Missing scene: "Is this the first time you lost a soldier?"

It started, as a lot of things in Tony Stark's life started, with a near-death experience.

Alright, so maybe he was being a little dramatic – it would have hurt a bitch if those turbines had kept grinding at his suit, but really it would have taken a lot longer than the few seconds he was stuck in that spinning wheel of death to do too much damage – the real danger would have been, once he'd gotten out, staying afloat.

But of course Steve – good, old old, try-to-be-the-classic-hero Steve, had managed to pull the stupid lever in time. And not a second too soon.

Tony had flown back, only to find the idiot being shot at. Could no one take care of themselves without him? Tackling the guy had taken care of him, and then the suit had needed to power down. Wished he could power down, too, like the machine, but unfortunately his aches and sore muscles stopped him from doing that. Hadn't stopped him closing his eyes and letting himself rest for a moment.

Until suddenly a panicked voice broke through his suit and the face was being ripped off. Then those stupidly grey eyes and that stupid face was looking down at him with an expression of almost endearing concern.


"Stark? You okay in there?"

Son of a bitch wasn't gonna let him just have a cat nap? He needed his beauty sleep. Goddamnit. Tony groaned, closing his eyes for a moment again, before he shoved himself up so he was sitting, braced back with one hand flat against the floor.

"Just peachy," he grunted, rubbing at his head through the helmet and no matter how many times he discovered that that did nothing, he was always gonna do it and shut up anyone who told him otherwise. "Took you long enough. I could'a gotten shre-."

He was cut off, then, as that stupid face came particularly close, and then suddenly there was a mouth over his. Warm, harsh, pressure at the soft silicone at the back of his neck where fingers were digging in and a gentle bite to his lower lip to force his mouth open. Stupid grey eyes closed and for a moment they were frozen like that.

And then it was over, the Captain was pulling away, breathing hard, and Tony found himself for the first time in a while lost for words.

Then he found them again; "Well, that's a new way to celebrate," he said. "Lucky 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' was repealed."

The Captain blinked those stupidly grey eyes at him, brow furrowing, and tilted his head. There was just a little extra redness around his mouth, now – that tiny pressure enough to burst the blood vessels inside and make his lip swell, complimenting the light blush on his cheeks – and his hair flopped forward out of the perfectly, stupidly gelled coif.

"What?" he asked.

Tony shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. And that was that.

Because Loki was free, Thor was gone, the Hulk was turning into a comet, and they had bigger things to think about than a weird adrenaline-fueled kiss.

They heard over the intercom that Coulson had died.

Kind of made Tony wish he was still making out with that stupid, heroic Captain and not listening to that news. But whatever.

Steve found him in the detention room. That empty cage, or at least, the empty place where it should have been, seemed like a sound – a thunderous roar of nothingness where there should be a taunt, a villain caged.


"Was he married?"

Stupid way to break the ice. So mundane. Like Tony cared. He didn't. Not even a little bit.

"No," he replied, looking down. "There was a…cellist. In Portland."

The Captain made a non-committal noise, and Tony could just see him – arms folded, muscles stupidly obvious beneath the tight stretch of his blue uniform. Made his eyes even grayer than when he wore regular clothes. Leg cocked across his other one, ankles crossed, looking down, hair flopping forward again like it would if he tilted his head forward enough. Did he even gel his hair or….?

Not important.

"Shame. He was a good man."


That was fucking it.

"He was an idiot," Tony bit out, turning towards the soldier and walking down the steps towards the other man. Lips turned down, brow furrowed – Steve was annoyed. Angry. Maybe it was a faux pas to speak ill of the dead. Whatever.

The Captain snorted, head jerking back, meeting Tony stride for stride. "He was doing his job."

"For taking Loki alone, he was out of his league."

A touch on his arm halted Tony as he was going to brush past the Captain – snarky comment, then leave. Simple. Stupid, grey-blue eyes caught and held his, a touch on his arm tight, unyielding, firm. A flash of teeth as the Captain bit his lip – still reddened, still swollen. Had Tony bitten him? He didn't remember biting him. "Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?"

He snarled, wrenching his arm away from that stupid, warm grip, turned towards Steve with a flash in his eyes. "We. Are not. Soldiers," he hissed, baring his teeth and the Captain turned, met him, pressing too close. The safety rails, bright yellow amidst the grey, pressed against the small of Tony's back and the backs of his knees as Steve pressed forward, pressed on, too close, why can Tony hear his breathing? Shouldn't be able to do that. Shouldn't want to touch – shouldn't be dragging his fingertips across the line of Steve's chest, to the slight divot between his stupidly defined pecs. Shouldn't do any of that.


