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areiton · 2 years

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the interlude - mistakes we never made

I was asked for this scene from mistakes we never made so--have some smut.

~*~

Walking through the Tower feels strange--it hasn’t been home in over a decade, since Ultron. Tony winces a little, shying away from that thought. Ultron is when everything went wrong, when the fragile thing building shattered, and it took--

He shakes his head, pushes the thoughts aside.

They rebuilt. The trust that was broken, that fractured and crumpled under the lies and secrets and choices--they rebuilt all of that.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is for the future, for Steve and Peter and everyone they lost.

Today.

He thinks of Stark, upstairs in Steve’s arms, how young and hopeful they looked.

And pushes open the guest bedroom door.

Anthony is sitting on the floor, surrounded by the dissembled pieces of a cleaning bot.

“Think you’ll piss us off, if you keep destroying our tech,” he says mildly and Anthony flicks a look at him, assessing and blatantly hungry.

Steve wasn’t the only one who had a thing for older men.

“Wanna give me something better to do?” Anthony asks, and Tony smirks.

~*~

Kissing Anthony is surreal.

Because he hasn’t kissed anyone but Steve in over three years, and he knows how Steve kisses, deep and drugging and familiar.

Anthony is messy and eager, impatient for it, his hands shifting restlessly on Tony’s shoulders, licking into his mouth, and making muffled little noises into the kiss.

Eager little brat, Tony thinks, when long skinny fingers graze his cock.

“Slow down, baby,” he murmurs, pulling back a little.

“Don’t wanna,” Anthony pants, writhing against him and Tony tips his head to study the boy.

“Alright, Anthony,” he says, and goes to his knees. “We’re gonna take the edge off.”

Anthony whines, high and wordless, a noise that makes Tony grin as he works the boy’s jeans open and peels them down.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking in his cock. It’s not terribly long, but it’s thick, it’ll make his jaw ache and his belly clenches. “Look into panties, hmm? Cuts down on the chafing, never leaves a panty line, and I promise the results will be well worth the money you spend.”

Steve, after all, adored his panties.

He’d told Steve. Of course he told Steve, what he was doing and why. He’d seen the way Steve’s eyes gleamed, thoughtful and turned on.

This was for him, after all.

But maybe.

Maybe it was for him too.

“Tony?” Anthony asks, a little bit hesitant and Tony hates that note in his voice, hate the world that hurt him and hurt him and hurt him.

“Shh, baby,” he whispers and Anthony shivers, a full body thing, before Tony takes his cock in his mouth.

It’s salty and wet, thick between Tony’s lips, and Anthony moans, loud and whorish, and thrusts a little, a helpless little motion that makes Tony’s cock harden a little.

“Sorry,” Anthony pants, fingers flexing restlessly in his hair and Tony pulls off with a wet pop.

“Kid, I promise, if you like it, I do. Stop apologizing and let yourself have this.”

Anthony’s face does something then, complicated and assessing and then he nods once and Tony grins.

When he takes Anthony’s cock in his mouth this time, it’s slower, teasing, licking at the wet head and sliding down slow, and he waits, barely breathing until--

Anthony’s fingers curl in his hair, tight and he thrusts deep, choking Tony for a moment, groaning as he does.

It’s a two part harmony, Tony’s fingers clenching on his ass as Anthony fucks his mouth.

It doesn’t take long. He’s a kid, after all, desperate and eager, and he’s fucking himself, after all.

Tony can feel it happen, the tiny stutter in Anthony’s thrusts, the way his fingers go almost cruelly tight, the way his cock swells a little, before he grunts, going almost silent as he comes.

It’s salty and bitter and delicious, and Tony swallows around him, wrings a moan from Anthony as he licks him meticulously clean, and then stands.

When they kiss this time, it’s different--messy and eager still, but calmer, too, Anthony licking into his mouth curiously and groaning at the taste of himself, and Tony lets him, lets him take what he wants, lets him push Tony back until he’s sprawled on the bed and Anthony is pawing at his clothes.

