#silvertwink

[jetblackfeeling]

steve woke up after 80 years to a different world and an older face

drawn for the @stevetonystbb​ based on iam93percentstardust’s amazing fic: tied together with a smile also with art by saganarojanaolt uncropped on my ao3: tied together with a smile [FANART]

[areiton]

Prompt/just some of your thoughts on the matter: older Steve is assigned as twink Tony's bodyguard and Tony keeps trying to seduce him. Steve tries to resist so he can do his damn job

OOOOOh nonnie. You are speaking my language. There's something so fucking perfect about Steve protecting Tony, and irresistible about Tony being a slutty little disaster trying to coax Steve into his bed.

I'm actually super excited to finish my MTH fics, because I have a WIP bodyguard fic--Steve is an older friend of Howard's who is lost and in need of direction after Peggy is killed.

Enter Tony, in all his twinky disaster glory, who's being harassed & stalked. Steve resists the idea at first--and then he meets Tony and changes his tune.

I'm excited to finish it and share with y'all, but just a tiny teaser until next month, hmm?

~~~

He meets Tony on a Sunday, sitting in the kitchen of Howard’s big mansion in New York, sipping coffee and staying out of Jarvis’ way. 

Tony--Tony barrels into the kitchen and it’s like the whole world slows down, goes taffy candy thick and sweet. 

He’s bare chested and wearing shiny leather pants that cling to every curve, and ride indecently low on his hips. 

He’s tousle haired and there’s eyeliner smeared around his bright laughing eyes, and glitter on his gold kissed skin. 

He’s bare foot and it makes him tiny, shorter than Jarvis and pouting as he steals coffee and bacon and gets swatted for his troubles. 

He’s oblivious and beautiful and everything in Steve clenches tight and screams in rebellion, and he can already hear it, the polite rejection and Howard’s pleas and the quiet house waiting for him--

And Tony twists, dark eyes falling on him and for just a heartbeat, so fast he almost misses it--everything in him, all the frenetic energy and careless sexuality goes quiet and still and watchful. 

“Hello,” he murmurs, and it’s not a come on, it’s not a tease, it’s only--

Gentle and inviting, like maybe he doesn’t know who Steve is and what he’s lost. 

“Hi,” Steve breathes and Tony blinks, the moment shattered as a grin, mischievous and hopeful, twists up his pretty mouth. 

“Who are you?” he asks, pouring himself into the seat next to Steve and stealing his toast. 

“I’m Steve. Your new bodyguard,” he says, all unthinking and it feels right. 

~~~

In the meantime!!! If you haven't read my previous bodyguard silver fox Steve--it's one of my favs.

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[stevetonystbb]

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[areiton]

siren song - stevetony

Written for @iam93percentstardust​‘s prompt for a mermaid fic featuring silver fox Steve. 

AO3

~*~ 

He isn't in exile. 

He wasn't sent here--he chose it. 

 ~*~ 

 Sometimes, he misses the bustle of Me’htt’n. The soaring arches of Howard’s palace and the constant thrum of conversations and songs filling the air. 

The cliffs of Br’kly’n are quiet, remote--miles from the city, far enough that the endless songs never quite reach him. 

That he hides in a cave that’s dark and deep enough that he can only see because he brings a nest of bioluminescent sponges into it, nurtures them until they’re thriving, tiny whisper things that brighten one corner of his recluse might contribute to the silence but Tasha and Bucky rarely come here to judge him for it. 

 ~*~ 

 Howard visits, sometimes. Not often. 

He wasn’t exiled, but Steve thinks that it’s easier, for Howard, if he doesn’t have to look at Steve. If he doesn’t have to face what they both lost, that day when Peggy died. 

Still. Every time he comes to Br’kly’n he says, “You deserve better than this.” 

“No I don’t,” he says, and smiles, this thin ghastly thing that never fails to chase Howard away. 

 ~*~ 

 This is what he knows--

He is old. 

He’s lived decades, the shield of Me’htt’n, the warlord mer that kept the threats of the vast oceans at bay. And he loved it, swimming with Bucky and Clint, fighting with the squad of mers they trained to protect the city. 

But soldiers die or grow old. And when there is no use for them, when someone younger, stronger swims in his place and there is no mer to sing his heartsong--

He stayed. For Bucky and Clint, for Tasha. 

He stayed while they spawned with the clans and raised tiny little merkin, with flashing fins and ringing songs, and his never fit, not truly. 

Once. 

Years ago, when he was still  the shield of Me’htt’n, when he was young and handsome and hopeful, he heard a song. 

It was shrill and demanding, a warning that sang and seduced, and he had wanted to chase it, wanted to follow it to the merkin he knew was his. 

He didn’t. 

He couldn’t. Not then, when he was weighted with duty, and not now, when his scales shimmer silver instead of blue, when his hair has threaded through with white in the gold, when he is weighted down with scars instead of duty. 

