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"You know, Tony, some might say you were trying to get in my pants," Steve murmurs in Tony's ear as they dance around the ballroom, weaving in and out of the surrounding couples.
Tony's hand has been moving steadily lower throughout their dance and is only hovering from being firmly planted on Steve's ass because Pepper is glaring in their direction. It's like she has a sixth sense for Tony's more indecent thoughts.
Hell, who is he kidding; she probably does.
"Why, Mr. Rogers, you sound like you object to my lecherous plans for your body. I can confidently say they involve silk sheets starring your truly porn star worthy ass and feature a guest appearance by yours truly," Tony murmurs back in a darker tone, smirk curving his lower lip. He watches in amusement as Steve's ear flush a tell-tale pink.
Steve's used to Tony's occasional lewd comments, especially when it concerns him. You can't date Tony Stark for over a year and not come to expect it, really.
Tony excuses himself a few minutes later for some fresh air. If they expect to leave early tonight, it's going to mean dealing with Pepper corralling them into a few exclusive interviews with the World's Most Darling Couple, and Tony can't handle the press without a moment to himself first.
*****
Tony regains consciousness painfully, blinking slowly until he realizes the headache throbbing dully in the back of his skull isn't from a hangover but the blow to the back of the head Mr. Tall, Dark, and Creepy Motherfucker had given him. Figures that as soon as he'd stepped outside Endless Charity Ball #37 for a few phone calls, ninja assassins had leapt from nowhere to confront him.
Well, possibly from behind a dumpster and off a fire escape, but who was he to judge the capability of ninja assassins.
Obviously they had done something right, since Tall, Dark, and Creepy Motherfucker had stepped up with a classic iron pipe and Tony was Iron Man-less for the evening. One round later, Iron Pipe was up one and Tony was out for the count, which explains why he's currently duct taped to an unnecessarily sturdy chair—really, it's not like Tony could dismantle a standard chair just by sitting in it—ok, maybe he could, but that didn't mean—
His inner monologue is cut off by the reappearance of Tall, Dark, and Creepy Motherfucker, which is a really long code name for a bad guy, so maybe Tony should just call him Creepy for short? Anyways, Creepy pulls up a chair across from Tony and takes a seat, leaning back casually and staring at Tony with no expression on his face.
He really is a creepy motherfucker, all dark Kevlar and leather, too many knives and guns in obvious places, and then there's the extra nasty scar that bisects his face in a craggy, diagonal line. Tony quirks an eyebrow and smiles charmingly.
"Is this the part where you tell me what you want, I tell you to fuck off, you threaten me with bodily harm, I tell you to go fuck yourself graphically, and then you get around to the actual bodily harm?" Tony asks, smile still on his face. He's been testing the strength of the chair underneath him, the amount of duct tape binding his arms and legs, eyeing the only exit—heavy steel door, the same Creepy came through—and trying to calculate how long he's been missing from the party without attracting Creepy's attention.
Hello, certified genius, capable of multiple levels of thought here.
Tony can't remember what time he'd left the party; has it been an hour? Two? How long has he been missing? Did Steve think Tony'd left without him? Dammit, if Creepy Motherfucker has cock-blocked him tonight, Tony might have to get pissed.
"I think, Mr. Stark, that it would be in your best interest to cooperate with us," Creepy rumbles across from him, accent apparent but Tony can't place it. Something European. Slovakian? Turkish? Something like that. Natasha would know. Hell, Natasha probably speaks his native language.
"And why would I want to do that?" Tony prompts, smile still plastered on his face. If you can't beat 'em, smile disarmingly and make them underestimate you. Then again, he did build the only suit of armor in the world currently able to withstand a tank. Creepy abruptly rises to his feet without a whisper of sound and holy shit, maybe he's a ninja assassin also? Tony has a sinking feeling that he's probably the leader of the ninja assassins.
"I have it on good authority that if I take out that lovely little device in your chest, you'll be subjected to a rather large amount of pain before you die agonizingly slowly, yes?" Creepy gestures towards Tony's middle, walking around the chair to stand behind Tony. Scoffing, Tony leans back in his chair and shrugs. Did these goons think he hadn't built a locking mechanism for the arc reactor after that little ordeal with Stane?
