The Avengers Fic: Gravitational
***
I’m just all disappointments and twisted prompts, clearly none of these are going in the intended directions!
Title: Gravitational
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel movies)
Pairings: Bruce/Tony/Pepper in various combinations
Genre: bdsm!AU - THAT’S RIGHT, I REGRET NOTHING
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,093
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Tony and Pepper give Bruce a reason to stick around.
Author notes: I wanted to write fic(let)s in brand new fandoms. daria234 gave me the fandom, Bruce/Tony and ‘smile’ as a prompt. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted but I find it near impossible to bypass my head-canon where Pepper is Tony’s indulgent domme who is happy to share… Thank you to dreamersdare for assuring me I didn’t butcher the characters or tread on canon too badly.
After the New York debacle Bruce wants nothing more than to sleep for a week and then wake up only to drink approximately eighty million fruity cocktails before going right back to sleep. It’s difficult to remember that anything is wrong when soothed by glazed cherries and tiny umbrellas and Bruce could do with a few glasses worth of alcoholic denial. A holiday, that’s exactly what the doctor ordered. Never mind that the doctor in question was himself; it was good advice and Bruce firmly believes a PhD should come with some perks.
Tony has other ideas. Not about the perks - he seems like the kind of guy who’s built his entire life around the concept of perks - but the holiday.
“Stay a while?” he asks, cornering Bruce after the obligatory debrief. “I was serious about the offer to show you around Stark Tower.” He smiles, hands on hips, open in a way Bruce has never been. “I’ve got labs like you’ve never seen before…”
Tony Stark says ‘labs’ like other men might say ‘blowjob’; voice rough and tongue coming out to flick against his bottom lip as he stretches the word. His sharp eyes glaze over for a second or two like maybe R&D is the thing that really gets Tony Stark’s motor running.
Bruce mentally reviews all that he knows about the man, including a special technicolour collage of him in that ridiculous metal suit and yeah, okay, there’s no maybe about it. If ever there was a phallus-symbol as big as the Stark Tower…
“I would’ve thought your labs,” and dammit, now he has Bruce saying the word like it’s something obscene, “would have taken quite a beating.”
Tony grins, wide and delighted. “Going to take more than one skinny god to keep me down,” he says and then he tips his head back and to the side, just a little, just enough to expose the long line of his neck in a gesture that is both unexpected and as subtle as a kick to the solar plexus.
Feels like it too.
“A lot more,” Tony adds and then - while Bruce is still reeling from the little display - he says: “Maybe you’ll know someone who’s up for the job?” before tucking a business card into Bruce’s shirt pocket and sauntering away, thumb and little finger extended in a jaunty ‘call me!’ gesture.
Bruce stares after him for almost a full minute before he shakes himself off. Then he goes to find a nearest bar that will serve him a Pina Colada with his lunch, extra fucking umbrellas thanks.
***
Three days later Bruce calls the number. Of course he does. Because regardless of anything else, Tony Stark probably has some fucking exquisite labs.
He also has a nice, smart and highly efficient domme whom Bruce respects a lot just for the fact that she somehow seems to be able to handle all of Tony’s crazy.
“Dr Banner.” The smile in Pepper’s voice is unmistakable when she answers the phone. “Tony said you might call. Have you decided to visit us?”
“Erm,” Bruce says, scratching at his two-day stubble. Just talking to Pepper makes him feel kind of scruffy, she sounds so… Together. In every way. “Call me Bruce, Ms Potts.” In absence of higher cognitive functions, good manners kick in. Small mercies.
“Only if you call me Pepper, Bruce,” Pepper laughs and then immediately follows with: “Why don’t I send a car for you? We can have lunch and then Tony can show off all his toys.”
For a split second Bruce’s mind goes exactly where it shouldn’t before he manages to reel it back in. Right. She means the AI and probably some illegal weapons development. He can do that. “That would… But are you sure? I wouldn’t want to…”
“Look at that,” Pepper sing-songs, “Mr Stark’s schedule just cleared for the next three hours. I’ll tell him to take advantage of the unexpected downtime. We’ll see you for lunch in thirty.” Pepper hangs up.
Bruce stares at the phone in much the same way he’d stared at Tony’s back the other day - bewildered, annoyed and slightly turned on - and then decides that a shower and shave might be, to adapt the proverb, a better part of valour.
***
Three days after that - by which he means a surprisingly relaxed lunch and a grand tour of the slightly battered Stark Tower R&D department - Bruce is happily ensconced in the Tower’s luxurious guest quarters. Not that he sees much of them, being even more happily ensconced in the even more luxurious research labs. The sign on the door says ‘Dr Bruce Banner, visiting expert’ and then in smaller letters ‘don’t provoke!’ Next to that is a surprisingly well drawn cartoon Hulk crushing an electron microscope.
Bruce is kind of amused despite himself which seems to be his default reaction to Tony. He refuses to let it show, however, and doesn’t mention the drawing at all which clearly drives Tony insane. It may be petty but it’s oddly satisfying too.
Instead, they spend a lot of time in polite discussions about improvements in gravitational wave detection during which Tony gets increasingly twitchy while a sense of calm focus seems to descend over Bruce the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time. He suspects that were he to plot their respective moods on a graph it would show a clear correlation but tries hard not to think about that too much.
After a few days, the cartoon is replaced by a new one, this time depicting Hulk and Iron Man painstakingly reassembling the smashed microscope. Bruce stares at it for full five minutes and the smile stretching on his face feels good and dangerous in equal measure.
Tony comes by in the afternoon as usual. His schedule is pretty insane but when Bruce asks how is it that Tony manages to find time to bother him so often, the man only shrugs and says ‘Pepper’ like it explains everything. Which, come to think of it, it probably does.
Today he swaggers in full of smug confidence, talking before he’s fully inside the lab. “Listen, forget interferometry, forget pulsar timing arrays, I’ve got something much better!”
Bruce listens, giving the man his full attention, because when Tony says he’s a genius he’s not exaggerating even a little bit, and it’s been way too long since Bruce met someone who challenges him on every single level the way Tony does. Thirty minutes later they have turned Tony’s idea into something that could theoretically be tested so when Jarvis interrupts with a polite reminder about a meeting Tony is due in, they are both disappointed.
“Fuck,” Tony says, getting up from where he’s been perching on one of the lab stools, “Don’t ever start your own company. The responsibility is a real buzzkill.”
Bruce chuckles and then, in a fit of honesty that surprises even him, he says: “But you wear it well. When you have to.”
Tony freezes half-way to the door, his eyes huge, the expression on his face one of naked need. It’s as vulnerable as Bruce has ever seen him and he’s seen him bleeding and beaten down. ‘Tread carefully now, Banner,’ he thinks, swallowing down the sudden tension that makes his throat feel tight.
“And, Tony?” Bruce says, because, well, this deserves saying too: “I like the cartoon.” He grins, letting the genuine joy of it show freely.
Across the room Tony blinks and then visibly straightens his shoulders, arms going behind his back and Bruce doesn’t need to see to know he’s gripping his own wrist in a classic and perfectly executed pose of a sub coming to attention. ‘Well fuck,’ he has time to think, ‘praise, of course,’ before Tony takes it that one step further and drops his head forward, chin to chest, his voice clear and as sincere as Bruce has ever heard as he says: “Thank you, Sir,” before turning on his heel and walking out.
***
After that Bruce runs out of plausible deniability in much the same way an alcoholic eventually runs out of booze. He could keep indulging but he’d almost certainly lose something important in the process.
Besides, Pepper would probably cut off his balls with a nail file.
As it is, Bruce is not yet ready to rule out the possibility of castration. Across the table, Pepper smiles at him over her Salad Niçoise much like he imagines a shark would smile at a scuba-diving school.
They’re having lunch, just the two of them, at her invitation.
“I like you, Bruce,” Pepper says and Bruce crosses his legs under the table.
“But?” he asks, taking a fortifying sip of his Evian because there’s definitely a ‘but’ coming.
Pepper practically sparkles at him in evident approval of his insight. “But if you hurt us I will make you yearn for that government cage you’ve been running from,” she says.
Bruce blinks. It’s not that he doubts her, it’s just that that was not what he’d expected to hear.
“What?” he asks. “You’re not…? How could…? What?”
Pepper sighs, putting her fork down. Clearly his insight only impresses so far. “Weren’t you listening?” she asks, reaching across the table and turning Bruce’s hand over until it’s lying palm up, fingers slightly curled. Bruce frowns but allows it, hoping the conversation will start making sense soon.
“I like you,” Pepper repeats. She rests her hand over Bruce’s, fingers to wrists, and presses down. “We like you.” Her nails dig in, the pain bright and sharp, and Bruce can feel the delicate veins of her wrist against his fingertips and he grips back on pure instinct and oh…
Oh.
“There you go,” Pepper says, slowly pulling her hand back and resuming eating like nothing unusual had just happened, like Bruce’s world hadn’t just tilted on its axis and resettled in a pattern that is as bewildering as it is exciting. There’s a throaty quality to her voice now that makes Bruce cross his legs under the table for entirely new reasons. “Tony did say you were smart and it’s no empty comment coming from him.”
“I’ll…” Bruce has to pause to clear his throat. The sunshine through the wall-length windows floods the room and he feels drunk from it, yet calm, calm like he gets when surrounded by all of Tony’s vibrating energy and brilliance, being able to channel it toward something even greater and yeah, alright, Bruce has definitely ran out of denials and good riddance too.
“I’ll try not to disappoint,” he says and means it more than he has meant anything in his life.
***
“You were right,” Bruce says a few days later as he and Tony are standing in front of a whiteboard full of equations.
“Of course I was,” Tony agrees automatically, tapping a blue marker against his lips. It’s capped thankfully, but no less distracting for it. Bruce tears his gaze away and back to the numbers but from the corner of his eye he can see the way Tony turns toward him, head cocked with curiosity. “What about?” he asks.
“Your labs,” Bruce says, stretching the word much as Tony had. “They really are… unique.” And by ‘labs’ he absolutely means the labs and absolutely means everything else too. Tony is a genius, he’ll figure it out.
“Yeah?” Tony says, voice laced with amusement and underneath it something far more serious, far more painful. “Good enough to stick around for?” And alright, so maybe Bruce isn’t the master of multiple meanings here.
“More than good enough,” Bruce says, turning to catch Tony’s eye, willing him to understand. “The best.” The moment stretches and there’s that look on Tony’s face again; vulnerability and want and pride, all wrapped together, and Bruce struggles to find his footing because how is he, how are they, so ready to trust him with this when he can’t even be trusted with himself.
“I… I think I would like that,” he says, the words rough with nerves, “To stay, if you and Pepper…”
Next to him, Tony slides to his knees without a word, smooth but not calculated, every line of his body an honest answer to Bruce’s unvoiced question.
“Yeah, alright,” Bruce says, breathless and awed as Tony presses his face against Bruce’s hip, hand snaking down to grip his ankle tightly. “I guess I’m sticking around then.” Against his palm the back of Tony’s neck is warm and yielding, his hair soft as Bruce tangles his fingers there, anchoring them together.
***
I’m just all disappointments and twisted prompts, clearly none of these are going in the intended directions!
Title: Gravitational
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel movies)
Pairings: Bruce/Tony/Pepper in various combinations
Genre: bdsm!AU - THAT’S RIGHT, I REGRET NOTHING
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,093
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Summary: Tony and Pepper give Bruce a reason to stick around.
Author notes: I wanted to write fic(let)s in brand new fandoms. daria234 gave me the fandom, Bruce/Tony and ‘smile’ as a prompt. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted but I find it near impossible to bypass my head-canon where Pepper is Tony’s indulgent domme who is happy to share… Thank you to dreamersdare for assuring me I didn’t butcher the characters or tread on canon too badly.
After the New York debacle Bruce wants nothing more than to sleep for a week and then wake up only to drink approximately eighty million fruity cocktails before going right back to sleep. It’s difficult to remember that anything is wrong when soothed by glazed cherries and tiny umbrellas and Bruce could do with a few glasses worth of alcoholic denial. A holiday, that’s exactly what the doctor ordered. Never mind that the doctor in question was himself; it was good advice and Bruce firmly believes a PhD should come with some perks.
Tony has other ideas. Not about the perks - he seems like the kind of guy who’s built his entire life around the concept of perks - but the holiday.
“Stay a while?” he asks, cornering Bruce after the obligatory debrief. “I was serious about the offer to show you around Stark Tower.” He smiles, hands on hips, open in a way Bruce has never been. “I’ve got labs like you’ve never seen before…”
Tony Stark says ‘labs’ like other men might say ‘blowjob’; voice rough and tongue coming out to flick against his bottom lip as he stretches the word. His sharp eyes glaze over for a second or two like maybe R&D is the thing that really gets Tony Stark’s motor running.
Bruce mentally reviews all that he knows about the man, including a special technicolour collage of him in that ridiculous metal suit and yeah, okay, there’s no maybe about it. If ever there was a phallus-symbol as big as the Stark Tower…
“I would’ve thought your labs,” and dammit, now he has Bruce saying the word like it’s something obscene, “would have taken quite a beating.”
Tony grins, wide and delighted. “Going to take more than one skinny god to keep me down,” he says and then he tips his head back and to the side, just a little, just enough to expose the long line of his neck in a gesture that is both unexpected and as subtle as a kick to the solar plexus.
Feels like it too.
“A lot more,” Tony adds and then - while Bruce is still reeling from the little display - he says: “Maybe you’ll know someone who’s up for the job?” before tucking a business card into Bruce’s shirt pocket and sauntering away, thumb and little finger extended in a jaunty ‘call me!’ gesture.
Bruce stares after him for almost a full minute before he shakes himself off. Then he goes to find a nearest bar that will serve him a Pina Colada with his lunch, extra fucking umbrellas thanks.
***
Three days later Bruce calls the number. Of course he does. Because regardless of anything else, Tony Stark probably has some fucking exquisite labs.
He also has a nice, smart and highly efficient domme whom Bruce respects a lot just for the fact that she somehow seems to be able to handle all of Tony’s crazy.
“Dr Banner.” The smile in Pepper’s voice is unmistakable when she answers the phone. “Tony said you might call. Have you decided to visit us?”
“Erm,” Bruce says, scratching at his two-day stubble. Just talking to Pepper makes him feel kind of scruffy, she sounds so… Together. In every way. “Call me Bruce, Ms Potts.” In absence of higher cognitive functions, good manners kick in. Small mercies.
“Only if you call me Pepper, Bruce,” Pepper laughs and then immediately follows with: “Why don’t I send a car for you? We can have lunch and then Tony can show off all his toys.”
For a split second Bruce’s mind goes exactly where it shouldn’t before he manages to reel it back in. Right. She means the AI and probably some illegal weapons development. He can do that. “That would… But are you sure? I wouldn’t want to…”
“Look at that,” Pepper sing-songs, “Mr Stark’s schedule just cleared for the next three hours. I’ll tell him to take advantage of the unexpected downtime. We’ll see you for lunch in thirty.” Pepper hangs up.
Bruce stares at the phone in much the same way he’d stared at Tony’s back the other day - bewildered, annoyed and slightly turned on - and then decides that a shower and shave might be, to adapt the proverb, a better part of valour.
***
Three days after that - by which he means a surprisingly relaxed lunch and a grand tour of the slightly battered Stark Tower R&D department - Bruce is happily ensconced in the Tower’s luxurious guest quarters. Not that he sees much of them, being even more happily ensconced in the even more luxurious research labs. The sign on the door says ‘Dr Bruce Banner, visiting expert’ and then in smaller letters ‘don’t provoke!’ Next to that is a surprisingly well drawn cartoon Hulk crushing an electron microscope.
Bruce is kind of amused despite himself which seems to be his default reaction to Tony. He refuses to let it show, however, and doesn’t mention the drawing at all which clearly drives Tony insane. It may be petty but it’s oddly satisfying too.
Instead, they spend a lot of time in polite discussions about improvements in gravitational wave detection during which Tony gets increasingly twitchy while a sense of calm focus seems to descend over Bruce the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time. He suspects that were he to plot their respective moods on a graph it would show a clear correlation but tries hard not to think about that too much.
After a few days, the cartoon is replaced by a new one, this time depicting Hulk and Iron Man painstakingly reassembling the smashed microscope. Bruce stares at it for full five minutes and the smile stretching on his face feels good and dangerous in equal measure.
Tony comes by in the afternoon as usual. His schedule is pretty insane but when Bruce asks how is it that Tony manages to find time to bother him so often, the man only shrugs and says ‘Pepper’ like it explains everything. Which, come to think of it, it probably does.
Today he swaggers in full of smug confidence, talking before he’s fully inside the lab. “Listen, forget interferometry, forget pulsar timing arrays, I’ve got something much better!”
Bruce listens, giving the man his full attention, because when Tony says he’s a genius he’s not exaggerating even a little bit, and it’s been way too long since Bruce met someone who challenges him on every single level the way Tony does. Thirty minutes later they have turned Tony’s idea into something that could theoretically be tested so when Jarvis interrupts with a polite reminder about a meeting Tony is due in, they are both disappointed.
“Fuck,” Tony says, getting up from where he’s been perching on one of the lab stools, “Don’t ever start your own company. The responsibility is a real buzzkill.”
Bruce chuckles and then, in a fit of honesty that surprises even him, he says: “But you wear it well. When you have to.”
Tony freezes half-way to the door, his eyes huge, the expression on his face one of naked need. It’s as vulnerable as Bruce has ever seen him and he’s seen him bleeding and beaten down. ‘Tread carefully now, Banner,’ he thinks, swallowing down the sudden tension that makes his throat feel tight.
“And, Tony?” Bruce says, because, well, this deserves saying too: “I like the cartoon.” He grins, letting the genuine joy of it show freely.
Across the room Tony blinks and then visibly straightens his shoulders, arms going behind his back and Bruce doesn’t need to see to know he’s gripping his own wrist in a classic and perfectly executed pose of a sub coming to attention. ‘Well fuck,’ he has time to think, ‘praise, of course,’ before Tony takes it that one step further and drops his head forward, chin to chest, his voice clear and as sincere as Bruce has ever heard as he says: “Thank you, Sir,” before turning on his heel and walking out.
***
After that Bruce runs out of plausible deniability in much the same way an alcoholic eventually runs out of booze. He could keep indulging but he’d almost certainly lose something important in the process.
Besides, Pepper would probably cut off his balls with a nail file.
As it is, Bruce is not yet ready to rule out the possibility of castration. Across the table, Pepper smiles at him over her Salad Niçoise much like he imagines a shark would smile at a scuba-diving school.
They’re having lunch, just the two of them, at her invitation.
“I like you, Bruce,” Pepper says and Bruce crosses his legs under the table.
“But?” he asks, taking a fortifying sip of his Evian because there’s definitely a ‘but’ coming.
Pepper practically sparkles at him in evident approval of his insight. “But if you hurt us I will make you yearn for that government cage you’ve been running from,” she says.
Bruce blinks. It’s not that he doubts her, it’s just that that was not what he’d expected to hear.
“What?” he asks. “You’re not…? How could…? What?”
Pepper sighs, putting her fork down. Clearly his insight only impresses so far. “Weren’t you listening?” she asks, reaching across the table and turning Bruce’s hand over until it’s lying palm up, fingers slightly curled. Bruce frowns but allows it, hoping the conversation will start making sense soon.
“I like you,” Pepper repeats. She rests her hand over Bruce’s, fingers to wrists, and presses down. “We like you.” Her nails dig in, the pain bright and sharp, and Bruce can feel the delicate veins of her wrist against his fingertips and he grips back on pure instinct and oh…
Oh.
“There you go,” Pepper says, slowly pulling her hand back and resuming eating like nothing unusual had just happened, like Bruce’s world hadn’t just tilted on its axis and resettled in a pattern that is as bewildering as it is exciting. There’s a throaty quality to her voice now that makes Bruce cross his legs under the table for entirely new reasons. “Tony did say you were smart and it’s no empty comment coming from him.”
“I’ll…” Bruce has to pause to clear his throat. The sunshine through the wall-length windows floods the room and he feels drunk from it, yet calm, calm like he gets when surrounded by all of Tony’s vibrating energy and brilliance, being able to channel it toward something even greater and yeah, alright, Bruce has definitely ran out of denials and good riddance too.
“I’ll try not to disappoint,” he says and means it more than he has meant anything in his life.
***
“You were right,” Bruce says a few days later as he and Tony are standing in front of a whiteboard full of equations.
“Of course I was,” Tony agrees automatically, tapping a blue marker against his lips. It’s capped thankfully, but no less distracting for it. Bruce tears his gaze away and back to the numbers but from the corner of his eye he can see the way Tony turns toward him, head cocked with curiosity. “What about?” he asks.
“Your labs,” Bruce says, stretching the word much as Tony had. “They really are… unique.” And by ‘labs’ he absolutely means the labs and absolutely means everything else too. Tony is a genius, he’ll figure it out.
“Yeah?” Tony says, voice laced with amusement and underneath it something far more serious, far more painful. “Good enough to stick around for?” And alright, so maybe Bruce isn’t the master of multiple meanings here.
“More than good enough,” Bruce says, turning to catch Tony’s eye, willing him to understand. “The best.” The moment stretches and there’s that look on Tony’s face again; vulnerability and want and pride, all wrapped together, and Bruce struggles to find his footing because how is he, how are they, so ready to trust him with this when he can’t even be trusted with himself.
“I… I think I would like that,” he says, the words rough with nerves, “To stay, if you and Pepper…”
Next to him, Tony slides to his knees without a word, smooth but not calculated, every line of his body an honest answer to Bruce’s unvoiced question.
“Yeah, alright,” Bruce says, breathless and awed as Tony presses his face against Bruce’s hip, hand snaking down to grip his ankle tightly. “I guess I’m sticking around then.” Against his palm the back of Tony’s neck is warm and yielding, his hair soft as Bruce tangles his fingers there, anchoring them together.
***