Besides--

He heard that siren soulsong years ago, and in all his years in and around Me’htt’n, he’s never heard it again. 

 ~*~ 

 The attack kills Maria when he’s still new to his post. 

It crushes the little clutch of eggs she’s jealously guarding, tears a hole through the palace halls and Steve--Steve is too slow, to stop it, to protect the queen, to do anything but save one tiny egg in her clutch. 

“It won’t live,” Howard tells him, later. “There was too much trauma.” 

He doesn’t ask where Steve was, or why he’d been distracted, or blame him. 

But he never swims with Peggy again, and two weeks after the attack, she leaves Me’htt’n for the cold waters of the Northern Isles, and Steve never looks for a mate again. 

 ~*~ 

 He isn’t happy, but he isn’t unhappy either. He exists. 

He hunts and sometimes he helps injured fish and merkin and dolphins. He swims over the nearby reef, and it’s not the same as guarding the palace, the king--but it makes him happy, sometimes. 

 ~*~ 

 Steve meets him there--on the coral reef, sun dappled water glinting on his silver scales. 

The merkin is small, slight with a deep red tail speckled with gold, like sand tossed against his scales. He has startling blue eyes that remind Steve of something, dark hair that hangs in his eyes and a tentative smile, when he sees Steve. 

He doesn’t wear any gold, any jewels at all--only a heavy iron ring on his tail, flirting with the gold fins that feather in his wake. 

And no song, nothing at all--just bone rattling silence that sets Steve's nerves on edge. 

The mer flashes him a smile, sweet and a little shy, and then darts away, a flurry of fins and bubbles and flashing gold. 

 ~*~ 

 It starts like this--

In silence. 

The merkin is shy, tentative about Steve. He runs most days, his eyes wide and frightened. 

Once, though--Steve is bracing a pile of rocks, humming a low soothing thrum at the clown fish clustered around his fin, and strong steady hands slide in alongside his, and guide him, point him to a better, safer way of building, until they’ve rebuilt the little cave and the clownfish dart through their hands into the little haven. 

Steve glances at the merkin, and touches his fingers to his lips, watching as the boy’s eyes go startled and wide. 

Thank you. 

He waves, waves off the thanks, and Steve touches his shoulder, making him almost freeze in the water. 

Thank you, he signs again, and this time, he gets a smile. 

 ~*~ 

 It takes another cycle of tides, before he can coax the merkin to come to his cavern. It feels strange, to have him here, where he doesn’t allow anyone, not even Bucky and his brood of nieces and nephews, but--it’s not. 

The merkin settles with his endless projects in the rocks lit by the colony of sponges, and Steve…

Steve settles, in having him there. 

So quiet that they can ignore each other, and do, sometimes for long stretches of a time, but demanding too, swimming in Steve’s space when he wants attention, tail flashing in the water to draw Steve’s eye, until they were darting through the cave and rocks and into the wide open water, silent and exhilarating, and the grin his little merkin shot at him was sunlit waves beautiful. 

 ~*~ 

 They don’t speak. 

Steve won’t, not when it makes him anxious and flighty. They sign, sometimes, a limited way of communicating, and once, Tony spells out his name, and stares hard at Steve, until Steve scratches his into the shifting sand, and it earns him a smile, as Tony shapes his name, soundless in the wide open water.

 ~*~ 

 Some days, he’s tired. 

He chose this life, this isolation, even if Tony blew into his little cave and shattered it. 

Some days, he doesn’t want his merkin filling up his space, doesn’t want the heavy silence that feels different than Tony’s absence, doesn’t want Tony’s sharply assessing stare and soft smile. 

He snarls, signs, Go away  and Tony bares bright white teeth, a fierce silent snarl, his tail slapping at Steve as he pushes deeper into the cave. 

No, he says, with his actions, with his sharp hands and sharp eyes and Steve screams, a shaking thing that shatters their silence, makes Tony’s eyes go wide, a concussive wall of sound that rips through the tiny cave and batters the little merkin. 

He shoves himself forward, clutches Steve around the neck and burrows tight and he never speaks, he never speaks, but as they sink to the cave floor, wracked by the soundwaves and his own grief and fear and guilt, Steve thinks he can feel the words Tony won’t say, pressed against his chest, shaped by pale pink lips in the darkness.

 ~*~ 

 Sometimes. 

Not often, but sometimes, when they’re on the coral reef, Steve will see merkin courting, hear the siren song of soulmates and courtship, and he’ll ache for a thing he hasn’t wanted in long long years. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony swims into the cave, and he’s slower than he should be, shying away from the bright sponges, sitting in near darkness until Steve nudges against his side, and feels him recoil, pull away in the gloom. 

He’s careful, but he drags Tony into the light. 

There are bruises on his torso, scales missing from his beautiful tail, a black eye and split lip, and--his hands. 