"While those rumors aren't true, you'd have to have the right equipment to extract it—" He cuts himself off when Creepy holds out a silver instrument, a combination twisting mechanism and something that looks vaguely like tongs that he designed himself goddammit, those plans are definitely not public—
"A generous... benefactor thought that might be the case and made something he assured me would be quite close to your original design," Creepy said smoothly as he walks back around to face Tony. His head giving a vicious throb, Tony slowly exhales a deep breath and leans back into his own chair, this time with forced casualty.
"You know what they say about benefactors: they're only after your dick, in more ways than one." Tony waggles his eyebrows, silently wondering if he's gonna make it out of this one before Steve finds him. He's confident Steve will find him; whether it's in time to save his ass like the pathetic damsel in distress he is is another story entirely.
"And really now, who calls himself a 'benefactor' these days? I'd rather call it as it is: pimping. So if your benefactor is the pimp, I guess that makes you the prostitute, huh? I gotta say, I think you got the wrong end of the stick, 'cause you're much more pimp-worthy than your so-called 'benefactor'. Seriously, benefactor? Who the hell uses words like that in a conversation? Someone trying to play up to a higher position of authority, obviously, not confident in their current position in society, so feels the need to prove hi—" Tony stops abruptly, remembering a moment right before he left the party.
"Excuse me, so sorry, I didn't—Anthony! Long time, no see, my man! How's business?"
Tony is almost tempted to cough in Justin Hammer's face in a pointed dig at the truly atrocious amount of cologne the man is wearing, but he manages to restrain himself.
"Ah, Justin, business is fine; business is booming, in fact. How's Hammertech doing? Stocks dropped another five points this morning, didn't they? Might have something to do with that scathing article about the appeal your lawyers filed the other day over the Vanko incident last year, hmm?" Tony walks off before Hammer has time to reply, intent on escape from everything for just five freakin' minutes...
"If you tell me that Hammer successfully had me kidnapped, I will throw a temper tantrum the likes of which you have never seen before," Tony mutters darkly. Creepy is standing almost patiently in front of him, waiting for Tony's attention to return.
When Tony finally looks up to glare at him, he merely shrugs, quirks a smile (a terrifying move, considering the scar), and calmly rips open the dress shirt Tony is wearing underneath his tuxedo. "I don't suppose you care how much that cost," Tony says faintly as Creepy raises the Hammertech tongs and places them flush against his arc reactor.
Tony thinks fuck, this is going to hurt and why the hell didn't I build those JARVIS-compatible cufflinks yesterday before a quick twist and Creepy pops out the arc reactor like he's plucking a fucking apple from a tree.
Tony's breath escapes in a silent gasp when the magnet at the end of the arc reactor disengages from the chamber in his chest.
If someone asked him to describe the sensation of shrapnel slowly digging its way into the inner chamber of his heart, Tony would probably tell them to go fuck themselves.
In a private moment with Steve, Tony had once revealed that when Obadiah had pulled out his arc reactor, he'd thought his heart was being pulled through a tube in his chest—like someone had taken a pair of pliers and ripped out his heart before feeding his arteries and veins through a vacuum seal.
The worst part, Tony had confessed, was knowing that every beat of his heart, the heart that is supposed to bring life, only brought him one beat closer to death.
Now, he slumps slowly in his sturdy fucking chair, feeling sweat breaking out across his forehead and lower back, pain already pulsing in uncomfortable waves through his chest. Tony knows that he must be incredibly pale, blood leeching from his extremities as his failing heart struggles to beat blood to his organs. It won't be long now.
Creepy Motherfucker calmly steps back and places the arc reactor in a briefcase; where the fuck did that come from? Tony hasn't been paying attention. He closes the briefcase and starts for the door.
"Hey." Tony's voice is not as loud as he would like. It's starting to get harder to breathe.
Creepy stops and looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
"As... cliché as this is... going to sound... just wanted you to know... you'll never get away with this," Tony slurs, a smile struggling to crawl across his face.
The last thing he hears before he loses consciousness is the sound of gunfire and a sudden explosion.
*****
Steve...
"Tony."
