...dammit for a second there i was thinking tony/jensen ackles

>>43163
The nature of this thread will probably encourage that pairing.
Actually I remember reading a Steve/Tony fic that had Sam and Dean in it. It was pretty well written.

>>43164
to refresh your memory:
http://blue-soaring.insanejournal.com/14219.html

oh screw it that totally didn't need to be saged

>>43165
Not exactly the one I meant. Steve gets possessed in that one, but this one's just as good! A+

I believe you mean this one: http://gekizetsu.net/atonementch1.htm
no Sam and Dean, but Steve gets possessed and there's Cas.

>>43199
You found it! Mathematical!

>>43168

oh lolol my reading skills need work

>>43199

Wow my two obsessions rolled in to one story..

http://www.mediafire.com/?z1iddooi24h

Relevant to our interests, a bunch of sexy Tony pictures.

Some selections.

My God!
That's a tremendous number of ass shots! I think the only one who has more is Spiderman, and his are somewhat justified...

Quick! Someone write some fic!

some canon Tony loves Thor

>>43391

Well...that's what I call being obvious.

>>43534

Okay...

>>43534
Using my anonymity I will admit right now, right here image of Tony going down on this guy popped into mine brain.
All was done in that really, really cheese porn convention of this comics with green alien named Locust and fucked all around galaxy. And Tony threw around truly atrocious but incredibly funny one-liners and this guy he was going down on had big, long, uncut dick and muscles all over the place and was making funny sex faces.

>>43534

what is this from?

Fucked up as this may be, I'm going to restate my desire for Tony/Elon Musk fanfic. Can it be done? I would hit that with the thrust of a Falcon 9.

reposting an image that is relevant to our intrests.

Some random pretty art to encourage more Tony/Peter.

>>43935
This thread needs SO much more Tony/Peter.

Or "Starker." I'm trying to get that to catch on. StarkerxParker=Starker, y'know?
Just sayin'.

>>43951
Starker, as in 'starkers'? As in 'naked'? As in 'Tony and Peter getting naked with each other'?

I like it.

Or Pony.

>>43961
I'm glad.

One thing I gotta put out there, for the potential fic writers, is my Nerd Kink. There was a Tony/Peter fic in the last thread that I just loved, because Pete was so innocent and virginal and nerdy. I like it when he's portrayed as young and awkward and dorky. It's just so hot to me. That, combined with Tony's arrogance, it's the best thing EVER.

Just sayin'. For future refrence.

>>43963
This!

>>43965
I call it science OTP.

In addition, I will try to write this, but I'm not making any promises.

Also, I'm sorry but making a pairing into one word like Snarry, Ryden, Hilson, etc. is just. No. Just no.

>>44006

Looking forward to more Spion Man fic.

(Toter?)

>>44010
Peter Starker.

>>44023
Peny.

>>44025
Toner?

>>44006

I am excite, anon. I hope you find it within yourself to fulfill this humble request.

>>44054
Petark!

>>44063
Tonker?

PeTony? ParkerStark? StarkParker? IronSpidy? SpiderStark? IronParker? TonyPete?

>>43160
oh god someone turn his arc reactor back on he's going to die D:

>>44082

Don't worry dahling, the power of sexy is keeping him alive.
It's what has been keeping him alive all this time actually.

>>44086
That would imply that at some point during both movies his sexy was failing him. And that's just heresy.

>>43593
Looks like Ultimate X-Men.

>>44141
Not Ultimate X-Men

Hey, anyone has that fic where Peter raped Tony?

>>44259

Pretty sure the one you're looking for is in the last thread that autosaged;
>>38905
This should be the fic;
>>39033

>>44227

It is most assuredly Ultimate X-Men. That is clearly Kubert art there.

>>44292
My bad, now that I look again, Storm kind of gives it away. Just a bad scan I guess, threw me off.

an old Tony/Bucky!Cap fic snagged via the kink meme. I totally would like to see more of this pairing. Thier dynamic post Steve's death is fascinating.

Stark wanted it hard, he wanted it fast, and he wanted it to hurt. If he'd wanted anything else he never would have come to him. Never would have laid himself out naked and vulnerable, saying everything he knew would make James lose it. Stark wanted James to fuck him raw.

Any other day he'd have no problem hurting the man, but the fact that he wanted it was enough to make him disinclined to accommodate him.

James took Stark gently, slowly, and as sweetly as he could manage. He held Stark down carefully, refusing to speed up his thrusts no matter how much the man twisted and tried to force him faster. Angling Stark's hips up, making sure to hit his prostrate with every slow stroke. Stark spat out curses and words so James kissed him. Ignoring the way the other man bit his lips and tasted like tears.

Stark wanted to be fucked, James made love to him; and that hurt Stark far more than anything else James could have done.

Some movie verse Tony/Bruce Wayne

Business Negotiations

The party was one of the better ones Tony had been to recently, but the surroundings left a lot to be desired. Gotham was probably the most depressing city Tony had ever seen - the dark, soot-stained skyscrapers with their gothic flourishes pressing claustrophobically in on one another, the low, perpetually overcast sky, the sense of desperation evident in its poorer neighborhoods, where windows were boarded up, alleys were narrow and dark, and walking down the street was like traveling back in time to the Great Depression; it all made him feel penned in, overshadowed. Give him Los Angeles's sun-drenched valley and widely-spaced, modern skyscrapers any day, or Metropolis's soaring Art Deco towers, or even Star City's steep hills and damp fog.

Worst of all, there was no room for Iron Man in Gotham - no space amid the crowded skyline and ever-present floating police dirigibles for Old Shellhead to fly, which meant that Tony couldn't shake off the city's gloom and the tension of long business meetings by taking the armor out for a spin.

Six days in this miserable excuse for a city, and he still hadn't closed the deal with Wayne Industries. Stark Industries was still reeling from Tony's decision to shut down its weapons manufacturing, and the entire plant needed substantial re-fitting to shift those production facilities to civilian communications equipment. In the meantime, Tony needed the assistance of somebody's else's manufacturing capacity to meet production demand on SI's new line of computer products, and Wayne Industries was the only company with sufficient capacity who hadn't already made three attempts to buy SI out. The only other alternative was a partnership with Lexcorp, and with the amount of time WI lawyers were spending stalling over the contract - no doubt hoping Tony would be stupid or impatient enough to agree to the near-criminally disadvantageous terms they wanted - Lex Luthor was starting to look more attractive by the day. He at the very least never pretended to be anything but the shark he was, and a few extra under-the-table concessions would have gotten the whole deal wrapped up in a day, and probably on terms much more favorable to SI than the ones Wayne was offering.

Wayne. Tony drained the rest of his martini - not dry enough - and considered the other man, currently ensconced at a table on the far side of the room, a slim blonde at his right side and a curvy brunette at his left. The man might be a bastard across a negotiating table, but he knew how to throw a hell of a party.

Expensive champagne, even more expensive women, and just the right mix of high-power businessmen, high society Old Money, and A and B list celebrities to ensure that everyone had both someone to relax and have fun with and someone to schmooze and suck up to.

