July 15: Dust
July 16: Drip
July 17: Bitter
July 18: Merge
July 19: Pressure
July 20: Record
July 21: Anything
Okay everyone – GO! =P
It’s okay if you don’t finish the prompt before the day of posting, I will be checking and reblogging from the sciencebrosweek tag all month. Just please do not post before the date. ;-)
If you get stuck or just absolutely hate any of the prompts, feel free to do whatever you want! The prompts are just a starting point and can be used as minimally or as majorly as your inspiration dictates. This event is first and foremost about spreading the Science Bros joy! =)
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Have fun and if you have any questions, reference the FAQ or just ask.
Wouldn’t it be Nice
(5 times Tony mentions kids + 1 time Bruce does)
for @sciencebrosweek
Day One: Dust
The evening was nice – maybe a little warm, but the large fan in the center of the screened in porch kept it cool. Bailey whined in her sleep, stretching out on the stone floor, and Bruce reached out with his foot to rub her stomach. He looked up from his tablet and over at his husband who was stretched out on the wooden loveseat, his gangly limbs too long for it, one leg hanging off the seat and the other thrown over the armrest at the knee. His head just barely fit in under all the pillows he smooshed up under it. He was reading too but his tablet kept dipping and jerking upright again, the empty bottle of beer on the floor next to him offering a little explanation.
“You might be more comfortable in bed,” Bruce murmured with a fond smile and Tony made a noise that could really be interpreted as anything.
“A valid argument,” he teased gently and he heard Tony huff.
“I’m reading,” he finally mumbled, mostly interpretable, and Bruce chuckled.
“About?” he asked and Tony brought the screen close to his face, squinting at it.
“God – fuck – something about genes – that CRISPR article. The new one. Or – it’s old now, from last year, so it’s the old one. The old new one. You know which one I mean.”
Bruce found it hard not to grin at him just as wide as he wanted as he rambled – his husband. They’d been married for two years now but it still seemed surreal. He still didn’t believe he really deserved it. The doting husband, the suburban house. The good-paying job and the dog and the weekends relaxing and going to good restaurants with their friends. It was... alarmingly normal. It was entirely mundane. It was perfect.
“Yes, absolutely, I know just which one you mean.”
“Shut up,” Tony sighed, closing the case on his tablet and setting it down beside his empty beer, throwing his other leg up over the arm of the chair and wiggling his shoulders like he was going to settle in for a good long while there.
“You bitched for like forty-eight hours straight about being old the last time you fell asleep there,” Bruce reminded him and Tony shot him a death glare beneath half-lidded eyes.
“You certainly haven’t gotten younger,” Bruce pointed out with a smirk and Tony grabbed one of the pillows from under his head and chucked it at him.
Bailey bolted upright as Bruce laughed, staring between her two owners like they were idiots, and Bruce picked up the pillow that hit him square in the face off the floor next to her and settled it in behind his back.
“I don’t hear any offers to take this old man to bed,” Tony grumped and Bruce watched with amusement as he grimaced, realizing what he’d said. “Okay, case in point...”
For a moment they were quiet. Bruce really wasn’t going to nag him about it, he was a grown ass man who could make his own bad decisions, and he turned back to his book. But after a while he realized Tony didn’t seem to actually be sleeping – instead, he was staring off across the yard, his eyes far away and unfocused.
“We should get a hammock,” he murmured. “I think I would like to sleep in a hammock.”
Bruce looked up again, chuckling. It was an easy request. “Done.”
“Remind me to order one tonight. Unless you want to go to HomeGoods or whatever.”
He tried not to balk. Going to HomeGoods with Tony was far down the list of his favorite experiences. It always felt wrong to bitch about it because really, watching his husband devolve into a penny pinching pain-in-the-ass with a penchant for colorful candles, beaded pillows, and bad full-wall canvas paintings of color blocks was about as dumb a thing to get upset about as he could imagine when he grew up watching his own dad literally beat his mom to death, but nevertheless. He definitely did not want to accompany Tony to HomeGoods.
“I think you might have more options online,” he said and Tony nodded his agreement with that.
Bruce turned back to his book again.
“I think I’d put it to the far right there, by the azaleas,” Tony mused, scratching his chest, and Bruce didn’t bother to look up this time.
It was easy to listen to Tony talk with half an ear when he was like this.
“It’ll be pretty in the spring and shady in the summer with that big oak there. Maybe I’ll get a pole, anchor it to the tree on one side and a pole on the other.” Tony’s voice was drifting off a little and Bruce wished he’d just go up to bed. “Yeah... That’s what I’ll do. It’ll leave room for the swingset.”
Bruce blinked and looked back up from his book, laughing.
“I didn’t realize you wanted a swing set too. I’m not sure I’ll approve that expenditure.”
