are and to keep them on the down-low. But he's going to have to offer more information, rather than less, if he wants to be believed or accepted here.

He already knew what proof he would offer up here, knew that he would be asked, and this is a dangerous one to offer, but it ought to destroy the 'clone' theory at the very least. "One of the last things Schmidt said to you," he tells him quietly. "'You could have the power of the gods, yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations. I have seen the future, Captain. There are no flags."

He remembers hearing those words, remembers the strength of his revulsion in that moment. Then, the last few seconds before the plane crashed, planning his doomed dance with Peggy while wondering what he had really become. The crash, the ice, hypothermia setting in, and thinking 'well, I can still die, at least'. Letting go. He never told anyone. He has to assume this Steve hasn't, either.

Now, he just has to hope this one doesn't conclude he's some kind of Hydra agent, or Red Skull himself in disguise.

"He was wrong," he adds, folding his arms across his knees. "Nations change, rise and fall. You start looking out the window and seeing a bigger world than you realized was there. A greater universe. Bigger problems than you imagined, more complexity than any human should have to navigate. The flags are less and less relevant, but they're still there, and when they stop standing for a nation, they start standing for something bigger."

"We've always been fighting for free will. Not the sovereignty of a particular government or people. That's the part he never got, and never could. Stars and stripes and self-determination. That's our flag. And that is exactly what's at stake here."

[starkingenuity]

Those are some pretty words. Both Steve and Tony think that, though only one’s face can be seen and that one isn’t rolling his eyes the way the other is. Tony’s not a conspiracy theorist, but he still believes in one big planet-wide government. He’s less concerned with America, with national identity. Maybe all it takes is being on the surface of another planet, of a moon that isn’t their own, to realize the bigger picture. But this isn’t his conversation. Not yet. He has a feeling that it will be soon, though he doesn’t really fancy himself a good Serrano. He and Steve don’t talk alike. Not by a long shot. And what Tony might have to say isn’t so inspiring.

Steve, for the speech, and the message, and the recall back to the moments before the water crushed the future he was meant to have and ushered him to a future he doesn’t like very much, just looks grimmer. Thin lips press together so tightly that they might not bother being there at all. It’s obvious that he’s thinking. He’s weighing the words and fitting them into place like plastic pieces on a map in a war room. He doesn’t compartmentalize like Tony does, he doesn’t analyze everything in the blink of an eye, and when he thinks, it’s visible on his face.

Tony can’t see the two. The best FRIDAY can do for him is give him heat signatures. The quiet unnerves him and he can’t help himself but react.

“Steve.” He’s keeping his word, even if they’re on a mission. It’s always just Steve between them, and the younger man is the only one that can hear him anyway. His even younger self might have super hearing but Tony’s technology compensates for that and for any other high tech listening device that could be laying around. “Give him less heroic details. He’s you. Embarrass yourself. Mention that hotel room, once upon a time.” Because who else would know about the photographer? Every last trace of the man himself is gone, much less records of a night or two while on the road.

[shieldborne]

You just want to hear more about my torrid affairs, is what he wants to say to Tony, and doesn't. He's not sure he'd take that well to embarrassment, or even ribbing from a stranger. Which he is to this Steve, at least until he can prove himself.

On the other hand, Tony has a point. Steve gives other people pep talks. He rarely receives them, and rarely takes them in graciously, because he's a knee-jerk contrarian. And kind of a little shit. From the expression on his younger self's face, Steve thinks that what he's said has rung true to him, but maybe something more is a good idea.

He wants to tell him about Bucky. You can get him back. You can still save him. That would be a disaster. He'd be gone in the blink of an eye, and nothing would stand in the way of him going after his old friend. He's got to know, but not yet. Instead, Steve opts to split the difference between his urge and Tony's, and sighs.

"You don't have to do it alone, though," he tells him quietly. "You're gonna find friends in unexpected places, whether I point you to them or not. Like that dive in Des Moines. And the Shangri-La Inn."

He smiles, half from nostalgia on his own behalf. "Coconut cream pie with Hershey's chocolate ice cream on the side. Absolutely no nuts."

The Shangri-La hadn't had room service. It was a cheap little hourly-rate hole, but his photographer buddy had walked to the cafe across the street and brought food back for him, just as a ploy to keep him naked and in bed for another couple hours. It had worked.

Usually, he prefers apple, but damn that pie had been good.

[starkingenuity]

It doesn’t matter to Tony that he isn’t completely up on what Steve’s talking about. What Steve says doesn’t matter as much as the act itself does. Speaking to his younger self is fine, but Steve needs to relate to him. Or rather, he needs to get that younger man to relate back to him in some ways. Sharing a secret? That’s the best way to do it.