Tony had already turned down half a dozen offers of company. He wanted to talk to Wayne in private, without the other man's bevy of lawyers getting in the way - sometimes the best negotiating was done over drinks. Tony's own best negotiating was done between the sheets, but given the way those women were draped over him, Wayne already had that department covered for the evening.

The brunette laughed at something Wayne had said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and giving him a dazzlingly white smile. A wide bracelet of linked gold-and-diamond squares glittered at her wrist. The blonde, Tony noted, wore a diamond necklace that looked like it had come from the same jeweler.

Tony preferred sending flowers. It lessened the impression that you were buying a woman's affections.

Wayne looked up then, and saw him. He excused himself from the two women with a grin and a "what can you do?" shrug, and crossed the room towards Tony. Party-goers moved apart smoothly to let him pass, probably unconscious that they were doing so. Wayne could command a room just by walking into it, something Tony couldn't help but envy - he had to work to turn on the charm, while Wayne exuded charisma as if it were as effortless as breathing.

"Stark," he said, still wearing the remnants of that rueful grin. "Enjoying the party?" He nodded at the empty martini glass in Tony's hand. "Let me have one of the caterers get you a fresh one of those."

"I'm good." A waiter with a tray of champagne was approaching them, edging his way through the crowd. Tony reached over as the man passed by and swapped his martini glass for a champagne flute, holding it up with a flourish. "To a profitable future, I hope."

Wayne smiled, shaking his head. "I never talk business at parties."

"How about a deal," Tony offered. "You listen to what I have to say over," he glanced at the glass in his hand, "a glass of champagne, no lawyers, no secretaries, no financial advisors, just the two of us. Then you tell me what you honestly think, and what it would take to get Wayne Industries to agree to a deal, and if it's not something I can offer you, I'll head back to LA tomorrow and you won't have to talk business to me at all."

Wayne shrugged one shoulder, his smile turning slightly embarrassed. "I'm afraid Lucius Fox handles most of that kind of thing. I just sit there and look pretty and say what he tells me to."

Right. And Tony was just an ordinary businessman with a slightly unusual bodyguard. "I know the feeling," he said. "Sometime I think my executive assistant is the one who really runs my company. But she and Mr. Fox aren't here, and we are. Surely Lucius lets you out to play occasionally."

"Lucius prefers to remains as unaware of when and how I play as possible," Wayne drawled, placing the faintest stress on the word 'play.' He smirked, the expression vaguely familiar, though Tony wasn't sure from where. Tiberius? Lex? Ollie Queen? A mirror?

"I'm serious. I'd like a chance to actually talk, get to know you a little." Or more than a little. Tony ran an appreciative eye over Wayne's broad shoulders and long legs, the solid muscles - clearly enhanced by serious time in a gym - visible even under evening clothes. Wayne had the trick of filling out an expensive tux without looking like mob muscle, despite his stature, something some other tall, heavily muscled men Tony knew had never quite mastered. Happy never looked like anything but a hired thug, no matter how well he was dressed. Too bad Wayne already had a date or several with him tonight. "Give you a chance to find out what sort of guy you're about to get involved with."

"I make it a point to never do too much investigating into the motivations of people I get 'involved with.'" Wayne flashed him that easy smile again, the same one he'd used on the two women. It didn't reach his eyes. "It cuts down on the potential hurt feelings."

"Theirs?" Tony asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No." Wayne laughed. "Mine."

"Well, I can promise you, Mr. Wayne, that I don't want your money or your jewelry, or to be seen with you in the Gotham Times society section." Overly flirtatious, maybe, but Bruce had given him the opening, and if he had to, Tony could always pass it off as a joke. "Just twenty minutes or so of your time. And your factories' manufacturing capacity, of course."

Bruce gave Tony a slow once-over, his eyes lingering on Tony's body. "It's a deal then," he said abruptly, extending a hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

Tony took it, feeling a rush of heat go through him at the touch of Wayne's bare skin against his own. Wayne's perfectly manicured hand was larger than his, he noted. Like Cap's. Like Thor's.

The other man's grip was soft, his handshake smooth, matching the easy, charming smile, but Tony had spent years projecting his own "charmingly irreverent playboy" act, and he knew how to spot a facade when he saw one.

Wayne couldn't possibly be as harmless as he was trying to seem - not and be the head of a company as efficiently and ruthlessly run as Wayne Industries.

Work hard, play harder had always been one of Tony's personal philosophies, and from what he'd seen so far, it looked like Wayne shared his opinion. Tony offered the man his own smile in return, not the polished expression he had learned to put on for prospective business partners and the media, but one with some heat in it, one that hopefully indicated just how little Tony was fooled by Wayne's act, and how much he'd like to see what was under that perfectly tailored evening dress.

"Is there anywhere here we can talk privately?" he asked.

Wayne smirked again, and this time the amusement and lazy heat was there in his eyes as well. "There's a room on the second floor. I'll have Alfred send up a bottle of champagne."

"It's simple, really," Tony explained. "The robots are equipped with very low level AIs, which allow them to operate on their own within a given set of parameters, but there's also a manual override which lets a human operator run them by remote control, for search and rescue operations in hazardous environments, bomb disposal, mining and blasting..." he waved a hand, and the champagne in his glass sloshed out onto his fingers. "Oops. There any champagne left?"

Wayne was leaning back in his chair, watching Tony with half-lidded eyes, a mostly-empty champagne glass dangling from his fingers. It was his second, Tony thought. Or was it his first? He tried to remember if Wayne had ever refilled his own glass any of the times he'd refilled Tony's, and couldn't. "Unfortunately, no." Wayne held up his own glass in illustration, the half-inch of flat liquid at the bottom glowing pale gold in the dim light of the study's desk lamp. "Should I ring Alfred for another bottle?"

Tony thought about it for a second, but then he shook his head, and the moment of dizziness he felt at the motion convinced him that he was right. No more champagne, or he'd have a headache tomorrow to rival the one he'd had after Titanium Man threw him through a wall.

"I'll be honest, Mr. Stark-"

"Tony," he interrupted. "Call me Tony."

"Tony, then." Wayne smiled. "And make it Bruce. I'll be honest, Tony. Your designs are brilliant, and Lucius seems pretty sure you can actually deliver what you're promising, but I have some... reservations about your company's past."

"Like what?" There was, after all, so much to choose from. SI's seventy-point drop in stock prices in the past five months. The former vice-president of the company going insane and destroying half of downtown LA. Tony being a possibly crazy trauma victim who'd spent most of last summer in a cave in Afghanistan.

"Like the fact that you've spent most of your career as an arms dealer."

Or there was that. "Trust me," Tony said, "if I could go back and change that, I would." For a second, he could see the shattered buildings of Gulmira again, the dead bodies in the streets, and he blinked suddenly hot eyes, shoved away a moment of nausea. Don't think about it, he told himself. Don't. If you can fix enough things, help enough people...

"Wayne Industries doesn't make weapons," Bruce was saying. "And the fact that this is a military contract-"

"For non-combat use," Tony pointed out quickly. He drained the last swallow of champagne from his glass and set it down on the corner of Wayne's desk. He must have misjudged the distance by a hair or so, because it fell off the edge as soon as he let go. "Damn. Sorry."