This time, when Tony comes to, it's less of a painful venture and more of a hazy one. There's a warm hand holding his tightly. Steve. He tightens his grip as much as he can; it probably comparable to the brush of a butterfly's wings to Steve.
Another hand brushes away the hair on his forehead before stopping to cup his cheek. Tony squints and Steve comes into focus. He's still wearing his Captain America uniform, which is ripped in a few places and covered in what looks like plaster dust. The cowl is pushed back from his head and his blond hair is sticking up from where it dried with sweat.
He's wearing his Concerned Face, lines between his blue eyes and lips pressed thin.
"How are you feeling?" Steve asks quietly, carefully sitting on the edge of Tony's bed—bed? Hospital, then. Steve would have rushed him straight there, especially with an arc reactor on the loose. Tony looks down.
There's a cable running from the hole in the middle of his chest to a machine on his right. Spare electromagnetic backup machinery. Yeah, his arc reactor is MIA. Pepper's probably en route with a spare.
"Like someone took out my glorified pacemaker, punched a hole in my chest, and made off like a thief in the night. Which, I guess, he technically is. I wonder if they have a membership for that club. Thieves In The Night, Inc. or something—"
"Tony, shut up," Steve says fondly, placing a hand over his mouth. Tony huffs and licks Steve's hand in retaliation. Steve whips his hand away and rubs it against his leg, staring at Tony in disgusted astonishment.
"I guess no one ever taught you that trick as a kid, huh?" Tony asks wryly, attempting to sit up.
"No, Tony, they didn't, and stop that, you're not going to sit up until the doctor comes in and takes a look at you," Steve replies, holding Tony down effortlessly.
"Steeeeeeeeve," Tony whines, slumping. "Steve, I'm fine. I'll be even better when Pepper gets here with a spare reactor. I'd much rather discuss what I'm going to do with Hammer when I get my hands on him and why are you looking at me like that," Tony pouts, giving up the (rather pitiful) struggle. Steve just sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair.
"I'm guessing Hammer is the one responsible for your kidnapping and subsequent near death experience, then," states Steve as he stands up and heads to the door.
"What? Yeah, his ninja assassin leader implied as much anyways—Steve, where are you going, come baaaaaack!" But Steve only opens the door, sticks his head out for a moment, then returns to Tony's bedside.
"Ninja assassin leader? Tony, you have to stop watching bad movies with Clint before you come to bed." Steve's tone is playful. He reaches down to clasp Tony's hand again. Before Tony can protest (his choice in movies is awesome, thank you), a doctor walks into the room, followed closely by Natasha.
"Hello, Mr. Stark, very glad to see you're awake," the doctor says calmly, ignoring the two other Avengers in the room like he treated living, breathing superheroes on a daily basis.
"I know you're going to ask when you can leave, and I assure you I'll do my best to help you as quickly as possible, but I think it would be best to run a few more tests just in case," the doctor continues, flipping some pages on the chart he's holding in his hands and pausing to make a few notes.
Steve speaks up before Tony can make any snide comments. "That's fine, doctor, whatever you think is best. Isn't that right, Tony?"
The look that is leveled his way promises consequences at home if he doesn't cooperate, so Tony shrugs, purses his lips in a way he knows makes him look like his mother, and mutters an agreement.
"Alright then, a nurse should be by in a little while to take you where you need to go." The doctor smiles briefly then swiftly exits the room. There's a moment of silence.
"That doctor is having a panic attack in the corridor right now," Natasha says dryly, leaning against the wall.
Tony's mouth curls in a sarcastic grin and he leans back against the pillows. "Some people just can't handle the animal magnetism."
Natasha merely raises an eyebrow, not deigning to comment on how obviously untrue she finds that statement to be.
"I'm only here to follow up for S.H.I.E.L.D.. We did manage to detain a few of the culprits, but all intel suggests they're merely thugs for hire and have no information on the person responsible for your kidnapping."
Tony translates "detain" to "holding unwillingly in a cell" and "intel" to "extremely persuasive interrogation". He raises his own eyebrow in return.
"It was definitely Justin Hammer. The ninja assassin leader—who's super creepy looking, by the way, huge scar running diagonally across his face, can't miss him—he was well-supplied by his 'benefactor' with equipment close enough to StarkTek that it could only be Hammer. And now he has an arc reactor powered by vibranium," Tony says flatly.