You don’t become the head of an international corporation without learning how to win over those opposed to, or at least bothered by, the cause you’re trying to promote. Tony can schmooze the best of them. Except for Steve Rogers. Steve managed to one-up him on that, though Tony hadn’t been a hard sell in the end. The cracks had been there for Rogers to exploit, like water eroding a crack in the ground into a canyon. It just hadn’t taken much time. Tony’s not made of very strong stuff, it turns out.

Not any more. A lung full of fifteen year old will do that to you.

Tony still can’t see the reaction, but he can tell that the blob of white-red-orange that is the younger Steve has shifted positions. Hunched? No. He’s likely sat himself down as initially requested, on a slat of unbroken pew, across the cracked tile of the sanctuary from the older Steve.

“No one makes ice cream like that anymore,” Steve says, elbows resting just above his thighs, hands dangling between them. He’s smiling, but still wary. It’s progress, at least. “I can’t read half of the ingredients on the carton these days.” It’s better than being gobsmacked, at least, and he’s changing the subject to make sure that he isn’t completely put off. At least he believes, now, that the man with the brassy hair and his same exact face is the man he’ll become. He’ll have to make sure to straighten out his hair before that. “You didn’t come here from the future to talk about pie. You said there’s gonna be a whole lot of death. Tell me how to stop it.”

[shieldborne]

It's progress. Steve-the-elder finds himself relieved, letting his shoulders sag a little. He keeps still otherwise; sudden moves, he knows, might just end poorly. He smiles back, though, and it's far less wary. "Give it about a year and half. Then the clean eating fad will catch on and you'll have all kinds of options."

"I'd stay out of Whole Foods, though. It makes me feel eight different kinds of weird about the direction Western culture is trending in."

...but he digresses. Sobering, he interweaves his fingers in front of his knees. "It's not a simple fix. But I'll tell you as much as I can. In a couple days, Fury's going to drop by with a mission. The...cube. The energy source Hydra had used to power their weapons. It's about to be stolen. I'll give you the details later, but Fury's going to want your help getting it back. The thing is, it needs to be destroyed, not retrieved."

"It's one of six similar objects. Gems or stones. Bringing all six of them together gives a person that can use them an insane amount of power. More than should exist in the universe. You've seen what the cube can do by itself. I'm sure you can imagine."

"The person who's about to steal it has another stone. If we can get both of them and destroy them, we could save the world a hell of a lot of trouble. And by we, I mean--"

He pauses and says quietly, "Sorry, Tony, but I know I hate surprises. Better if we be up front."

To his other self he explains, "I have a friend on standby. Upstairs. He figured you and I would do better without him interfering, but I don't want you to think I had an ambush waiting. We need help, not a fight."

[starkingenuity]

He ought to have known that there would be a double cross. It made for good theming, with the two identical blonds side by side, perfect eyes staring at him. Tony can’t take it. If he hadn’t been in his armor, he would have ran his fingers through his hair or beard and tried to tug them out. His annoyed huff is translated to one man’s ear while the other, in front of Steve, is on his feet again. His stance hasn’t changed, he’s not itching for a fight now that he has a good idea of what’s expected of him, but he has a feeling he knows who Tony is and he doesn’t exactly like it.

That’s not Tony’s fault. He’s gotten along with his father, sometimes more and sometimes less, but the flying man in the suit traveling around the obnoxious tower of wealth and power that pierces the long forgotten skyline of New York doesn’t sit too well with him. Fury’s filled him in on Stark and he’s done his research.

It’s strange, but other than Peggy, who doesn’t yet know he’s alive again, Stark is the closest tie he had to his past. And it’s all right there, in a paper dossier, on his desk.

The man that enters the room, through the archway leading behind the sacristy to the bell tower and the pastor’s offices, doesn’t look at all like the one that flashes on the television a few times an evening. His face is bruised. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans that look ill fitting with a ball cap rolled up and shoved in his back pocket. There’s white at his temples and shot through his hair. There are lines on his face.

The Steve from the future looks just like him in every way, minus the hair color, but Tony looks almost a decade older than he ought to have been.

The younger Steve’s eyes soften, narrow and then widen in that expressive way Tony has known him to have sometimes. Usually it’s not directed towards him. Usually it’s not full of sympathy. Steve can see through him, just like the one that has become his lover has been able to do for some time now. “Not sure if I should be thanking God for this opportunity or cursing him,” Tony jokes. “Twins. I’ve always gotten in such trouble with twins.”

He doesn’t offer his hand to the other Steve but he does give a generic head nod that so many men are familiar with as he stands beside the other.

“Hi. Tony Stark. But you knew that.” He almost wishes he had left the armor on. “Thanks for your help, kid. We’re going to need it.”