Bruce scooped the glass up off the floor in one easy motion. "Hey, it was empty anyway." He set the glass on his desk, then gave Tony a regretful little smile. "Look, Tony, you've been very convincing, but Wayne Industries doesn't-"

"Doesn't make weapons," Tony interrupted. "I know. Neither do I these days. That why I need to diversify."

"The board of directors is a little uneasy about the recent performance of your company's stock, too." Bruce was leaning forward in his chair now, elbows on his knees, earnest. He was still wearing his dinner jacket, but he'd unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, bowtie hanging undone, a teasing glimpse of bare skin visible.

Tony had shucked his own coat two glasses ago, along with his tie. It had been practically strangling him, and slightly disheveled was a better look on him anyway. "You own seventy-five percent of the stock," he reminded Bruce. This discussion was not going as well as he'd hoped, despite the attractive company and the high quality of Bruce's very dry champagne.

"Yes," Bruce acknowledged, "but like I said before, Lucius is the one who makes most of the business decisions." He stood, extending a hand to Tony. "Time we got back to the party, unless there's anything else?" the question seemed to hang there, full of some weight Tony couldn't quite decipher. Everything around him had gone slightly fuzzy, no hard edges anymore, and keeping track of the double meanings in their conversation was starting to take effort.

"That depends on what you have in mind," Tony told him, but he took Bruce's hand and let the other man pull him to his feet. Bruce had nice hands, big, warm, and rough. Like he'd always imagined Cap's would feel without the leather gloves.

He let go of Bruce's hand - slowly, letting his fingers linger for just a second in silent invitation, then turned towards the door. Or anyway, that's what he intended to do. What actually happened was that as soon as he got to his feet, the floor lurched and dipped underneath him, his knees went rubbery, and he swayed forward into Bruce.

Bruce caught him, holding him up, and then they were staring into one another's faces from inches away.

So Tony kissed him. It seemed like the thing to do.

Bruce didn't seem surprised, which was good, because Tony was almost completely certain the other man had had this in mind when he'd invited Tony up here, but then again, social cues weren't always Tony's strong point, and also, he was probably kind of drunk right now.

Bruce opened his mouth, letting Tony's tongue in, and his grip on Tony's shoulder and waist went from a firm, steadying touch to something more sensual - holding Tony close, instead of holding him up.

Tony closed his eyes and threw himself into the kiss, the dizzy headrush of standing too quickly changing into another kind of rush. Bruce backed Tony up a couple of steps, not breaking the kiss, and Tony felt the hard edge of the desk against the back of his legs, just high enough for him to lean his weight back against it.

By the time Bruce broke the kiss, Tony was dizzy all over again, only now it was the desk keeping him upright, instead of Bruce's hands.

He opened his eyes, and found himself staring into Bruce's face - all square jaw and chiseled angles, his eyes heavy-lidded with arousal.

Tony grinned at him. Bruce's hands were wrapped around his upper arms, his knee thrust between Tony's legs, trapping Tony against the desk. It felt good, and maybe Bruce would be more inclined to deal now. There was nothing like getting laid for making a guy willing to agree to a few contractual concessions.

Bruce had let go of his arm, was fingering the fabric of Tony's shirt with one hand - slightly heavier than a standard dress shirt, so the light from the arc reactor wouldn't bleed through. Most people didn't notice. But then, most people didn't have their hands all over Tony.

Nice hands, too.

No, more than nice. Bruce's hands were fucking gorgeous. Perfectly manicured, yes, but it wasn't just the size that had reminded him of Cap and Thor - Bruce's knuckles were rough with calluses and the tiny, white seams of scar tissue. The little finger on his left hand was no longer entirely straight, and calluses had toughened the skin on the sides of his hands, as well.

A boxer's hands, and a martial artist's, and, judging by those scars, one who did most of his fighting without boxing gloves.

A contradiction, those hands, just like Bruce himself - smiling, easy-going, and generous and completely uninhibited in the bedroom, at least if that kiss was anything to go by, while his company staged take-over after take-over and he brokered cut-throat business deals that rivalled Lexcorps'.

When those hands reached for the buttons on Tony's shirt, Tony didn't block them or make some excuse, as he usually would have. Bruce wanted to put on an act? Then let him see the scars, the metal, let him see what kept Tony alive. Maybe he'd get an honest response out of the man then.

Bruce undid the first button, then the next, fingers surprisingly dexterous for all the alcohol that had been consumed, but then, Tony had drunk most of that bottle of champagne, hadn't he?

When the shirt fell open, Bruce hesitated, his face blank for a moment before his eyes narrowed. For an instant, Tony was pinned by a gaze intense enough that it cut right through the soft haze around him.

Ice. Bruce had eyes like ice. Predator's eyes.

It hit Tony low in the gut, like rolling into a steep dive, pulling negative Gs, and he went from half-aroused to achingly hard.

And then Bruce's eyebrows flew up in surprise, and the intensity, the hardness, was gone. "Damn," he whistled. "That must have hurt. Do you mind if I ask what it was?"

"A Stark Industries M13800 fragmentation missile with high carbon stainless micro-flechette shrapnel." Tony stumbled a little on "microflechette," but not enough for anyone else to notice.

Another slight narrowing of Bruce's eyes, and then he grinned, running one finger slowly around the edge of the arc reactor. "I've heard of getting the number of the car that hit you, but that's really- you had time to notice all of that while you were being shot at?"

"Of course." Why were people always surprised that he'd recognized the missile? And why wasn't Bruce touching him anymore? "I designed it." Tony reached around Bruce's hands and started unbuttoning the other man's shirt - the buttons were small, but Tony could and had done delicate circuitry adjustments while completely smashed. His hands were always steady, no matter how shot his balance was.

"What does this do?" Bruce was still poking at the arc reactor, which was good in the sense that it meant he finally believed in the brilliance of Tony's work, but less good in that he wasn't holding still for Tony to get his clothes off him.

"It's an arc reactor," Tony explained, as he pulled Bruce's shirt out of his pants to undo the last button. "It provides power to a set of electromagnets that hold the shrapnel in place. So they don't move around and kill me," he elaborated, just to make sure Bruce actually understood. "This one's an upgrade. I built the first one from pieces I salvaged from the SI missiles they wanted me to build copies of for them."

Bruce's shirt finally fell open, revealing the carefully sculpted musculature Tony had known would be there, every bit as solid and inviting as he'd expected. What he hadn't expected were the rainbow of bruises across Bruce's ribs - splotches of blue, green, and brown, and one or two patches of deep purple.

"So are you in some kind of billionaire fight club, or what?"

"Martial arts practice. It helps me stay in shape." Bruce shrugged one shoulder, then grinned, dismissing broth his bruises and the arc reactor completely, and said, "So, where were we?"

Coming up with a clever comeback was a little beyond Tony at the moment, given the way Bruce was now reaching inside his pants -when had they come undone? - and wrapping his fingers around him.

Tony moaned into Bruce's mouth, held up only by the desk behind him. His skin felt hot, burning under Bruce's touch, and still, those hands were maddeningly gentle. All of that massive strength was leashed, tightly under control, but just the thought of what Bruce might be able to do to him if he lost a little of that control...

Bruce tightened his grip, and Tony was gone, white starbursts flashing in his vision, and his fingers tightening convulsively on Bruce's ribs.