He’s hard, harder than he thought he’d be and Anthony giggles when he rocks against Tony and earns a hiss. “You keep acting like you’ve done everything, seen everything, but you’re not so different from us,” he teases. “Still turned on at the idea of fucking ourself.”

Tony smirks at him. “Well, we’re really hot, kid.”

It earns a shudder and Tony grins, delighted.

Steve isn’t the only one who has a thing for older men, after all.

Anthony is rocking against him, insistent now, and Tony catches his hips.

“How bout you let me open you up and fuck you, huh, baby boy?”

Anthony stares at him, eyes wide and hungry and Tony smiles, leans up to kiss him, gently. “Come on. You love being fucked.”

He does.

He always loved being fucked, being spread out and taken care of, worked open on thick fingers and, when he was very lucky, rimmed until he was loose and open.

He stopped that though, after Ty, after he realized how vulnerable it made him. Stuck to blow jobs and handies, and never asked for it, never begged for it the way he wanted.

“Lemme give you this,” he coaxes, and Anthony bites his lip, but he nods, a slow thing.

Tony kisses him again, and smiles, watching his eyes go dazed for a moment. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

~*~

He takes his time.

He’s allowed to take his time, they have hours.

And he likes it, likes Anthony face down in the sheets, clawing at the pillows and begging as Tony licks him open. He comes like that, rutting against the bed and muffling his screams as Tony opens him on his finger and tongue, and Tony is absurdly grateful for the cock ring Steve fitted on him before he left, because the feel of Anthony’s tight little hole fluttering and clenching around his tongue--

“Please,” he slurs, slumped against the bed, “please, please, you have to, I need it.”

Tony kisses the curve of his ass, bites down to hear him whine, and grins. “Need what, darling?”

“Fuck me,” Anthony begs. “Please, you promised.”

He sounds strung out and needy, almost near tears and Tony crawls up over him, rocks against his ass as Anthony shivers and sobs.

“I did. I promised. You were so good for me too, baby, I made you wait and you’ve been so patient.”

Anthony gasps, almost noiseless, desperate and wanting and then--

Tony shifts and slides into him, into the warm wet place he made for himself and Anthony screams, pushes back into the thrust as Tony groans, “Fuck, baby boy.”

“More,” Anthony demands, breahtlessly and Tony--

Tony grips his hips, hard, the way Steve does, drags him up, manhandles the little twink because he can, because Anthony wants it, and then he fucks him. Hard, unrelenting thrusts, slamming into his prostate until Anthony is limp and shaking like a ragdoll with each thrust, a constant whine in his throat, and Tony yanks him up, a hand on his throat to drag his head around and licks that keen from his lips, sucks on his tongue while he jacks Anthony off.

They come like that. One hand on Anthony’s cock, and the other on his throat, brusises and bites littered across his chest, that pretty young face tilted back and surrendering to Tony.

It’s filthy.

It’s gorgeous.

It’s everything he thinks Steve wanted.

~*~

Later, after Tony has licked Anthony clean and fucked him again, plugged him up, when they’re lying in bed, and Anthony is almost asleep, he asks. “Why did you bring me here? It--you came back to warn him, not me.”

“I did,” Tony says, and turns to the boy in his arms.

He has so far to go. So much to live through, and it will hurt.

“You need to know you’ll make it. Here. To where he is. And where I am. It’s never going to be easy. I can’t take that from you, can’t warn you, the way I did him. To become the man you are--you have to live through hell, sweetheart.”

His eyes are wide, almost afraid. Tony takes a breath. “There’s a man out there, waiting for you. And you will love him more than life itself, and he’ll be worth that love. There’s a boy out there, who needs you. Your son. The next few years, you’re gonna want to drink, gonna want to hide and break. I want you to know--you’re so much stronger than you believe. Stronger than Howard ever gave you credit for. And I love you.”

Anthony inhales, shaky. “I’m a mess.”

“Mmmm, that never changes, darling.”

