FIC: Wrong (Tony/Bruce, PG-13)
Title: Wrong
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony/Bruce
Fandom: Avengers (movieverse)
Warning: May be triggery to trans* peeps, contains turned-into-a-girl-and-not-happy-about-it!Tony
A/N: Written for avengerskink for the following prompt (yes, I asked permission to change the pairing):
I was interested in a recent documentary where medical researchers argued that sexuality is almost entirely dependent on hormonal factors and brain chemistry. Whether or not readers agree with this theory aside, I'd like to see something done with the idea.
So Tony is changed into a woman by science experiment gone wrong/magic-user villain of the month/bodyswap with Earth-3490 Natasha Stark. For whatever reason the change is permanent. Tony's initial freakout and subsequent depression are intensified by the revelation that he's now exclusively attracted to men - i.e. where there was previously male-identified Tony in a male body, desiring women; NOW there's male-identified Tony in a female body, desiring men.
Steve wants to be supportive and not add to Tony's freaked-outedness, but is also profoundly romantic and lonely, and well - now his best friend is a beautiful woman.
***
He likes the dark now. In the dark, he can't see himself. He can't see what he has and… what he doesn't. He sits on the floor where the alcohol eventually deposited him, silently staring out at the city. They used to joke that he loved the sound of his own voice; now he can't stand it.
The elevator whooshes open in the stillness, casting a beam of light across the floor behind him in the reflection in the glass. A man-shaped figure stands in the doors. Steps out. Just as softly, the doors shut and the safety of the darkness resumes.
"Toni?" Bruce's voice.
Stark can hear the damned 'i' on the end of the name, the one he's supposed to be getting used to. But he's not. He'd tell him not to call him that, but that would mean speaking, and he's not up to hearing the soft alto of his now-feminine voice.
"Hey," Bruce says, softly. "You okay?"
His footsteps approach across the floor. Stark raises his hand, open flat, palm forward, the generally-recognized silent gesture for "stop." Bruce does, a safe ten or so feet back. Stark can see the vague outline of him still in the reflection on the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Sometimes it seems like Bruce is the only one that can get through to him anymore. Sometimes it seems like Bruce is the only one trying to help him anymore. All the rest have just accepted the Change as permanent and gone on with their lives. He wishes he could imagine Bruce was here to tell him he'd made a breakthrough, that one of the serums had finally worked on the damn mice test models, but no… Bruce is here because the Change killed his alcohol tolerance and Jarvis knows that as much as he's mostly just wanting to sit here and brood, he also quite literally can't get up without falling back down.
A heavy sigh, and then the rustle of clothing as Bruce sits down, too, apparently ready to wait him out.
"So," Bruce says, "A dinosaur attacked San Francisco today."
Stark closes his eyes, feeling the timbre of Bruce's voice like a tremble all the way to the root of his stomach and the tips of his nipples. He never noticed that voice before the Change, how soft and smooth it was.
"It was only a brontosaurus, though… not really a big threat. Black Widow and Hawkeye took care of things on their own. It's off to a zoo now, I guess."
Bruce went on, clearly just talking about whatever he came up with, just to fill the silence. Stark kept his eyes closed and felt the purr of his voice, relaxed into the soothing familiarity and sensuality of it, the way it rolled out words like "Kelvin" and "superconductor."
His mind fills suddenly with the three-dimensional image of Bruce's hands on him, touching him the way his voice does. He shivers. He hasn't had sex, hasn't so much as masturbated since the Change, almost four months ago. He hasn't been able to handle the new ways his body reacts to things… to people. Right now, though, he's suddenly so lonely he could cry, and Bruce's voice, the thought of his hands, is so utterly appealing.
They sit for over an hour. Bruce never stops talking, just keeps up a steady patter about research, life, television shows, anything. Stark could kiss him for that.
Stark could kiss him.
He's seen the way Bruce looks at him, now. Bruce is the only one who hasn't insisted he's a beautiful woman, but he doesn't have to say anything. He looks at him with all the fire Pepper couldn't summon up anymore. All the fire Stark couldn't find for her anymore, either.