Bruce made a low, moaning sound, and Tony, sagging limply back against the desk and blinking the patches of light out of his vision, realized that he'd just dug his fingers right into the bruises on the other man's ribs.

"Sorry," he mumbled, trying to gather his muscles into working order again.

Bruce shook his head slightly, his eyes glazed, and Tony realized that he was still hard and erect, and that the sound he'd just made hadn't been out of pain.

"You like it rough, huh?" Tony pushed away from the desk, Bruce backing up a step to let him, and dropped to his knees. He wobbled for a second, the change in altitude making the floor tilt again, steadied himself with one hand against the floor, and reached for the fastenings at the front of Bruce's tuxedo pants.

Tony was trapped again, balance unsteady and Bruce's hands holding him in place. He used his teeth, something he didn't normally do, and more force than he'd initially planned on, and Bruce groaned sharply through his teeth and dug his fingers into Tony's hair. It hurt, just a little, and Tony felt himself responding again, making low, needy sounds in the back of his throat.

Bruce wasn't the only one who liked it rough.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So," Tony said sometime later, one arm over Bruce's shoulders as Bruce walked him to his car, "does this mean you'll make my all-terrain mining and bomb-defusing robots?" Enunciating took actual effort. So did walking without tripping. His feet didn't want to do what his brain told them to. Tony smiled at the thought, stumbling as Bruce steered him over the curb to where Happy and the Maserati waited. Now the rest of his body matched his heart, not working the way it was supposed to.

"Are you kidding?" Bruce's big, brawler's hand was flat over the center of Tony's chest. "Now that I've seen this? We'll sign the papers in the morn-" he broke off, giving Tony that narrow-eyed evaluative look again, "we'll sign them tomorrow afternoon," he finished. "There are a few points in the contract to go over, but-"

"Told you I was a genius," Tony interrupted, grinning at Bruce. "You'll like the robots. They're cute. An' I'm not signing any of the patents over, so you can stop trying. My terms, or I go to Lex."

Bruce blinked, the surprised expression again - his real emotions were all in his eyes, Tony had realized, in the way they widened or narrowed. "I'd love to give you a good deal, Tony, but Lucius is the one who decides these things."

"No, he's not." Lying bastard, Tony thought, without any real rancor. "My terms. I'm not giving you the rights to my babies just because I'm drunk, no matter how many perks you offer me." He gave Bruce another grin to take the sting out of his words. Contract secured, and the sex on top of the alcohol had relaxed him so thoroughly that all his muscles felt unstrung.

He couldn't see Yinsen's face in his head anymore, couldn't, in this hazy, contented state, make himself care about anything enough to be tense, the habit of months - stay alert, stay on guard, if they figure out what you're doing, they'll kill you - blotted out for the evening by martinis, champagne, and Bruce's touch.

No nightmares tonight. He owed Bruce one, lying bastard or not.

End

>>44321

...I am kind of in love with this. I'm planning on writing some Tony/James dub-con soon for Kink Bingo; depending on how it turns out, I might share with you guys. This ficlet has my brain firing on all cylinders now.

>>44336

write it! I would love to read your take on the two of them. :)

COQ. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.
An old friend of mine says that RDJ is fugly and not sexy at all. IT BREAKS MY HEART.
Seriously! mean, did I chose a bad picture? She also thinks Mark Wahlberg is gross looking. Here's the convo. PLEASE REMEDY MY SORROW WITH BEAUTIMOUS RDJ/TONY LOVE. D:

Me:
you can't tell me mark wahlberg isn't sexy in this. come on bro
http://projectqatlanta.com/images/uploads/Mark_Wahlberg_01.jpg

London
wow that was fucking disgusting (hates muscles and especially armpit hair)

Me
wtf
you do like girly asian men?

London
no, i like guys who have hair on only their head and are a tad plump. Thanks

Me
that's not natural unless they're asian

London
I'm not saying everyone else should like it.
And since when are asians naturally plump???
Did I miss something?

Me
I was talking about body hair.

London
XD that's what RAZORS are for!

Me
why the .... why would you want a guy to shave his armpits and legs and shit?
that's kind of stupid gay, unless its for cosplay or swimming/cross country.
http://www.collider.com/uploads/imageGallery/Iron_Man_movie/iron_man_movie_image_robert_downey_jr12.jpg <-- you don't like to see guys physically fit?

London
Well, not legs...just face and pits and chest, i guess
ew fuck no
ugh

Me
seriously?

>>44694
Stop talking to her. She's poison.

>>44697
This.

>>44694
>that's kind of stupid gay
ahahahaha

The weirdest part here is that neither of those guys are particularly hairy. At all.
This seems to be the peak of RDJs hairiness, and I don't mind it one bit. Your friend don't know what she's missing, I say.

Sage for being tennuously on topic.

>>44694

Bad Influence Bad Influence!

Just...shove this to her face until she likes it.
http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o300/reiko7176/robert-downey-jr-photos-004.jpg

>>44694
let her have the chubby guys, more hot hairy guys for us then.

>>44694

Logic states that your friend is a lesbian.
And she wants you.

>>44705
....Guh. You owe me new panties.

Anyone taking art requests? I had a strange vison of Tony doing the recent lulzy Old Spice commericals and now it won't get out of my head. "The tickets are now diamonds!!"

>>44954
I'm on a horse.

>>44321
I need more of this pairing in my life.

>>45031 I second this 8Db

>>44954

>>45148
LOL WHY DID THIS MAKE MY WHOLE DAY BETTER?

Curious if anyone is actually interested in Tony/Kurt Wagner art, or if the scan is just for decoration.

>>45201
Oh yes plz.

because clearly when you're tied together at the wrist and left naked in a cellar or something, the best way to pass the time is to get it on.

>>45231
I love you dearly.

>>45231

...I want fic of this now. What a pretty, pretty pairing this could be.

I'm still waiting for some Deadpool/Tony

>>45333

We want Deadpool/Tony? I, I could probably do Deadpool/Tony. Prompts/requests/desperate desires?

Do Maxwell Lord/Tony Stark please?

>>45341

Oh anon, you're the love of my life.

My only desperate desire is to see Deadpool/Tony, I ask for nothing more.

>>45231
I never realised I wanted this.

>>45333
http://community.livejournal.com/idontsavedays/5113.html

MOAR deadpool x tony MOAAAAAARRRRRR !! O__O

>>45377

Writefag would like some prompts for it anyway? Heh.

>>45597

I've always liked the Tony angsting over Steve/Deadpool angsting over Cable dynamic myself. Or Tony runs off after Civil War/during Dark Reign to hide from Norman and ends up hanging out with Deadpool and pretending to be a merc somehow. And they bond because Deadpool was the only one on Tony's side who's reasoning made sense. Because he was. (Wade wanted to get people like himself off the streets and under control or something like that.)

HULK TOO SERIOUS TODAY. HULK GO SEE SEX AND THE CITY MOVIE WITH TONY STARK. STARK SUCKER FOR CARRIE BRADSHAW.

http://twitter.com/XDRESSINGHULK/status/15070770984

drawfag would love some Tony/Max Lord prompts.

>>45694

Businessmen in nice suits are always a good starting point. As are cigars. And blowjobs.