His hands, his beautiful expressive hands, how he spoke--they’re mangled, bloody and bent and wrong and Steve makes a choked noise, gathering them in his hand. 

Help, he signs, when he can think, when the shaking has slowed and the fury receded. You need help. 

Tony shakes his head and Steve catches his face, careful, careful, careful, in his hands, stares into big dark eyes. 

“Let me help you, sweetheart,” he begs and Tony slumps, slowly. 

And nods. 

 ~*~ 

 They swim into Me’htt’n together, while the city sleeps, and Tony shivers at his side, from pain or nerves, Steve isn’t sure. 

He’s quiet, but Tony’s always quiet, a lack of song and trills and words that is more evident here, in a city that is never quiet. 

He tugs lightly on Steve, his eyes wide and pleading and Steve pulls him deeper into the city. 

“We’re almost there, guppy,” he murmurs and Tony pinches his tail for that, but keeps swimming, until they’re swimming up to Bucky and Clint’s home, and he trills, a swelling song that makes Tony jerk in the water and his brother answers, a rumbling song from deep in the stony ledge. 

Steve swims inside and presses Tony down, against one of the seaweed cots. 

“What’s this?” Bucky mumbles, and Steve flicks his tail. 

“He’s hurt,” he says. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, just swims away, comes back with wraps and some of Tasha’s pungent healing ointments. 

Tony squirms and makes a face, while Bucky patches him together, his rumbling song soothing over the little room, as Steve curves around Tony’s back, an arm steady around his waist. 

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t whine his distress, and Steve can see the worry in his brother’s eyes, as he finishes patching him together and straightens. 

“Your room is still ready,” he says and Steve nods, signs his thanks before he leads Tony to the tiny room.

 ~*~ 

 The house swells with the young discordant song of Clint and Bucky’s brood, but Steve stays tucked around Tony in the tiny dark bed, his hands pressed against Tony’s ears, muffling the song, and he isn’t sure when he starts to sing, but he realizes he is, that he’s singing a soft siren song lullaby, when he realizes he’s waiting for Tony to sing back. 

 ~*~ 

 He hasn’t wanted a mate. Not in years, not since Peggy, not since he heard shattered song that sounded like his. 

But there’s silence where Tony’s song should sing, and Steve thinks maybe it doesn’t matter. 

Maybe he loves Tony despite his silence. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony goes stiff in his arms, and it’s all the warning he has, before kelp curtain flies open and Howard swims into the tiny dark bedroom. 

“Who are you,” he snarls, pinning Tony with a furious stare. “How dare you wear her ring?” 

Tony’s tail flickers nervously and Steve shifts. 

“Answer me!” Howard shouts. 

“He can’t,” Steve says, coldly, all the fury and steel he wore when he served Howard, when he stood as Howard’s shield. “Listen, he doesn’t have a song.” 

It doesn’t do anything to cool Howard’s anger, doesn’t quiet his own song at all. “Who the hell is he?” he grits out. 

“Mine,” Steve says and that makes Howard still, twisting to look at Steve with wide wide eyes. 

“I’ve never asked for anything, for my service. But you will give him back to me.” 

“He wears Maria’s ring,” Howard says, his voice twisting, furious and guilty both and Steve--Steve can feel that guilt in his gut, the part he played, the weight he carries. 

He looks at Tony. 

Can they remove it? 

There’s panic in Tony’s eyes, and something strangely defiant, but he nods, and Steve doesn’t question it. 

“Cut it off.” 

 ~*~ 

 Steve holds him, and he rumbles, a soothing song as Tony lies back against him, strangely calm as Howard’s men approach him with a shark tooth saw. 

Tony shivers once, and presses his face into Steve’s, silent and still and Steve sings, soothing and hopeful, a soaring whistling song that sounds like the waves on the coral, the deep thrumming stillness of their cave, the wild freedom of chasing each other through the ocean. 

He sings and he almost doesn’t hear it, the tiny metallic clink as the ring falls away. 

And Tony screams. 

 ~*~ 

 Later, he will hear the story, about the single egg that survived Maria’s murder, about the uncle who hid him away. About a spelled ring and an enduring silence, about the song he sang, just once, in the palace shrill defiance before the ring muzzled him for a decade. 

Later, he will realize the merkin he loves, the one who has sung to him even in the depths of silence, is the prince and heir. 

Later, he will fight Howard and the kingdom, will snarl over a handsy best friend and confide all his fear and longing in Bucky. 

Later. 

Now. 

Now. 

Tony sings. 

 ~*~ 

 He sings and Steve gasps, because he was happy, in their little bubble of silence, but hearing Tony sing for him, the siren song wrapping around and lifting his own, a perfect counterpart for his own deep song--

He shivers and Tony twists in his arms, and he’s singing, but his whole face is lit up in triumph and glee, and his lips curve into a smile, shy and sweet, and he whispers, just for Steve, “Hello, beloved.”