He laughs, wet and buries his head against Tony’s chest. “I’m scared,” he whispers.

“I know,” Tony says.

That’s all.

There’s nothing else to say. He tightens his grip on the boy, though, and they cling to each other in the dark, until they’re gone.

#arei writes fic #nsfk #stevetony #except mostly #tony/tony #twink tony #silver fox tony

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sayahs-corner · 9 months

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You Live Like This?

Rating: E

Pairing: STONY

Summary:

Mob-AU in which Steve Rogers in the head of the organized crime ring known as the Avengers. They rule New York with an iron fist and a take-no-prisoners attitude. Howard Stark has been getting in his way, bungling his deals, and selling SI weapons on the black market to the Avenger's enemies. Not to mention he is actively helping the police track down and capture his people. Steve can't let that stand. What better way to get back at man then to capture his only son? Tony is out of the frying pan and into the fire. Living under an alias in a rundown apartment in Brooklyn, it's been a little over a month since he escaped out from beneath the press of his father's thumb. Disowned for the crime of being gay, Tony has been flying under the radar and trying to keep a low profile. That is, until he is captured by his father's enemies. They want their money back, and someone is going to pay. Tony knows it won't be Howard.

Tags/Warnings: Rape/Non-con Elements, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Twink Tony Stark, Angst, Whump, Beating, Non-Consensual Bondage, Blackmail, Humiliation, Face-Fucking, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia

@stonyauniverse

Chapter 1: Chapter One

Chapter Text

Tony stood in the doorway to his new apartment, tired whiskey eyes drinking in the sight of the amber afternoon light streaming in through the windows and dancing across the well worn parquet floors. It cast dancing shadows against the white, pock-marked, walls and across the freshly painted white kitchen cabinets. It was a studio apartment, small by most standards - Tony was actually sure one of his old closets had been bigger than this place - but it was solely his. Or, rather, it was Anton Valentino’s apartment. His new and improved alias. He shifted the small box on his hip with one hand, fingertips indenting the warped cardboard, while the other hand curled protectively around a small and rather sad looking potted fern whom Tony had named Geoff. It looked like Geoff had definitely seen better days, but then to be fair, so had Tony.

The last couple of weeks had been nothing but a series of rather unfortunate events, starting with his father catching him in flagrante delicto with Chuck, the pool boy. Well, considering that Chuck was actually thirty six to Tony’s mere twenty two, he supposed it was safe to say that his father had caught him fucking the pool man. And if he wanted to go a step further he’d suppose that, technically, he had gotten caught getting fucked by the pool man. Semantics. What could he say? He had some pretty severe Daddy issues that he was doing his damndest to work through. With sex.

Sex with older men.

Okay, so he wasn't doing jack-all to work through any perceived traumas. Daddy or otherwise. Old, young, it didn't matter. Tony just liked men.

Which, you know, was kind of a major faux pas in the Stark household. He had been able to see the vein in his father’s forehead pulsing clearly enough that he was able to gauge the old man’s heart rate. So when dear-old-dad had exploded in a fit of rage, Tony had not been surprised. His tongue darted out to wet his still sore lower lip from the backhand that had sent him sprawling to the floor. Howard had stood there, murder in his eyes, and called him all sorts of homophobic slurs before disowning his only child.

Tony rolled his eyes. How trite. Being disowned over his choice of bedpartners? Gag.

How pedestrian.

Someone call the 90’s and tell them they’re missing their textbook homophobic father-figure. The old man had even dragged out the whole “No son of mine” speech before throwing his ass out of the house with nothing but the clothes on his back.

As a teenager, and then later as a young adult, Tony had run the gamut of rebellious behavior aimed toward getting Howard to do just that. With all the underage drinking, drugs, and generalized assholery, Tony had not once ever considered that it would be his sexuality that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He wasn’t complaining.

Not by a long shot.