(Implied Avengers/JLI team-up squee)

I feel dirty for suggesting this but...I kinda want fic of Ultimates Tony/Jarvis. Anyone?

found Tony/Deadpool drabble

Tony groaned as he came too. He was cold, sore, and – sticky. And naked.

The surface he was laying on was cold too.

And hard.

Really hard and cold.

And slightly sticky.

All of that combined didn’t bode well in any situation. Well there had been that one time with those Russian twins but –

Groaning again he forced his eyes open. Then quickly closed them again.

“Please tell me this is a hallucination,” Tony moaned, opening his eyes again.

Deadpool was still there. Laying naked on the concert.

“Oh god.” Tony scrubbed his face with his hands trying to remember what had happened.

“Hmm- Nate --,” Wade mumbled then opened his eyes. “Hey! You’re not Cable!” he said accusingly.

Tony pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Why am I naked? Why am I naked and sticky? You had your wicked way with me did you?”

“Deadpool, shut up. Do you even remember what happened?”

Wade stopped talking mid-word. “—No--? But there is probably a humorously embarrassing story behind it all. Not that I know it – because if I knew it, I’d tell you. Do you know what happened? Did we get hit with sex pollen? I hate when that happens.”

“I don’t know what happened either,” Tony grumbled looking around the cement pit they were in. The only light came from the metal grate above them. “Not a fucking clue.”

http://kijikun.livejournal.com/834368.html?thread=1546304#t1546304

>>45783
You're not alone~

Title: Method to Madness
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot, Crossover
Rating: NC-17
Summary: If Kirk Lazarus is Tony Stark, then Tony Stark is— Well. He's Tony Fucking Stark. Tony/Kirk
Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man, Tropic Thunder, or any related plots and characters. They are the property of others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: Written for mspotamus's RDJ kink meme thing, and it might not be so good because it came out less like Tony/Kirk and more like Tony/Tony, but, uh... I like Tony/Tony, so there. Also, insert obligatory pimping of tonyxall here. Edit: I got sporked for the first time (that I know of and that wasn't intentional)! I'm actually proud of this. I know, I know, I shouldn't be, but I am. It's funny to me. I mean, it's like a sort of honor, you know?
Crosspost: AdultFanfiction.net



Tony Stark never answered his own door. He was always aware of it being answered, but he could count on one hand the number of times he had put his own palm on the handle of the door, pulled, and saw someone else on the other side. Three fingers, all accidents or coincidences.

So he didn't answer the door, and even though Pepper told him, through Jarvis, that Kirk Lazarus had arrived, he still jumped when he saw him.

It wasn't because he was surprised by his presence, of course; he didn't think Lazarus was exactly the sort to wait for anything to come to him, and had more than expected him to reject any sort of personal space and storm on down into the lab. He was surprised because he didn't storm, he sauntered in like he owned the place. He was surprised by the quietly carefree way he walked, like there was no way he and Tony Stark could possibly have any sort of confrontation when they met. He was surprised, most of all, by the realization that with his hair and beard dyed dark, Kirk Lazarus looked a lot like he did.

Tony knew a lot of actors, most of whom he'd fucked. He'd heard a lot of stories about Lazarus, about his intense immersion method acting, about his dedication. It was the only reason he'd agreed to being shadowed for two weeks.

He'd always sort of wanted a twin.



---


"Your walk is off."

Day two, and it was time to start criticizing. If someone was going to be playing Tony Stark on the big screen other than Tony himself, he sure as hell wasn't going to be sloppy about it. He knew Lazarus would take it to heart, and so he stopped him before they got to the car, doubled back, walked to it again.

To his surprised, Lazarus didn't look offended in the least; instead, he watched Tony carefully, studying the motion of his body as he moved. He copied him, then cursed under his breath and did it again, more satisfied the second time.

"So basically, I need to walk like there's a rod stuck up my ass twenty-four seven," Kirk said, sliding smoothly into the car. He nodded to Happy, who almost called him "Tony."

"More or less, yeah." Tony slid in beside him, and then smiled brightly. "You've almost got the accent down."

Lazarus cleared his throat, then tried again. "Like there's a rod stuck up my ass twenty-four seven."

"Closer." Tony looked away, out the window. His eyes were too blue— not quite right. It was kind of disturbing; they almost seemed as bright as the arc reactor, which he hadn't let him see yet. "I wouldn't say 'twenty-four seven.' And you've got to put more into your insults."

"I hate you," Lazarus said, in a near-perfect imitation of his voice.

"Now you're way off. I love myself."


---


Half of the board of directors had flown out of New York just to talk to Tony, and they were — some would say understandably — pissed at the prospect of having to deal with a second Tony, especially one that was an actor.

Lazarus asked if he should leave. Tony laughed, and Lazarus almost looked ashamed, but he apparently knew enough to know that shame was just not something Tony did. Ever.

Tony slept through the meeting, waking only when he was asked something directly, and only muttered the barest passable responses then before drifting off once more. He was sure he probably snored.

Lazarus yawned by the end. Ton gave him points for it; he hadn't sat through dozens of the same sort of meetings before. It took some time, getting that bored with it all.

"You didn't wake up when the bald guy asked about your marketing intentions with the suit," Lazarus informed him as they were leaving. "I told him he could shove his 'marketing intentions' right back up his ass."

"Not bad," Tony conceded. "I would have asked how his daughter was, too. I slept with her once, on his bed."

"I'll keep that in mind."


---


On day five, Lazarus called Pepper "Miss Potts" when asking for her to order breakfast from the place Tony likes.

He also asked for extra bacon, crispy, which was wrong, but Tony let it slide.

"'Miss Potts?' Really?" Tony asked, a smirk plastered across his face as he toyed with the latest potential upgrade to the suit. "You sound like a schoolboy, Kirk."

Lazarus looked confused for a moment, and Tony saw him piecing it together, the puzzle written across his face. He hoped— he was pretty sure— he was never that easy to read.

It wasn't a matter of formality, or lack thereof. Tony would call any schmuck by his best-known nickname and throw in a charming smile just to get what he needed, to stay on everyone's good side even when he was cutting wires behind their back. Orders, even the sort that seemed like polite requests, either got no name or formal names, because Tony knew when to square his shoulders to stroke an ego here and there, especially if it was menial work that wasn't really in the job description, but—

But it was different with Pepper. It was different with Rhodey, too, but it was especially different with Pepper.

It clicked, and Lazarus didn't say anything, he just smiled.


---


Jarvis recorded everything that went on in Tony's home. That was why he knew exactly what happened on the evening of the sixth day, and why he had to prepare himself for it when Lazarus descended the stairs into the lab, searching for him.

He didn't say anything, he just played the video, a high-quality capture of Pepper informing Lazarus of some inane detail of Tony's life, as she'd already gotten used to doing. And maybe if he hadn't been looking for it, hadn't seen Pepper's face before she left that night, he wouldn't have noticed it even if he had seen the video feed: Lazarus's hand on the small of her back, Pepper's eyebrows knitting together, the hand dropping just a little lower.

He let it stop there and then loop back. Lazarus knew what had happened after, anyway.