Tony was really nearly asleep but he mustered up the strength to roll his eyes. “Not now – for our kids.”
He hadn’t meant anything by it, Bruce was sure. He said it in such a bland, casual manner that it was clear it had never even occurred to him that there was any other possible way things would be. But Bruce...
Bruce tried to lick his lips but it was like his mouth had turned to dust and he could barely move his tongue. Kids? Maybe it was just because they were gay, but Bruce had never really thought about it as a possibility. He knew it was a possibility – that they could adopt or whatever – but still, they had never really talked about it. Even before getting married. In retrospect, it was a glaring oversight, but it just didn’t seem like something Tony would be terribly interested in.
He loved Tony more than any other person on earth but Tony was... dramatic and meticulous and incredibly intelligent and the idea of him sitting patiently for a child as they spilled milk across the table and glued together his shoes and clogged the toilet by flushing toys down it didn’t square. And he didn’t really want his thoughts to wander any further down that road, but unless Tony could be endlessly patient with a child, he just couldn’t imagine bringing one into his life. He wasn’t even sure he could be that patient with a child.
But he would never let another child experience what he did growing up. It was the very least he could do.
Tony chuckled, eyes closed, that easygoing grin across his face that normally made Bruce’s heart race – but it didn't now. Now it just looked like some kind of betrayal as Tony sighed, content, mumbling something Bruce couldn’t even comprehend as he stared at the screen of his tablet, unable to process any of the words there either.
Kids. Tony wanted fucking kids? What were they supposed to do with kids?
Bailey seemed to sense his distress and she lifted her head to look up at him, smacking her tail against the floor and he just stared back at her, bemused.
“You don’t want a little brother or sister, do you?” he cooed softly so as not to wake Tony and her mouth fell open, tongue lolling out and he laughed, leaning down and patting her head. “Yeah, you and me both.”
It started with a toothbrush. Bruce wasn't particularly well-versed in American pop culture, but even he knew that was a romantic comedy cliche. But it was true. When he'd first started sharing a bed with Tony and Pepper, he'd always retreated back to his own suite in the morning. It wasn't far, after all--just a short trip on one of Stark Tower's express elevators. It didn't seem worth the trouble to move any of his few possessions.
Besides, Bruce liked having his own space. He still couldn't quite believe his recent good fortune, and he appreciated having some quiet time to process it all.
But then one morning a new bright green toothbrush appeared in Tony and Pepper's bathroom, and Pepper off-handedly said, "You can keep your things up here, you know. So you don't always have to run off first thing."
"I, um, thanks," Bruce had stammered. He brushed his teeth at their shiny, futuristic sink and tried to stay calm. After his years on the run, Bruce was still impressed by reliable access to clean running water; the polished sink fixtures were really overwhelming. The penthouse's big space-age shower was almost enough to give him a panic attack with all its dials and jets.
Tony appeared in the mirror behind him and rested his head on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce smiled around his new toothbrush and awkwardly leaned away from Tony to spit into the sink. After he rinsed his mouth, Tony promptly grabbed Bruce's face in his hands and pulled him in for a kiss.
"Mm, minty fresh," Tony breathed, grinning like he'd gotten away with something.
Bruce ducked his head. "Uh, I'm gonna go get dressed."
"You could bring your clothes up here too, you know. All...three of them."
"I have more than three clothes. Pepper got me some stuff."
"Okay, fine, all ten of your clothes. We have plenty of room." Tony gestured an arm out vaguely, indicating not only the huge bathroom but also the rest of the freshly-renovated penthouse.
"Yeah, I guess you do." Bruce shifted on his feet, angling for the door.
Tony gave him a piercing look and another quick kiss. "Well, think about it."
Bruce had nodded and gone back to his suite and deliberately not thought about it. It would hurt too much if he got attached to this new home, this new way of life, and then had to leave it.
Summary: Tony Stark is a rose, is a rose, is a rose. Or: I do not think that name means what you think it means (okay, really, I just thought that summary sounded cool. It means nothing...).
Disclaimer: This is different from my usual style and I’m not sure where this story is going. So I’m not sure when I’ll continue. But keep me honest; it’ll happen eventually.
Enjoy. Unbeta’d, as usual.
**
Bruce simultaneously wiped his forehead and cupped his hand over his glasses, protecting his eyes from the glare of rusted junk scattered across the clearing. Besides machine parts there wasn’t much here other than brambles, scraggly brown weeds, and burnt patches of road gravel - and the occasional ugly ragged bird, scratching at burnt crumbs. The place hadn’t seen rain for weeks, or maybe even months, and the abandoned farm looked exactly like what he expected to see. Or worse.