His mother’s death ten years ago had changed his father irrevocably, turned him into some sort of control freak. Only, this particular control freak was in charge of a multi-million dollar company with endless power and money at his fingertips. Especially when he was using Tony’s original designs and formulas to turn more of a profit. Tony had been working, under the table, for his father since the time he was knee high. There weren't many pies at Stark Industries that Tony had not dipped his finger into at one point or another. Howard had been fine with that once, encouraged it even, as one day the company would fall to Tony. The heir. The golden goose who just kept laying. So Tony’s every minute of every day had been micromanaged to the nth degree.

If he had known that all it would take for his father to loosen the leash he had wrapped around Tony’s neck like a noose was to be caught in the act of sexual congress with another man then…

Well…

It didn't matter. Tony shook the thought away, lips compressing into a thin line before he stepped fully into his new home. He pinched off that spark of hurt, ground it out, refused to feel it or acknowledge it. He had a new lease on life, a chance to actually do what he wanted, to prove that he didn't need dear-old-dad or his wealth to make it in this world. How many nights had he sat up, staring at his vaulted ceiling, and dreamed of having the opportunity to do just that?

He was going to win, prove them all wrong. He didn't need his father’s name, or his vast wealth, to make it in this world on his own. He was freakishly smart, with a photographic memory and an eye for detail. His ideas were good ones, no matter what Howard said to the contrary. He was so sick of people telling him who and what he could be. Telling him his worth.

For the first time in his life he was going to be allowed to determine that on his own. He was excited at the prospect. He knew his father thought that Tony would come back eventually, tail tucked between his legs, begging for his chance to be welcomed back into the family fold.

That was never, ever, going to happen. There was no forcing the rainbow colored skeleton back into the proverbial closet. Tony wasn't going to give up who he was to pander to his father. He was done with all of that, and free for the very first time in his entire life.

Sort of.

Certified genius that he was, Tony was going to have to pump the brakes on the whole tech-savant thing. He knew that once his father calmed down he was going to realize just how much Stark Industries depended on Tony. He was, afterall, most of the R&D department. Once that happened it was going to be a matter of time before the old man started to keep tabs on him. Tried to manage him again. The last thing he needed to do was start making waves.

Hell, it had only been three days after Howard had kicked him out that Jarvis had pinged him, letting him know that the old man was looking for him - not with any real urgency, not yet. But the old man was putting feelers out there to see what cropped up. Jarvis was his new personal AI, named after the family butler who was more a father figure to him than his actual father, and although it was still a work in progress, he was far more advanced than any other AI that Stark Industries had to offer. Or anyone else, for that matter.

It was a matter of a few swift keystrokes to send his father looking westward, toward California to be exact. With the help of his AI he was able to plant a trail of false breadcrumbs, pointing Howard’s security team toward the opposite side of the country. If they ever did go looking for him, it would take weeks before they figured out that Tony wasn't where he was supposed to be.

No, he was right under his father’s nose. He had never left New York, and he had no plans to either. It was the last place Howard would come looking for him. Most people would run, if given the chance, to try to put as much distance between themselves and Howard Stark’s empire. Tony wasn't so naive. He knew exactly just how far his father’s reach extended and Oceans apart wouldn't be far enough to escape that megalomaniac’s grasp. No, it was better to hide where he’d least expect it.

Instead he had taken on an alias, Anton Valentino, and over the past couple of weeks had managed to beg barter and steal enough cash to get him a deposit on the cheapest apartment he could find. It hadn’t been easy. He already had an interview lined up at the cafe three blocks over. His plan, for now, was to keep his head low and just… live his life.

Talk to strangers. Make mistakes. Have fun. Maybe, hopefully, make some friends.

He was finally going to get to live life on his own terms. He couldn't wait.

Nudging the door closed with his foot, Tony took a deep breath before a broad, unadulterated, smile broke out across his face.

This…this was going to be great.

________________________________

One Month Later…

This fucking sucked.