After a few minutes in which Lazarus looked neither surprised nor uncomfortable, Tony said, his voice even, "Do you really think I'm that fucking stupid?"

Lazarus didn't answer, didn't need to. No, he didn't. And now that it was pointed out to him, he knew where he'd gone wrong.

She's too important for that, Tony didn't say. It wouldn't happen again. He relaxed, felt his shoulders drop a bit, and turned back to his work.


---


On the seventh morning, Lazarus got to see the other half of the equation first hand. Tony didn't know it at the time; he hadn't given him access to anything through Jarvis, had told him he would need to figure it out himself if he wanted to have any kind of success in their time together.

So he fucked the girl into the bed, some model or other who might have been half-naked in some ad somewhere. He didn't really know her name, except that it started with a P. Or a B. It didn't matter either way, because he already had his dick in her and he didn't need to bother with trying to charm or impress her out of her dress anymore.

She moaned and writhed like she was in ecstasy, and that was why she was facing away, so she couldn't see the sort of bored look on his face. He wasn't really all that interested. He just wanted to get off.

Pepper kicked her out, as usual, and Tony went about his day and it was almost noon before he remembered that Lazarus was supposed to be around somewhere.

He found him with the scene on a screen in the basement, and Lazarus wasn't ashamed — of course he wasn't — as he pointed to a part of it.

"This, here— what did you do with your hand?"

Tony looked at the screen, and he could barely remembered, but— "Her ass. I was fingering her ass."

Something almost like fascination flew through Lazarus's eyes as he set the footage back to play, and Tony knew he was thinking, So this is what it's like to be screwed by Tony Stark.


---


On day nine, he let Lazarus see the arc reactor.

"You're acting like this is some kind of fucking religious experience," Tony said, feeling more exposed than he thought he would. Most people made their oohs and aahs about the arc reactor from a distance, even if they did lean in close enough to breathe all over it and fog it up. They didn't really go for the tactile experience.

"It kind of fucking is," and at that point it was getting kind of weird, the way his own voice was parroted back to him. "It's not like I'm going to have the real thing—"

A pause. Tony knew Lazarus was actually considering it, and he'd probably throw in the life-threatening shrapnel, too. But he wasn't quite that stupid.

"—so I've got to know what it's like," he finished, eventually.

Tony couldn't feel it at all from his side, knew that the fingers were stroking the entire thing but his nerves weren't there, didn't alert him to it except for the occasional brush against his skin when Lazarus touched the edge. Nonetheless, it was sort of hot; he'd always found the devoted attention of fetishists went straight to his cock, so long as it involved worshipping some part of his body— and, in his bed, it usually did. Lazarus wasn't so much different from one of those fetishists, even if he wasn't even close to any erogenous zones.

The edge of his hand brushed Tony's nipple, and he didn't let his breath hitch in his throat, forced himself to let it out, smooth as ever. After a moment more, he pushed Lazarus's hand away, buttoning up his shirt.

"That's enough of that. You're starting to look more like a moth than Tony Stark."

He wasn't sure if Lazarus had noticed his reaction; the man was too fined-tuned to his ever subtle gesture, he could have seen it even if he didn't let on that he had.

Sometimes he wondered if being such a smug bastard was worth it, and he wondered if maybe the whole Lazarus thing had really been a good idea after all.


---


One the eleventh day, Tony completed a fake arc reactor. It felt the same to the touch as his, and even though it consumed energy rather than creating it, it still gave off the same light. Best of all, it was lightweight and could be stuck to flesh as easily as a fake nose.

Lazarus put it on happily and looked to Tony like he was some kind of mirror.

His eyes were still too bright. It was a problem, because Tony couldn't keep his eyes away from them, even with the lure of his own fantastic work and a lot of bare flesh just within reach, since Lazarus had taken his shirt off for comparison.

Tony thought about having Pepper put in an order for contacts, then made Lazarus do it instead. Pepper couldn't tell the difference.

On day twelve, Lazarus said, "Call me Tony."

Sometime between the thirteenth and fourteenth day, when they tumbled home less drunk than they let everyone else believe, still riding the high of losing ten thousand on the craps tables — they'd been playing it easy, because Tony didn't want Lazarus getting too carried away with money he didn't really have — they collapsed on Tony's bed, and Tony didn't have the energy, he told himself, to push Lazarus away, to point him toward the guest bed he'd been using.

If he fell asleep, it was only for a moment, but he was pretty sure he had, because one moment he was closing his eyes on the edge of his massive bed, and the next he was blinking at Lazarus's face, trying to squirm away because the arc reactor was bumping against its fake twin, which sort of hurt, and maybe a little because his dick was about to dig into Lazarus's thigh and he didn't like throwing that sort of surprise so suddenly at anyone.

It was too late, though, because Lazarus's eyes were wide and a little confused, and he grabbed Tony's arms, keeping him steady.

"Wait," Lazarus said. "Wait."

So Tony waited, but he couldn't always be a patient man, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to stick around doing nothing while Lazarus tried to figure out his fucked up psyche. Whatever it said about him, he was horny as hell, and he ground down into Lazarus's thigh, driving that point home.

"You'd—?"

"Fuck myself?" Tony supplied, twisting out of Lazarus's grip and putting one hand on his chest, next to the imitation reactor, and another on his shoulder. "In a heartbeat."

Tony didn't even bother asking if Lazarus swung that way, because he knew it didn't matter, not for a fucking second. No whispers had ever really been made about his sexuality, but two weeks with the man had convinced Tony that he had not gone into Satan's Alley without preparing for it thoroughly, to an extent no one else Tony knew would ever go. It didn't matter any more what Kirk Lazarus might do; Tony Stark was all that mattered there.

Tony pulled the zipper on Lazarus's pants open, shoved his hand in and wrapped his fingers around his dick. It didn't feel exactly like his, and for a second that surprised him; it was bigger, thicker mostly. "Nice, Kirk," Tony said with a grin, even when his stroking produced no result — Lazarus was still soft. Not pushing, not protesting, but not interested.

Lazarus adjusted, let himself be stroked, and muttered, "Call me Tony."

That sent something jolting straight to Tony's dick. He groaned, rutting against Lazarus's thigh, and that was it. That was the key; Lazarus's eyes, darkened by contacts, met his instantly, and then he was writhing, his cock hardening, clutching at Tony like Tony clutched at him. They kissed, frantic and almost painful, and Tony was barely sure whose tongue was in whose mouth as they rolled, mindful of the bed's edge. It wasn't a fight for dominance or an argument about who would do what or who— when Tony found himself on his back in the middle of his bed, both wrists caught in one of Lazarus's hands, it wasn't surrender, it was just how things worked out.

Lazarus knew where the condoms and lube were, and Tony didn't stop to wonder if he'd found them before, while wandering around mostly unsupervised, or if he'd just guessed correctly; instead, he focused on getting his pants off, his shoes and socks, and then unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall open just enough to put the arc reactor on display. When Lazarus came back to hover over him, his shirt was gone but his pants were still on, hanging on his hips, and he pushed them down only just enough to let his cock free, rolling on the condom quickly before slicking up two fingers and pushing them in without preamble.

"Fuck," Tony whined, wrapping his legs around Lazarus's hips. "Tony."