He turns around, now facing Bruce through the darkness. Bruce's voice falters, and he goes quiet. Stark can see the city lights glittering on his glasses. He wants to touch him. Wants it badly. He craves broad shoulders under his palms, chest hair slipping around his fingertips.
A cock, hard against him.
He aches inside with an unknown sort of emptiness.
Bruce: beautiful, kind, maddeningly calm.
Stark crawls across the intervening space and sits right in front of him. Bruce doesn't move, just watches him, calm and steady. When Stark leans in, Bruce exhales softly, but doesn't move, doesn't pull away. His lips yield softly under Stark's, and then move, puckering, kissing him back. Everything inside Stark trembles with wanting. He feels like he's been waiting for this for a long time, and he's not a man who's used to deferred pleasure.
Bruce exhales across his damp lips. It sends a shiver down Stark's spine.
"Are you sure, Tony?" he whispers, and this time there's a 'y' at the end, Stark can hear it.
Stark risks speaking. "In the time you've known me, have I ever not been sure?"
Bruces smiles. "No."
They end up sprawled across Tony's bed, kissing, kissing, kissing, and that's good. Great, even. Stark's on top and Bruce is running his big, masculine hands up and down his back. Stark can feel him hard against his hip, and it feels familiar if sort of… backwards.
But then--
"Ah, no," Stark says, quickly, "Not there."
Bruce actually startles a little and tips his head back, peering up at Stark with slightly myopic eyes--his glasses have gone MIA somewhere along the way. "Huh?"
"Not the… chest region," Stark clarifies. "Or, come to think of it, the between-the-legs region either."
Bruce blinks, obviously trying to figure out how one has sex without touching the major erogenous zones.
"Just work with me, here," Stark says.
And Bruce says, "Okay," so quietly and calmly it makes Stark twitch in a place he's not supposed to have. Which is both good and also bad.
Then they're back to kissing, which is definitely good.
So good it becomes bad, in fact, because Stark goes to rub himself against Bruce, thinking about fucking Bruce, and it abruptly becomes obvious all over again that he now has no cock to rub with.
"Shit." He rolls off of Bruce and flops onto his back, which is a bad move, because he ends up staring at himself--herself--in the mirror on the ceiling that had always seemed like such a good idea until this exact moment when all he can see is breasts and curves and how incredibly tiny he is next to Bruce. He can feel wetness in the folds of the labia he shouldn't have, but he can't feel anything hard down there, even though theoretically the clitoris is some relative of the penis.
Bruce gets up on his side beside him and carefully places a hand on his stomach. "Hey," he says. "Talk to me."
But Stark can't stand to hear that voice again, so he just shakes his head. Suddenly there are tears stinging his eyes, and that adds insult to injury, just another moment of what he right then interprets as femininity.
"How about we just cuddle?" Bruce suggests.
Stark closes his eyes, angry and frustrated and turned on and confused. That's not what he wants. What he wants is to fuck. What he wants is to feel Bruce's hands on his smooth chest, Bruce's mouth on his cock. What he wants is impossible, because if he was how he was meant to be, Bruce wouldn't want him, and he wouldn't want Bruce.
"You know," Bruce says, uncannily reading his mind, "You could always start taking hormones. Get surgery."
Stark sniffs and shakes his head. It wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same. Surgeries don't exist that can give him the fully-functioning body he once had. Even with all his money, all his power, all his intelligence, he can't have that.
Bruce leans in and kisses his cheek. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I can't fix you. I wish I could."
Stark turns his head to look him in the eye. Do you?
"Wanna know a secret?" Bruce continues. He rubs Stark's stomach gently. "I--I miss how you were, too. I wanted you then, too. Did you?"
Stark pauses, then shakes his head. No. Not at all. He'd loved Bruce as a friend and fellow genius, but that had been all.
"Huh," Bruce says, suddenly getting a science-y gleam in his eyes that in spite of everything makes Stark smile. "So you're saying your sexual orientation switched, too? That's fascinating."
He kisses Bruce, just because Bruce is so Bruce.
Bruce smiles at him, strokes his cheek. Kisses him. "Hang in there, Tony. We'll fix this. I promise."