A sudden gust from the föhn-ish winds lazily shoved the air like a tired toddler and kicked up clouds of gravel dust, choking off the oxygen in Bruce’s throat.
So, okay. Definitely worse.
He hazarded a glance at Tony who, despite the blistering heat, looked ready for a photo shoot. Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Was there ever a time Tony looked anything but perfectly put-together? Apart from the days he crawled beneath a clunker’s belly, to spin grime into polished chrome?
“Remind me why we’re here again?” Sweat trickled from the hairs on Bruce’s neck. He could feel the droplets settling uncomfortably beneath his collar, merging with the grimy dust. The only positive? The weather was too hot and dry for mosquitoes - just gnats, pestering the hell out of them.
Bruce swatted back a gnat cloud before it got too close. “Scenic tour, is it?”
Tony’d gone strangely quiet, but then he’d also been uncharacteristically silent since their Cessna landed on the camouflaged airstrip a few hours ago. Their driver sped from the tarmac and over the twists and turns of winding county back roads. For ninety minutes Tony silently sipped from a flask off and on, until they unearthed this dead place. The most Bruce got from him in an hour was a few rough, “uh huhs,” some “maybes,” and a chuckle or two. And already unsettled from the plane ride (he was a terrible flier, everyone knew it), Bruce let the bumpy ride lull him to sleep. He’d been too tired and frustrated to question Tony’s silence.
When the limo slowed Bruce opened his eyes, shaking the lingering sleep from his bones. He listened as the limo’s tires popped and rumbled over craggy rocks and pebbles and groaned and stretched as the limo lumbered to a stop. After they exited the car, he briefly watched as it receded into a canopy of knotty trees and wondered if Happy would ever find them again.
Tony inhaled sharply and twisted his body in Bruce’s direction. “Not exactly.” The metal frames of his glasses caught the sun, causing Bruce to squint. Tony’s grin didn’t reassure him. “Let’s head inside. Away from the heat.”
Bruce tried, failed from halting a comical double-take. “Where?” He scrunched his face at the distant “barn,” a careening red structure and one strong wind away from becoming rubble. “Surely not--”
“Appearances, Brucie,” Tony said, taking off his jacket and slinging it over one shoulder. He strode towards the barn before Bruce angrily trudged after him. “You of all people should know what that means.”
“It’s a mile away, so you better be right,” Bruce grumbled. He wasn’t in the mood but admittedly he’d been spoiled. Years ago, dry, dust-choked places like this wouldn’t have phased him in the least. They were paradises, in some lands. But he’d hung around Tony’s sweet life for far too long now and yearned for temperature controlled buildings and AIA-winning environments.
He made a face and huffed after Tony’s rapid retreat, suddenly hating how mercilessly soft he’d become. He knew that meant more than one thing but it hurt to poke the truth. He’d rather be angry at himself, at how quickly his former physique had devolved to flab.
Tony flipped around and walked backwards so Bruce could catch up. “If you went for a run with me every so often,” he grinned, and Bruce wanted to punch his gleaming teeth, “you wouldn’t be so out of breath.”
“I’d rather be fat, than a drunk,” Bruce retorted hotly, but Tony’s grin didn’t falter as Bruce matched the billionaire’s steps.
“Tsk. Temper, temper, Brucie. And touche.” Tony gave Bruce a cursory nod and slowed his pace. “You’re not huge, you’re chub light. High side of average for a red-blooded American male.”
“Are you going to keep jabbering on about my weight, or are you going to explain why we’re here?”
Tony’s smile thinned, catching Bruce off-guard. He preferred their banter, honestly. Much better than the sadness he caught from Tony’s eye. “Do you remember,” Tony sighed, “when my father died?”
“Yeah, of course I do.” Bruce’s tone softened and Tony further slowed as they trudged toward the barn. “We’d gone our separate ways. Rhodey to the armed forces, me to the Peace Corps. You were finishing up your doctoral thesis, as I recall.”
“Mmhm.” The rest of his response died a little, muffled by their feet scraping the gravel pathway. “Howard Stark, entrepreneur extraordinaire. I took over the business, kicked out the old guard, fought my way back to the top before buying you back from the government a decade later—”
“Not true,” Bruce puffed. “I was an aid worker then.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Barely scraping by. Ross still had your patents. Once you ran out of money, you would’ve crawled back to him soon enough. He was counting on it.”
“Whatever,” Bruce rumbled. “Anyway. Yes. You bought back my patents from the government. And you turned SI from a monster into a clean tech leader, turned Rhodey into SI’s government liaison - with their blessing - and turned me into a fat desk jockey.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, giving Bruce the side-eye.