Tony fought off another jaw cracking yawn, his hands automatically going through the motions of wiping down the front counter of Bea’s Beanz. It was nearing eight o’clock at night, and Tony had arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed at about five am that morning to help open. The closer had never showed up, leaving Tony to pick up the slack. Again. Taylor was officially on his shit list. No sob story was going to cut it this time. Tony had barely been there for a month and he’d already had to cover for Taylor at least three times this week alone. Not that he couldn't use the extra hours, if he was being honest. Making a living in New York was exhausting when his options were so limited. The first week he had sold plasma twice so that he could actually afford to feed himself. Right now his diet consisted of ramen noodles, rice and beans, and free espresso which was miles away from the caviar and steak dinners he was used to.

But he liked his new job. Loved the smell of fresh ground beans, the scent of espresso wafting in the air. He liked that he was busy, that it was one face after the other, all perfectly unique in their own way. He liked making small talk, getting to know the people in his neighborhood, and making his customer’s laugh and blush. Especially the old ladies. Tony was a hopeless flirt, a natural born charmer, and often used that to his advantage. Even Bert, the owner, had mentioned that the tip cup seemed to fill up faster when Tony was working the register.

Working with Bert was great. Tony got to manage the counter, flirt shamelessly, and make money while doing it. At the end of his shift he got to keep all the tips - Bert never took any. With anyone else he’d have to split those tips, and potentially lose face time with some of the hot college boys and blue collar workers that rolled through the cafe.

He even had a couple of dates set up for later this week. Not that he was actually interested in the sex. If he were being honest, Tony was just looking for a meal that wasn’t rice and beans or maruchan beef ramen. If that made him a bit of a user? Well, color him shamelessly guilty then. It was well worth it, in Tony’s opinion. And it wasn’t as if he was going to dine and dash. Tony was a great conversationalist. People enjoyed talking to him as much as they enjoyed his flirtatious banter. There was no way anyone was going to leave a date with him and say they had a terrible time.

Not possible.

Making people feel good made him feel good. And hey, it just so happened that he made a mean cup of coffee. It had not taken him very long at all to master the art of coffee making. He was, afterall, a genius with a photographic memory. His latte art was, admittedly, going to take some practice though.

All and all he seemed to be doing okay. Except, right now, there was nowhere he’d rather be than at home, slurping down some noodles and munching through the three day old pastries that had been slated to be thrown out. Working at a cafe did have its perks. Bert didn't mind if he took home the pastries, happy that at least someone would get to enjoy them.

His gaze flitted over to the clock on the far wall, watching the seconds tick by with a sort of agonizing slowness. He’d already wiped down the tables, swept the floors, cleaned the machines, and restocked for the opening shift. Tomorrow would be his first day off this week, and Tony was planning on spending the majority of it sleeping.

Being poor was exhausting .

He’d have to wake up at some point though, and get ready for his date with Craig, the very nice personal trainer that had asked him out on his first day at the cafe. Big bulky muscles, broad shoulders, and a receding hairline. They were going to meet at the pizza place about a twenty minute walk from Tony’s apartment. It was Craig’s second choice of restaurant, Tony had to veto the nicer Italian place Craig had wanted to go to originally. Too close to his old haunts, and too far to walk. Tony wasn't paying money to uber anywhere. If he couldn't get there by foot, he wasn't going. His lips quirked upward at the thought. He’d become a bit of a stingy penny pincher.

He really didn't have a choice in the matter, though.

He’d gotten an air mattress a few days ago which had sadly depleted most of his funds. It would be a long time before Tony forgot the way his hands had trembled a bit as he counted out the bills. A few months ago he wouldn't even have sneezed at that amount. But he had been able to stumble across a dented, slightly wobbly, folding chair out by the dumpster. He’d get around to fixing the wobble sooner or later, and he’d also been able to slap together a table using broken wood pallets.

Was it pretty? Not by a long shot. Did he have to eat his ramen sitting on the floor? Also, no.

The rest, like a real mattress and dresser, a couch and tv… that would all come in time. There was a second hand shop that he’d stumbled across a few blocks from here that looked promising. Next paycheck Tony would see if he could find something to make his home… more home-ish. Cuz right now? It was actually rather home-ly.