Then they cuddle, which turns out to be really nice after all.
---
End
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony/Bruce
Fandom: Avengers (movieverse)
Warning: May be triggery to trans* peeps, contains turned-into-a-girl-and-not-happy-about-it!Tony
A/N: Written for avengerskink for the following prompt (yes, I asked permission to change the pairing):
I was interested in a recent documentary where medical researchers argued that sexuality is almost entirely dependent on hormonal factors and brain chemistry. Whether or not readers agree with this theory aside, I'd like to see something done with the idea.
So Tony is changed into a woman by science experiment gone wrong/magic-user villain of the month/bodyswap with Earth-3490 Natasha Stark. For whatever reason the change is permanent. Tony's initial freakout and subsequent depression are intensified by the revelation that he's now exclusively attracted to men - i.e. where there was previously male-identified Tony in a male body, desiring women; NOW there's male-identified Tony in a female body, desiring men.
Steve wants to be supportive and not add to Tony's freaked-outedness, but is also profoundly romantic and lonely, and well - now his best friend is a beautiful woman.
***
He likes the dark now. In the dark, he can't see himself. He can't see what he has and… what he doesn't. He sits on the floor where the alcohol eventually deposited him, silently staring out at the city. They used to joke that he loved the sound of his own voice; now he can't stand it.
The elevator whooshes open in the stillness, casting a beam of light across the floor behind him in the reflection in the glass. A man-shaped figure stands in the doors. Steps out. Just as softly, the doors shut and the safety of the darkness resumes.
"Toni?" Bruce's voice.
Stark can hear the damned 'i' on the end of the name, the one he's supposed to be getting used to. But he's not. He'd tell him not to call him that, but that would mean speaking, and he's not up to hearing the soft alto of his now-feminine voice.
"Hey," Bruce says, softly. "You okay?"
His footsteps approach across the floor. Stark raises his hand, open flat, palm forward, the generally-recognized silent gesture for "stop." Bruce does, a safe ten or so feet back. Stark can see the vague outline of him still in the reflection on the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Sometimes it seems like Bruce is the only one that can get through to him anymore. Sometimes it seems like Bruce is the only one trying to help him anymore. All the rest have just accepted the Change as permanent and gone on with their lives. He wishes he could imagine Bruce was here to tell him he'd made a breakthrough, that one of the serums had finally worked on the damn mice test models, but no… Bruce is here because the Change killed his alcohol tolerance and Jarvis knows that as much as he's mostly just wanting to sit here and brood, he also quite literally can't get up without falling back down.
A heavy sigh, and then the rustle of clothing as Bruce sits down, too, apparently ready to wait him out.
"So," Bruce says, "A dinosaur attacked San Francisco today."
Stark closes his eyes, feeling the timbre of Bruce's voice like a tremble all the way to the root of his stomach and the tips of his nipples. He never noticed that voice before the Change, how soft and smooth it was.
"It was only a brontosaurus, though… not really a big threat. Black Widow and Hawkeye took care of things on their own. It's off to a zoo now, I guess."
Bruce went on, clearly just talking about whatever he came up with, just to fill the silence. Stark kept his eyes closed and felt the purr of his voice, relaxed into the soothing familiarity and sensuality of it, the way it rolled out words like "Kelvin" and "superconductor."
His mind fills suddenly with the three-dimensional image of Bruce's hands on him, touching him the way his voice does. He shivers. He hasn't had sex, hasn't so much as masturbated since the Change, almost four months ago. He hasn't been able to handle the new ways his body reacts to things… to people. Right now, though, he's suddenly so lonely he could cry, and Bruce's voice, the thought of his hands, is so utterly appealing.
They sit for over an hour. Bruce never stops talking, just keeps up a steady patter about research, life, television shows, anything. Stark could kiss him for that.
Stark could kiss him.
He's seen the way Bruce looks at him, now. Bruce is the only one who hasn't insisted he's a beautiful woman, but he doesn't have to say anything. He looks at him with all the fire Pepper couldn't summon up anymore. All the fire Stark couldn't find for her anymore, either.