Natasha sighs and pushes away from the wall. "Director Fury suspected as much, but since you've officially confirmed it, we can now start publicly looking for him and his associates. Pepper's on her way with your backup reactor; ETA puts her at ten minutes, tops. If you think of anything else S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to know, give me a call. Otherwise, I'll see you back at the Mansion."
With that less than encouraging statement, she leaves Steve and Tony alone.
"So, ten minutes to kill until Pep gets here; whatever will we do?" Tony waggles his eyebrows at Steve enticingly. Cracking his first smile since Tony awoke, Steve leans forward to press his lips firmly to Tony's.
The kiss is soft at first, reassuring, lips barely touching and breathing each other in. Tony nips his way to the corner of Steve's mouth, briefly tongues it, then swipes across Steve's lower lip invitingly.
Releasing a breath through his nose, Steve cups the back of Tony's head, burying his fingers in his hair, before slanting his lips firmly across Tony's. He opens his mouth immediately, giving Steve access to re-map his mouth, touch familiar places and comfort each other with the knowledge that Tony is fine, is going to be fine.
Of all the parts of Steve's rather perfect body, Tony loves his mouth the most. People say you can read a person's expression in their eyes. Tony reads Steve's in his mouth—the way he purses them when he's trying not to laugh, the flat line of anger or irritation, swollen from kissing Tony breathless.
They look that way now when they pull apart. Steve rests his forehead against Tony's, eyes closed and still cupping the back of Tony's head. Tony can't tear his eyes away from Steve's mouth. His hands are fisted in the sheets. They breathe silently together for a moment.
Someone clears their throat from the doorway. Steve pulls away and sits in the chair next to the bed but reaches down to twine their fingers together. Tony already misses his warmth. He slants a look at the doorway. Pepper stands there, relief spreading across her face, a small black briefcase handcuffed to her right wrist.
"Tony, thank god," she says, moving forward to set the briefcase on the bed. She casts a look of apology at Steve first, then Tony. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to get this to you as quickly as possible." With that, she unlocks the handcuffs, opens the briefcase, and reveals Tony's spare arc reactor, glowing a reassuring white-blue. Tony's sigh is almost lustful.
"Tony, I really think you should wait until—Tony!" Ignoring Steve's admonishment, Tony reaches for the cable hooked up to his reactor chamber. The flimsy hospital gown is cut into a neat circle around it; someone in the hospital has been watching too many Iron Man cartoons.
Alarms start going off next to him and his heart immediately starts to pound harder but Tony deliberately ignores both and picks up the arc reactor. By the time he slots it in and calmly locks it into place, nurses have come running. He waves them off. Steve is sitting next to him with his face in his hands and Pepper is wearing a long-suffering expression.
His doctor rushes into the room at that moment. "Mr. Stark, what in the world—"
Tony cuts him off. "I'm fine, just putting in my new ticker, nothing to worry about, see?" He raps his knuckles against the glowing reactor in front of the gaping room.
Shrugging, he looks at his doctor to demand his clothes and release papers, but Steve cuts him off. "No, Tony. You're going to stay here and let the nurses run those tests on you. We're not leaving until I'm sure you're in perfect health." Steve's glare dares him to object.
For once in his life, Tony wisely shuts up.
Next to him, Pepper huffs a laugh. “Tony, never change. I'm afraid the world would stop turning if you do,” she says fondly, closing the briefcase and placing it on the floor next to her. Tony grins in response.
“You know me, Pep; always willing to go that extra mile,” he replies.
“I'm just glad you're ok. Being kidnapped by terrorists once in a lifetime is enough for anyone. Two times is just pushing your luck, don't you think?” Pepper asks, mouth curved in a crooked smile. Tony knows that crooked smile like the back of his hand. She wants to cry but isn't going to do it in front of him.
“It was ninja assassins, Pepper, get it right,” corrects Tony, his own grin shrinking to match her crooked one.
“Speaking of ninja assassins, Tony,” Steve says from his left. Tony glances over, eyebrows raised in silent question.
“What exactly is a tall, dark, and creepy motherfucker?”