“Fine,” Bruce rumbled. “Sitting and eating behind a desk turned me into a fat desk jockey. And before you ask, no I’m not blaming you. It’s my own doing after becoming SI’s R&D lead.” He waved off his anger, pretending to swat another cloud of gnats. “So? What’s your point? That’s ancient history. We know that.” He gestured between them. “You, me. Rhodey. The three of us know that.”
“However. I never told you the whole story.”
Bruce opened his mouth but couldn’t find anything to say. He’d known Tony for over twenty years, but never knew Tony to hide anything from him. Or Rhodey. “What story?” He finally asked.
“That Pops was a...Secret Agent, man,” Tony sang, off-key. “Helped run covert ops with my Aunt Peg.”
Bruce stopped dead and only partly because his feet hurt. “You’re putting me on.” But after a few beats of silence he realized the man wasn’t joking. “Seriously, your Dad? The asshole?”
“Hey, now,” Tony admonished. “Only I’m allowed to call him that. And don’t stand there like a dead pigeon. There are spies around and they get trigger happy if people linger out here.”
“What?” Bruce ducked and wildly glanced around the plains.
“Sorry. I’m joking.” Tony snickered and waited until Bruce caught up. “At least I think I’m joking. Honestly, I don’t know how spies operate.”
“Jesus Christ. Don’t joke about that. I still get nightmares of the DRC.”
“Sorry,” Tony repeated, and Bruce could tell he was genuinely sorry. Then, after a pause: “I...didn’t know you still had ‘em.”
Bruce rubbed his brow ridge with a shaky thumb. He would’ve let him off, told him he was joking, but it would’ve been a lie and he never was any good at fibbing, either. “You never really forget.”
“True.”
Bruce opened his mouth then quietly shut it; it wasn’t the time or the place. If they wanted to swap more horror stories and compare pasts it’d take a lot of time and beer. Copious amounts of both.
He’d heard about Tony’s kidnapping while abroad and although it mirrored some of his experiences, Bruce’s own detention had been...longer. He’d broke from his initial captivity before spending years on the run, fighting his way from militia group to militia group and running illegally through foreign checkpoints. Sometimes he got caught. Sometimes good people died. He regretted much of what he did to survive, to get back. And Rhodey hadn’t been around to rescue him like he’d done for Tony.
Still. They both realized how lucky they’d been. Despite how it changed them.
Tony stopped and Bruce realized they’d made it to the barn; it was just as bad up close. “Not much to look at,” he grumbled at the gaping front. He assessed its dilapidated state while trying to catch his breath.
Tony grinned and pulled a rickety sliding door. Bruce briefly massaged his hamstring. “What did I tell you about appearances?”
Bruce shot Tony a rude gesture.
Tony laughed, hopping inside.
When they passed from the blazing sun into the barn, Bruce shielded his eyes again. He blinked to let his eyes adjust to the sudden change from light to dark and briefly made out a few motes, dancing between streams of warped wood. When he could fully see he saw what he expected: A pitchfork, some old bales of hay. A broken tractor.
But the man surprised him.
“Hey, Clint,” Tony said, waving to a guy casually chilling in the corner. He had sandy blonde hair and was reading a magazine while chewing on a straw. He could’ve passed for a farmer, apart from the black tactical coveralls. And sidearm.
“Mr. Stark.” Clint didn’t even look up. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Dr. Banner’s with me.”
Bruce unconsciously began backing away. “Tony...”
Tony squeezed his shoulder and Bruce found himself melting into Tony’s touch. He hated the pull Tony had over him, but he’d take whatever he could get these days. “Don’t bolt, Brucie,” he murmured. “Promise, it’s all good. No one’s gonna stuff you in a trunk.”
“That’s what they said at the Sudan border. Look how that turned out.”
“Bruce.” Tony waited until Bruce turned to him. Tony’s eyes had hypnotic qualities, Bruce swore they did. His heart slowed and his panic fled as Tony stared him down. For good measure, for Bruce’s peace of mind, he bumped foreheads with him. “Trust me.”
“All right. Okay.” Bruce licked his dry lips. “Okay.”
Clint had been shadowing them but Bruce hadn’t noticed. The man had slipped to the door and gestured to a wall switch, still flipping through his magazine and paying them no mind. Bruce’s paranoia spiked. Really, this guy was good at his job. Too good.
“Goin’ down?”
“Yeah.”
Bruce staggered back when flaps rose out of the floor, revealing a platform lift growing from the ground like a flower.
“Like I said,” Tony said, when the lift stopped. “Appearances.” The platform was only big enough for four small people, but at least it had a safety cage with handrails so they couldn’t fall to their deaths.
Tony pulled the metal gate and stepped inside. Clint followed behind him. “Coming?”
Bruce swallowed, but Tony’s voice lingered in his mind: Trust me.
“Guess so.”
Bruce tentatively followed Tony onto the platform, allowing whatever fate had in store.