Steve pressed closer again, one hand coming up, threading through the soft, fine hair feathering the back of Tony's neck. Felt nicer without the helmet on – not just pressure, but warmth and sensation too. A heartbeat, throbbing against his skull and in his palm.

"I'm not marching to Fury's fife," he said, snapped out simply because he felt like he should before the Captain's mouth was over his again, shutting him up – finally, was exhausting trying to figure out what he should and shouldn't say – and another hand came forward, attached to that stupidly muscular arm, caged him in a shell of blue spandex and it was so weird and so warm at the same time – that this man, this stupid, heroic, idiotic son of a bitch was able to actually say and do stuff that, well, that he could get on board with.

"Neither am I." Finally, something they could agree on. "He's got the same blood on his hands as Loki does." Another kiss, two for two, kissing harder, another bite – him or Steve? Fuck it. Didn't matter. Tony surged forward, fisting his hands in that stupid, soft, gelled hair – not gelled. Huh. Maybe it just fell that way. Made the Captain arch into him, all muscle and warm breath and hard press of his mouth.

"So," Tony murmured when they broke apart for air, the Captain's grey disappearing behind the black of his pupil and he found it hard to think, watching the slide of Steve's lower lip between his teeth. Then, a bite at his neck, the press of a thigh between his legs, "what are we gonna do about it?"

"We're -."

Another arch, tease, Tony could feel Steve's hard cock – not that the spandex hid anything – between his legs. Made him kind of want to spread them. Would have if he wasn't Tony Stark – didn't just spread his legs for any pretty boy soldier who kissed like that. Was such a stupid, noble son of a bitch it kind of made Tony angry just to look at him.

"We're…?" Said pretty boy soldier seemed to have lost the ability to speak – a soft moan against Tony's neck, and then the mouth was back, hot, claiming, biting into Tony's mouth, hot slide of tongue when Tony felt like he had to breathe. Fuck. Well. That was…

That was pretty damn fantastic, actually.

The scientist growled softly, pulling at the soft, thick hair as it ran through his fingers, arching closer so that one of Steve's thighs provided some nice friction against his own hardening cock. Yeah, he could totally get on board with this. Felt forbidden, wrong, stupid, shouldn't do this but couldn't be assed to care. Never did, why would he now?

"Damn it," Steve gasped out, shifted his grip to Tony's hips and rocked against him hard, and Tony shivered, eyes falling closed, head dropping forward – fuck but that felt really, really good. All odd, dry friction of jeans and cotton and spandex and –

Did Captain America wear underwear?

To-Do List: Find Out.

One hand dragged down, nails digging into Steve's back, dragging the material down, palmed at the rounded flesh of ass, dug in tight. Swore he heard a rip before Steve swore again, fucking forward, went still. Suddenly all that dry friction felt very warm and very wet.

Made him laugh. "Seventy years will do that to a guy, huh?" he quipped, smirking wide, Steve breathing hard still against his neck. The hands at his hips gripped harder, too hard almost – bruising, will leave marks and Tony grunted, arching his hips up to try and escape the super-soldier's strong grip – suddenly it was soft, thumbs stroking an apology against the spurs of the billionaire's hips.

"Shut up," Steve muttered, pulled back, bit one more kiss to Tony's mouth. He rested his forehead against Tony's, both of them still breathing hard, Tony still gripping tight to try and get some friction for his own unsatisfied arousal. "We have work to do." Another pull, another kiss, and then he was shoving himself away, no longer warm and there and for a moment all Tony could do was blink at his back.

"Just gonna leave a guy hangin'?" he demanded, reaching back, wrapping fingers around the ugly yellow bar, trying to keep himself upright.

The Captain smirked wide, turned around, splayed his arms wide as he walked away. Didn't even care about the wet patch staining the front of his suit, slowly soaking through, or the small hole where Tony's nails had dug too hard, or the muss of hair that now replaced his usually oh-so-perfect do.

Stupid asshole. Stupid grey-eyed idiotic hero with that nice smile and soft hair and -.

"Was hoping you'd join me," Steve said, snapping Tony out of his thoughts. "Last night on Earth and all that."

"You have a plan?"

"No." He shook his head, smirk still there, so infuriating and smug and – fuck it, Tony was gonna write it off his stupid face if he kept doing that. "But you do."

"How do you know I do?"

"Because you're Tony Stark."

It was spoken with sarcasm, almost derisive, but there was enough admiration, enough want, to stroke Tony's ego that he didn't feel too bad about shoving himself away from that rail and going (no, he did not run, did not hurry, was totally calm) towards the other man. When Steve backed away, smile sharpening, eyes darkening, Tony followed.

Maybe this following thing wasn't such a bad idea.

For stupid pretty boy soldiers, anyway.