Lazarus fucked him with his fingers, setting a hard and rough pace almost immediately, and Tony knew he was right about the Satan's Alley thing, because he knew exactly how to find his prostate and make it fantastic. He tried to thrust himself back on those fingers, but he was held down firmly, the one hand back around his wrists, chests pressed together so that the reactors almost bumped again.

Lazarus pulled out his two fingers, pushed in three, and Tony wasn't going to wait any longer. He thrust up, rubbed himself against Lazarus's erection as best he could, and the groan he got as a reward said that his best effort was definitely a good one. The fingers were gone, and an instant later Lazarus's cock was pressing against him, pushing in, and Tony almost kicked him to make him push in faster, but he saw the way Lazarus was breathing, the concentration in his eyes, and he trusted him, trusted that it would be good.

It was, though Tony would have thought of "good" as a terrible understatement. He let loose a string of curses, occasionally mixing in a hissed "yes" or grunted "God!" to shake things up, encouraging Lazarus to do the same, and hearing Lazarus — no, hearing himself get off was the most erotic thing he could dream of then, made it so good that after his hands were let go he wasn't sure who it was that jerked him off to his end, just that he saw nothing but the shining blue of the arc reactor when he closed his eyes and came. Lazarus gripped his hips, pulling him back into every thrust, and Tony went with him, pushing against him as best as he could, squeezing every muscle he could find the will to command at that point, until his other self came inside him.


---


The fourteenth day, for the most part, was sort of hazy after they woke up, dressed, and successfully evaded Pepper, taking care not to look like they'd been fucking. Tony smirked at his mirror image when she turned away, unsuspecting, and as soon as he could get her caught up on a call to some overseas corporation he intended to turn down anyway, they stole away to every semi-private corner of the house.

In the living room, Tony blew Lazarus off, then got to find out exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a Stark blowjob. He didn't usually swallow, but he did just that once, hoping Lazarus would, too. He didn't, spitting into his hand and smirking at Tony as he wiped it on his pants, letting him know he'd been caught.

In the guest bedroom Lazarus had stayed in, Tony tied Lazarus down with a belt around each wrist, riding him until he was thrashing helplessly and begging to come.

In the basement, Tony slid on parts of the armor and Lazarus blew him, or tried to until he was bent over a worktable and fucked, lost to the mercy of Iron Man.

They eventually wound up, towards midnight, back in Tony's room, and Lazarus found an almost-forgotten dildo which would not be forgotten again; he fucked Tony with it, bringing him to the edge and easing him back down again and again, watching his face intently, studying him before pushing him over, and he came so hard it sort of hurt. Then Lazarus straddled his hips, jerking himself off onto Tony's stomach, and the way he moved over his dick made Tony wish there was some way his body would allow him to get it up again, but he was exhausted, and five orgasms in twenty-four hours was nothing to be scoffed at.

He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around what he fondly thought of as almost-himself, fingertips tracing the smooth lines of the not-reactor.


---


In the morning, Lazarus was gone. Tony couldn't really hide his disappointment, and Pepper rolled her eyes when he whined about missing his own company.

"I'll just be happy when the world is back to having one Tony Stark," she said, not even looking at him, and that would have hurt if he didn't know she didn't mean it. Or that she did, but— well. It was Pepper. "You were really upsetting the— the balance of things."

"The balance?" Tony asked, raising his eyebrows. "Pepper. I didn't know you cared."

She didn't bother rolling her eyes that time; instead, she told him he had a meeting to be at in less than an hour, and everything went more or less back to normal.


---


Tony was invited, but he didn't make it to the movie premier. He liked hearing about the movie, but the thought of seeing himself on screen made him feel sort of sick and a little sad.

Nonetheless, he commended Kirk Lazarus for his excellent performance the next day and told one reporter that he never wanted anyone else to play him again.

>>45327
I actually found some.
http://ibenholted.deviantart.com/art/When-Tony-met-Kurt-168023364?q=1&qo=1

*Clears throat*

Ladies and gentlemen, I've found....

Tony Stark / Various Disney Princes orgy.

Enjoy

http://community.livejournal.com/disney_kink/361.html?thread=582505#t582505

Oh, there's also some Tony/Lady Gaga going around, but well...I assume she doesn't belongs here?

>>47518
>>47519
Right now I have work to do, but I WILL study
these in detail later.

>>47519

Well no, but you might be able to get away with just links. (I for one totally want to see that.)

For those who want Gaga

http://ironman-kink.livejournal.com/369.html?thread=66929#t66929

tony belongs on the first page! from http://blue-soaring.dreamwidth.org/

The sign at the single pump proclaims Last Chance with a hangman's certainty. A dull clank sounds from the bell above the door as the screen creaks open. Tiny puffs of dirt rise up to settle on Logan's boots. His eyes are flat, black as staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Going my way?" Tony asks, crossing his ankles and knocking his shades down a notch.

Logan's lip peels back. "No."

"Funny, 'cause I'm going yours. You dropped off the radar, Logan," Tony says, cutting through the growl pushing up the back of Logan's throat. Shutting up isn't the first thing he thinks about anymore when Logan starts snarling at him. "People die when that happens. Lots of them."

"Only fixin' on one this time. Move."

"Sure." Nudging his shades back into place, Tony slaps a hand on the tank of Logan's bike and slides a leg over, settling onto the bitch seat with an eyebrow cocked. "How's that work for you?"

*

Miles of speeding along twisting asphalt and no helmet left Tony's hair a tangled mess. Near sundown Logan turns in to the dusty lot of an abandoned roadside motel. The desert stretches out in a long craggy line behind it, bleak as the bottom of a bottle dotted with scraggy patches of scrub brush, an anorexic moon and not much else. Broken windows gape like blank eyesockets. The door to the office clings to its hinges, the tattered screen twitching in the dirt. Logan tilts his face to the cool wind tumbling down off the mountains.

"I hope you're about to tell me it looked better on the brochure," Tony says.

With a grunt, Logan swings off the bike and disappears into the black. A chill sweeps in to take his place against Tony's chest, wriggling clever frozen fingers under his shirt to send a shiver prickling along his skin. Glancing at the nothing pressing in on all sides, Tony nabs his duffle off the back and follows.

Inside smells of musty wood and ash. He waits for his eyes to adjust before moving too far from the door, straining for the heavy tread of Logan's boots on the bare wood. A thin sliver of the last of the day's light stretches in through one of the boarded-up windows in the hall, flickering over his hands in red-gold stripes as he moves through it. He finds Logan in the third room down, as dusty and dim as the rest. The dark outline of a seven lingers on the door like a ghost.

"Here and gone," Logan says, crouched over a handful of candle stubs stuck in a melted puddle of wax. "Couple days at least."

Logan looks good out here with his scarred boots and low-slung jeans, road dirt filling in all his rough edges, smoothing him down to something warm and solid like a rock baked in the sun. Tony wants to know what he tastes like out here, if he's sharp as the whiskey he sometimes drinks or gritty like the wind, last-chance bittersweet.

Wan light glints off the snap of his lighter, candle flames guttering before catching and burning steady, bright in the blacks of Logan's eyes. "I can smell what you're thinkin'."