But it didn't matter. Because it was his. Soon he’d fill it with things that sparked his passion, that spoke to him. Books and projects, art and tchotchkes. He didn't exactly have a five year plan lined up right now, but he liked to imagine that he wouldn’t always be in the little flat in Brooklyn. That eventually he’d find his way out from beneath the firm press of his father’s thumb. He wondered what that freedom would look like. What he would do then, completely unfettered, able to pursue whatever dream struck his fancy. He knew whatever it was, it would change the world.

He was Tony Stark, after all.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sharp chime of the door. His eyes flicked again to the clock on the far well. 7:58pm. Tony managed to stifle the sigh that wanted to escape him. It wasn't too long ago that he would have been the type of person to just waltz into an establishment that was mere minutes from closing. He wouldn't have thought anything of it. Just smile, charm, and flash his palladium credit card. Oh, he had always been generous, leaving big tips and big smiles, but for the first time in his life Tony was realizing that he had also been kind of an asshole too.

Perspective was crazy like that.

So he did what countless other service people had done for him over the years. He simply put on a bright smile that didn't quite meet his eyes and a chipper “Good evening gentlemen, what can I get started for you?”

The gentlemen in question did not seem impressed by his cheery customer service if the scowls that marred their faces was anything to go by. There were three of them, all kind of broad of shoulder and a little rangy, dressed mostly in black. Tony wondered if that was an accident, or if they had coordinated their outfits - like some sort of grumpy looking boy band. The thought brought a smirk to his face. One of them hung back by the door, arms crossed over his chest with an irritated look on his face, as if he would rather be anywhere than right here right now. Tony felt his pain.

The two men approaching his counter moved at a steady pace, their faces unsmiling. One was blonde, with short, spiky hair and bright blue eyes. The other had deep brown eyes, and close cropped jet black hair.

“Yeah, I’ll take a salted caramel Latte.” His friend turned to stare at him, rather pointedly, to which blondie simply shrugged.

“I need coffee. I was up all night last night.Judge not lest ye be judged.”

Tony shook his head, his hands already going through the motions of preparing the latte as he listened to the two of them bicker in furtive whispers.

“Can I get anything else started for you guys?”

“No.” Stocky, dark, and handsome spoke up - his voice colored with irritation. “That’s gonna be it.”

“Though, I wouldn't mind a blueberry danish - if you’ve got one left.”

Tony slid the latte across the counter, a smile twitching at his lips. “One blueberry danish, coming up. Looks like you got the last one.”

“Shit this is some real good coffee.”

“For fucks, sake, Clint. What is wrong with you - we have a job to do.”

It was as Tony was bending down in the display case to grab the last blueberry danish that he saw, through the frosted glass of the display case, that which he had missed earlier. He’d blame it on a lot of things. The first being that he was so goddamn tired his eyes were starting to cross. The second that it had been almost two months, and he’d been given no warning of people looking for him through Jarvis. He usually prided himself on his attention to detail, both large and small. He had definitely missed the mark here, though. Both of these guys were packing heat. And the angry one actually had his fingers wrapped around the gun, safety off. It was an SI weapon. One he had designed himself five years ago.

Fuck.

It was him. Tony was the job. Were these his father’s men? They didn't strike him as the type of goons dear old dad usually hired. They weren't starchy enough, for one, and certainly not professional by any stretch of the imagination.

It was a monumental effort to keep a smile on his face as he took the danish out of the case with one hand, and reached for the full carafe of decaf coffee he had brewed only an hour prior. As the two turned away from their bickering, Tony threw the carafe in an arc. He didn't stay to watch as that scalding hot coffee splattered both of them. Nor to see if the danish that he had thrown at the blonde met its target. He was already bolting toward the back room.

You Live Like This? - Chapter 1 - sayah1112 - Marvel [Archive of Our Own]

#stony #tony stark #steve rogers #AU mob #mob boss steve rogers #twink tony stark #stony fanfiction #r1stonyauniverse

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