He turns around, now facing Bruce through the darkness. Bruce's voice falters, and he goes quiet. Stark can see the city lights glittering on his glasses. He wants to touch him. Wants it badly. He craves broad shoulders under his palms, chest hair slipping around his fingertips.
A cock, hard against him.
He aches inside with an unknown sort of emptiness.
Bruce: beautiful, kind, maddeningly calm.
Stark crawls across the intervening space and sits right in front of him. Bruce doesn't move, just watches him, calm and steady. When Stark leans in, Bruce exhales softly, but doesn't move, doesn't pull away. His lips yield softly under Stark's, and then move, puckering, kissing him back. Everything inside Stark trembles with wanting. He feels like he's been waiting for this for a long time, and he's not a man who's used to deferred pleasure.
Bruce exhales across his damp lips. It sends a shiver down Stark's spine.
"Are you sure, Tony?" he whispers, and this time there's a 'y' at the end, Stark can hear it.
Stark risks speaking. "In the time you've known me, have I ever not been sure?"
Bruces smiles. "No."
They end up sprawled across Tony's bed, kissing, kissing, kissing, and that's good. Great, even. Stark's on top and Bruce is running his big, masculine hands up and down his back. Stark can feel him hard against his hip, and it feels familiar if sort of… backwards.
But then--
"Ah, no," Stark says, quickly, "Not there."
Bruce actually startles a little and tips his head back, peering up at Stark with slightly myopic eyes--his glasses have gone MIA somewhere along the way. "Huh?"
"Not the… chest region," Stark clarifies. "Or, come to think of it, the between-the-legs region either."
Bruce blinks, obviously trying to figure out how one has sex without touching the major erogenous zones.
"Just work with me, here," Stark says.
And Bruce says, "Okay," so quietly and calmly it makes Stark twitch in a place he's not supposed to have. Which is both good and also bad.
Then they're back to kissing, which is definitely good.
So good it becomes bad, in fact, because Stark goes to rub himself against Bruce, thinking about fucking Bruce, and it abruptly becomes obvious all over again that he now has no cock to rub with.
"Shit." He rolls off of Bruce and flops onto his back, which is a bad move, because he ends up staring at himself--herself--in the mirror on the ceiling that had always seemed like such a good idea until this exact moment when all he can see is breasts and curves and how incredibly tiny he is next to Bruce. He can feel wetness in the folds of the labia he shouldn't have, but he can't feel anything hard down there, even though theoretically the clitoris is some relative of the penis.
Bruce gets up on his side beside him and carefully places a hand on his stomach. "Hey," he says. "Talk to me."
But Stark can't stand to hear that voice again, so he just shakes his head. Suddenly there are tears stinging his eyes, and that adds insult to injury, just another moment of what he right then interprets as femininity.
"How about we just cuddle?" Bruce suggests.
Stark closes his eyes, angry and frustrated and turned on and confused. That's not what he wants. What he wants is to fuck. What he wants is to feel Bruce's hands on his smooth chest, Bruce's mouth on his cock. What he wants is impossible, because if he was how he was meant to be, Bruce wouldn't want him, and he wouldn't want Bruce.
"You know," Bruce says, uncannily reading his mind, "You could always start taking hormones. Get surgery."
Stark sniffs and shakes his head. It wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same. Surgeries don't exist that can give him the fully-functioning body he once had. Even with all his money, all his power, all his intelligence, he can't have that.
Bruce leans in and kisses his cheek. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I can't fix you. I wish I could."
Stark turns his head to look him in the eye. Do you?
"Wanna know a secret?" Bruce continues. He rubs Stark's stomach gently. "I--I miss how you were, too. I wanted you then, too. Did you?"
Stark pauses, then shakes his head. No. Not at all. He'd loved Bruce as a friend and fellow genius, but that had been all.
"Huh," Bruce says, suddenly getting a science-y gleam in his eyes that in spite of everything makes Stark smile. "So you're saying your sexual orientation switched, too? That's fascinating."
He kisses Bruce, just because Bruce is so Bruce.
Bruce smiles at him, strokes his cheek. Kisses him. "Hang in there, Tony. We'll fix this. I promise."
Then they cuddle, which turns out to be really nice after all.
---
End