snowdarkred: (Default)
[personal profile] snowdarkred
UNTITLED.
WIP.
INCOMPLETE.
STEVE/TONY
~700 WORDS.

I have a problem. The problem is that I have a thousand other things I should be working on, but instead I started to write this. Quick, someone enable me!

 

 

When Steve opens the door, the first thing he sees sends him into a swearing streak so wide and foul that his mother stops messing around with her flour in the kitchen and comes over to see what set him off. Tony is standing in the Rogers' doorway, one side of his face bruised, holding his shoulder funny. His expression is taunt and broken and far, far too old for someone who is only sixteen, dammit. He catches sight of Sarah Rogers and attempts hide behind the cool mask that Steve is so used to seeing him use in awkward social settings. As if showing up looking like he went three rounds with Clint again qualifies as a social setting.

 

“Sorry to intrude,” the so-very-young genius says stiffly, like talking hurts. Tony's smile seems to get lost somewhere around the edges, and his eyes are full of shadows that make Steve's hands curl into fists. “I, ah. I didn't have anywhere else to go.”

 

Sarah doesn't say anything, just opens the door wider and lets him in. She's used to Tony coming and going at odd hours, in several questionable conditions, and at this point it would take a lot to surprise her. Anger her, yes, but not surprise her. Hell, it's not even the first time Tony's shown up looking like hell, and Steve knows that his mom has some kind of question hiding behind her gentle acceptance, but neither Tony nor Steve ever answer it.

 

It's not that Tony's old man slugs him that often, or that Tony doesn't push as many buttons as he can, when he can. Steve's stopped trying to actively decode the fraught relationship between father and son long ago, but his mind can't help but return to it. They push at each other, tug and hit and tear, until one or the other breaks and lashes out. Howard Stark is a hard man to throw off-guard, but his son manages it almost every time, and Steve is left trying to pick up the pieces.

 

Sarah maneuvers Tony unto the patched couch, sitting him on the side that doesn't have the years old coffee stain (left there by Tony himself while he was recovering from a hangover). Steve sits next to him and examines his best friend from the side.

 

Tony's tired; anyone can see that. His father's been hounding him for more inventions and advancements lately, trying to drive up the stock, keep every penny he can get his company's claw onto. Tony is the golden goose, one that Mr. Stark is all too eager to put on display. Meanwhile, Tony's graduated from MIT, taken over the research and development department, and made several extraordinary discovers – all before he hit seventeen. He's too jaded for someone younger than Steve (three years younger, which seems to matter less and less as they get older) has any right to be.

 

Not that the heir to the Stark fortune ever had a chance to be anything but.

 

Sarah comes back from the kitchen with ice for Tony and a pointed look for Steve. She retreats to the kitchen again, flour dusting off of her calloused hands, and leaves her son to it.

 

---

 

Tony and Steve have been friends ever since Tony flopped down next to him at Central Park while Steve was drawing and stole his water bottle. Steve was sixteen. Tony was thirteen.

 

Since then, Steve has been harassed by reporters, chased by the paparazzi, kicked out of an untold number of night clubs he shouldn't have been allowed in anyway, and generally bothered more than he had been in his entire life. Tony is like an annoyingly cute, ultra-destructive puppy that you just can't leave on the curb, no matter how much you know that he's going to chew the legs off your coffee table and piss on your shoes and never, ever let you have a moment's peace. He's demanding and spoiled and possibly bi-polar, but he's also smart and loyal and best best friend Steve could ever ask for.

 

He's never regretted their friendship for a second, not even when Tony insists on drunk dialing him at three in the morning on a work day. Okay, maybe a little. But not enough to ever do anything about it besides bitch and demand that Tony grow at least one ounce of common sense, please.



----

IT'S BARELY EVEN STARTED. GOD HELP ME.
This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
No Subject Icon Selected
More info about formatting

Profile

snowdarkred: (Default)
snowdarkred

December 2018

S M T W T F S
      1
23 45678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 16th, 2025 10:39 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios