#actually caffeine + walking as fast as possible + hysteria will have you like that. i may be stupid dot png

[bredforloyalty]

[rineechan]

Mafia AU (part 2)

@xxluluelix, I am a lying liar who lies and posts in three parts instead of two.

Inspired by @baneme-art‘s lovely art work. Part 1 can be found here.

Steve pulled the binder towards himself and just watching him open the thing made Tony so antsy that he pulled his feet off the desk and surged upwards. On restless legs he ambled through the room for a few steps, before remembering his earlier cravings and headed to the mini-bar. The silver carafe on the table was still steaming from the snout and no doubt full of fresh coffee. To his right were the shelves filled with expensive (and criminally underappreciated) spirits, their clear and golden colors insistingly catching his eye.  

It wasn't a very good idea. He needed his head clear and sharp, ready to argue numbers and morals and political exigencies. Didn't matter that he was already getting cold from lack of sleep and lack of proper meals. As a temporary remedy hot coffee would serve just as well as the burn of amber liquids. Resigning himself to the impending row and inevitable stomach acids, he picked up the carafe and reached out for one of the coffee mugs.

“No more coffee for you today.” a calm, but imperious voice intervened from behind him.

For a moment, he was actually stunned by the sheer insolence. Stunned, annoyed, rapidly working towards aggravated, and even slightly hurt. How exactly was he supposed to get through this without firing on all cylinders?

Taking another moment to compose himself and relax, he turned around to face Steve and make his opinions known. Charmingly of course, and politely, but showing rows of teeth. “Oh? And what brings you to that assumption?”

Steve wasn't even looking up from his perusal of the government documents. Reclined in his chair he was simply flipping over pages and looking for all the world like a normal person who had just gotten saddled with another time consuming task at work. And Tony's astonishment continued. Steve wasn't normally like this. Not when politics were involved. Other people telling him how to do things or how to run his operations usually got the same reaction a red rag got from a bull. Made exponentially worse, when it was people he deemed entitled or uncaring.

And Tony had read those reports. They were full of unfeeling bureaucratic jargon and outrageous demands and obligations. He had had to suppress more than one preemptive wince on the car ride over, imagining Steve's reaction to just the overview sheet. And now almost cheerful nonchalance was happening?? What kind of parallel universe had he woken up in between Fourteenth Street and First?

But before his over-exhausted lizard brain could work itself into full on panic mode, Steve did him the courtesy of sneering hatefully at something he had just read. So, no parallel universe. No one had taken the ground out from under him. He was just standing on shaky legs. And starting to feel confused.

He hated being confused. It was something that happened to other people.

“You said it yourself, you've been up nearly two days. The last thing you need right now is caffeine.”

Patronizing jackass. Though this at least he understood: overbearing mother hen Rogers.

“What I need is to get stuff done. And coffee has always and forever been my greatest ally in that. You aren't the only item on my agenda for today, Cap. So, I will caffeinate up, you can finish your reading, we will hash it out and I'll be on my way.” Calm, charming and just the lightest bit teasing. Everything to not get the Captain's hackles up. Though that was merely what he had aimed for; no clue how much annoyance and low level hysteria had shown through despite his best efforts.

And whatever it was, it hadn't been the right tone, cause now he got treated to the view of a clenched jaw and grinding teeth in profile. Turning back around he made a resolute grab for a coffee mug, intending to secure the only spoils of war this Pyrrhic endeavor would apparently allow him.

“No coffee, Tony.”

And there it was, the authoritative, no-nonsense voice of the boss. He had no idea what game they were playing today, but it was apparent that Steve was already several moves in. Leaving Tony to play some fast footed catch up. Because that was what he was here for, wasn't it? To play several games of chess simultaneously, with people and rules and a board that continuously changed on him. He had to ruthlessly stomp on the urge to hurl the mug against a wall to quell at least some of his upsurging rage.

Fine! Fine. No coffee then. New game, new rules. Might as well call upon the tingly properties of Bourbon to loosen up. Makes rolling with the punches that much easier. It takes a step, some very precise movements and no time at all, before he has a neat whiskey in his left hand. It takes even less time for it to burn down his throat. Topping up, he walks back over to the desk and sets it down exactly opposite of Steve. Guaranteed to have some of the bastard's attention, he begins to loosen his tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt.  

“Bossy...”, he sighs, keeping himself poised and aloof, hoping some of his supposed allure comes through despite his utter lack of a battle plan. There are times he downright adores Rogers's ornery nature. In fact, if there was something other than government accords on that table he would already be advocating playing hooky for the rest of the morning and get some sweet use out of the soundproofing. But it wasn't. And this was going to turn into a fight, whether they wanted it to or not.

Time for another smooth burn. Keeping his movements controlled and flowing, he sat down again, shifting slightly to cross his legs. Seeking the Captain's gaze and finding a piercing pair of eyes trained on himself, he picked up his glass. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to upend the damn drink over the man's head. Tell him to go fuck with someone else, then saunter out of the damn building, out of the Borough, leave the whole the damn city behind and never look back.

But that wasn't who he was. And not what he ultimately wanted for himself. So he kept the violence tightly locked behind a small, sardonic smile. Instead, he toasted the Captain and took a few mouthfuls of liquid gold. Steve was playing hard to get. And since he was here to get concessions from the man, he would play along. What's a little flirting and seduction between friends? Or between 'Until Death May Us Part' business associates?

Judging from the glint in his eyes, his wiles were still working on the Brooklyn kid. Lifting the glass from his lips, he settled it on his knee; rested his left elbow on the desk and propped his head daintily. His right foot began to whip, keeping a beat for their little stare-off.

'You wanted me here, you have me. Your move now, Captain. You have my attention for the moment. What are you gonna do with it?'

His foot whipped up and down, up and down, up and down again. The whiskey in his glass sloshed soundlessly in time with his foot. And Steve continued to not say a word. Instead he kept staring. He looked at Tony with an intensity that agitated. He wanted to make light of it with a joke or some flippant remarks, but this had now become a battle of wills. He had come over, in more ways than one, and offered to walk them through this. If Steve Rogers wanted to wander off the beaten path, he could damn well lead the way himself.

He must have come to a similar conclusion, in that he blinked the next moment and leaned back in his chair. The way his face was flushing and the deep breaths he took were more than gratifying. Looking at him, you would think they had locked more than just gazes.

Feeling smug and rather better about himself again, he raised his glass and took another sip. Taking his eyes of the boy seemed to make him talk today.

“A nightcap will be good for you. No more after this though.”

“Bossy, bossy. Particular reason you're so commanding this morning?”

“You aren't taking care. You are so bad at watching out for yourself, it borders on negligence. Someone should step in.”

And it was good that he had a lifetime's worth of self-control, otherwise his jaw would have hit the desk by now. 'Negligence? Step in? What?' They were less than six buffer zones away from an all-out war with Hydra over control of the City. There was a government offer on the table between them, that would either make them or break them. Steve had about a million people to organize into foot soldiers, beat cops and logistics staff. Tony had six million to provide with food, water and electricity, all the while dodging bullets. And Steve wanted to talk about self-care?!

Time to stall. And time for another sip. “That someone being you?”

“I did take a vow.”

And this was always the point where things horribly derailed for Tony. Because the fucker hadn't. Tony was as fond of this ongoing marriage-charade as he was ever gonna be of anything in his life, but their business deal had been made over maps of the city, a model of the Arc Reactor and a few bottles of wine. (No matter what outlandish stories he told Clint. Or Pepper. Or occasionally Rhodey.) It hadn't happened in front of an altar, much less a priest.

But for some unfathomable reason Steven Grant Rogers – the Captain, the Head of the Howling Commandos, the Avenging Angel of Brooklyn – had decided that this was the Tony Stark Whim he would take at face value. And then proceeded to dig his heels in.

“Guess you are finally making an honest man out of me now.”

“What?!”

“Oh don't look so scandalized, Rogers. It's a simple 'Until Death Do Us Part' from here on out. That is all.”

“…”

“You want more wine? I might scrounge up a bottle of champagne from somewhere- uh, well, there is a moderate possibility some room in this dilapidated mansion holds unopened bottles of some quality.”

“Wine is fine. There is still some Chianti in that bottle.”

“Sorry to say, but there was some Chianti left in that bottle. Now it's all in this glass. … Is this yours or mine? Ah, who cares? Equitable distribution of the assets and all that. … Here you go. What do we toast?”

“…until death do us part.”

“Well then, until death do us part. Cheers!”

And here they were now. Nearly three years on, and apparently married enough to rub off on each other. Tony Stark Caprice was really the only thing he had on hand to explain why Steve Rogers would decide to put the fate of the City on the back burner while focusing on Tony's sleeping habits. (Being on the other end of it was both enervating and confounding. It's possible he understood his position at the top of several hit lists a bit better right this second.)

There were normal days, with productive meetings, efficient discussions – and if there was enough time, some wine and dine and a bit of the horizontal tango.

There were trying days, too, with uncertain outcomes, flying bullets, splattering blood and screaming until they made themselves hoarse.

Tony could handle those. There were days he could barely drag himself upright, but he could manage those too. Cruel as it was, he was good at suffering. As he had been told on one memorable occasion, he even did so “prettily”.

But these bizarre moments they sometimes had, of tortuous kindness and baffling consideration, threw Tony off. Off his game and off his equilibrium. And they were running out of time for Tony to hole up in his workshop and put himself back together. So enough with it already! Suck it up Rogers, your hobby of mother henning needs to be postponed.

“Mother hen,” he muttered with as much venom as he could muster.

All it got him was a raised eyebrow. The amused one at that.

“Your concern is appreciated, but I can sleep either when I'm dead or the goddamn Hydra is. And I know which one of those options I prefer. So could we please, please get down to it and talk about this goddamn government deal?” Ignoring the oncoming hysteria, he had uncrossed his legs, sat up and now leaned towards Rogers across the desk – the better to entreat him with. Also, probably best to set the glass down and out of reach. His gesticulation could get a little out of hand when he really got going. And he would infinitely prefer the Whiskey in the glass and eventually in his stomach than all over the floor.

Miracles of miracles, Steve even seemed to acquiesce. With a nod he pulled the binder he had put down earlier back into the middle of the desk.

“When we are done here, you will unwind and go to bed.”

At the rate they were going, by the time they were 'done here' it would be nightfall and he pretty much dead on his feet.

“Yes, damn it! Now, get going.”

The small smile hiding in the corner of Steve’s mouth as he flipped back to the overview sheet was unsettling to see. Because it meant he had walked right into a trap, one he could not see, and with no clue of what it would cost him in the end.

This thing is almost writing itself. It’s vaguely unnerving.

Also, ‘Oh, Tony.’