"If you're going to make me sleep in this hovel, consider it the least you can do," Tony says, dropping the bag and giving it a kick inside the room. It won't change a thing, but he wants his hands free for this.

Teeth show in Logan's smile. "Don't remember inviting you."

"But you didn't stop me."

Logan straightens up without a sound. The air goes slowly thick, clinging to the insides of Tony's lungs. This guy that Logan's after, the chase is driving him too far out. He's one wrong choice from leaving the person he carved out of a past piled with corpses sprawled in the dirt by the highway.

"You didn't stop me, Logan," he repeats.

The flare of Logan's nostrils as he scents the air drives a shivering spike up through Tony's gut. This has been on his mind for too long now. He's gotten glimpses of it, flashes like shards of a broken mirror, jagged and fascinating, a strip-tease where it's Logan's control he's watching slip through the fingers of a clenched fist. It looks a lot like the glint of fresh ice tumbled into a glass for one last drink.

"Take the bed if ya want it," Logan says, kicking a chair with its upholstery ripped up the back around. He sinks into it and drops his heels on the footboard, chin dipped towards his chest. His hat tips low over his eyes.

Disappointment tastes stale on Tony's tongue. He gives the musty bed a long look. "Wonderful."

*

Morning dawns bright and hot. Bare floorboards creak as Tony rolls stiffly onto his back, the dust kicked up from the cracks in the wood still hanging in the air when a hand clamps around his throat. He sucks in quick breath and throws an arm up, but instead of a crack across the jaw he gets a fist pressed tight into his gut. A warning snarl trickles from the shadow crouched above him and he drops his hand. "Morning, sweetheart."

Logan leans down into the shade behind the bed and sniffs the air above his face. A little more and whiskers tickle his cheek. He holds his breath as Logan's pushes hot against his ear. "You sleep in the bed?"

Fingers twitch against Tony's throat as he swallows. "No."

"You smell different," Logan says, the words softly stirring his hair. Blunt knuckles dig harder into his belly. His insides do a strange little dance anticipating the slice of body-warm steel through flesh.

"Blanket," Tony grits out, tugging on Logan's wrist, "under my coat."

Logan rocks back onto his heels with a grunt. He flexes his fingers, a small ripple beneath the skin giving away how close he was to patenting a Stark pincushion. Tony elbows the makeshift pillow aside and drops flat onto the floor, arms flung out as his crippled heart eases back down into his chest where it belongs. "I'd hate to see what you'd have done if I woke up in that bed."

"Wouldn't've woken up," Logan says, apparently comfortable enough straddling Tony's thighs, arms folded across his chest. His gaze hops from the bed to the burnt out candles. "Didn't smell him last night. Your fault."

Tucking an arm beneath his head, Tony says, "If you'd taken me up on my offer, I'd smell like you right now."

"That all you think about?"

"So says the guy in my lap."

"Christ," Logan rumbles. "You gonna leave me the fuck alone if I stick you?"

"You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

A scowl creases Logan's brow. He uncrosses his arms, his hands curling into fists on his thighs, sitting at the perfect angle to punch six neat little holes into Tony's sides. "You're not so slow you think you're gonna stop me."

"The thought might've crossed my mind."

Logan's mouth slips into a slant a few miles shy of a smile. "You're not that good a lay."

"Oh yes I am."

The corner of Logan's mouth hitches a little higher. He flows up onto his feet, soundless. "Gotta take a leak."

"Give it up, Logan," Tony says, stopping Logan in his tracks. "Nothing ever comes of it."

"You find that out at the bottom of a bottle?" Logan asks, and when Tony doesn't answer, he grunts, "Thought so."

Staring at the pockmarked ceiling, Tony wonders what the hell he thinks he's doing.

*

The sun beats down on Tony's shoulders. The scrap of shade he found hunkered down between a rock and the bike is long gone and a tiny pinprick of black perched on the edge of a cliff in the endless stretch of brown is all that's left of Logan. Not much point in lying to himself out here: he knows exactly what he thinks he's doing, but it's not going that way. Working up a bit of spit, he says, "Jarvis." Sand crunches in his teeth.

"I'm afraid not, sir."

Dropping his head back, he lets his eyes slide shut. "Try oscillating at a different rate." Thin silvers of blood red blaze through his eyelids above the slip of his sunglasses. "A hundred billion dollars of tech and none of it's worth a fucking penny."

Wisely, Jarvis doesn't say a word.

An hour later the crunch of gravel brings with it the cool fall of Logan's shadow. The iron tang of fresh blood rouses Tony from the heat-heavy doze he'd succumbed to, his eyes gummy and his mouth dry. He coughs dust out of his throat. "Find him?"

"Found lunch," Logan grunts, dropping a skinned jackrabbit onto the boulder.

Tony watches him gather an armful of crackling leaves and twigs into a shallow dip in the dirt a good dozen feet off. "You really know how to show a guy a good time."

"I was thinkin' about leavin' you there," Logan says, big hands coaxing a tiny tongue of flame to life, "but figured you wouldn't get the hint."

"Oh, I got it." Hooking one of the saddlebags closer, Tony digs out a canteen. They're going to need to find fresh water soon. Three months in a desert hadn't taught him much about how to survive in one when the most he'd seen were the same blank cave walls and one panicked blur of sun-washed brown. "Lucky for you, I don't give up that easily."

Logan snorts a laugh and skins the brittle bark off a branch, whittling it down to the tender wood. Tony's carved a hole through his own chest and welded metal to his naked ribs, but that rabbit's macabre dance above the flames as Logan wriggles it onto the spit says more about his own mortality than the poisoned heart limping along in his chest. It gives a hard thump at the thought, and Logan's gaze flickers up, quick like catching the dart of a deer between the trees.

The back of Tony's neck prickles. "What're you going to do when you find him?"

"What d'ya think I'm gonna do?" Logan counters, sticking out his cupped hands for a splash of water.

Tony's gaze slides to the spitted rabbit. The flash of Logan's teeth isn't a no, but it isn't quite a yes, either. A cool shiver creeps under his skin, tightens up his belly. He'd be safer sleeping with a loaded gun, finger on the trigger, than playing this game with Logan. "Give me a kiss," he says. "Maybe I'll shut up."

"Didn't work last time."

"Fun trying though."

Logan's hand comes up, shining wet in the firelight. Fingers curl under his chin to tilt his face up, warm and rough, strong enough to crush his bones, but Logan's thumb is light on the edge of his lip. He grins, cocks his head to the side and waits. He knows Logan can hear the rush of blood beneath his skin, knows it's driving his scent into the air from the subtle twitch of Logan's facial muscles. He makes for the world's worst prey. That jackrabbit didn't jump up and beg Logan to bite it.

"Look at that," Logan says, eyes shimmering in the sun.

*

>>47886

Tony squints at the horizon. "How far off is he?"

Perched on a pile of shale crooked as broken teeth, Logan looks to the waning light. "'Bout ten miles."

"Tell me you realise how insane this is. It's not the fucking OK Corral out here. Even I've got better shit to do with my time."

"You done?"

"Jesus Christ." Slumping against a rock, Tony scrubs gritty hands over his face. His mouth is burning and the water's not helping. "Do you even know why anymore, or are you just that bored?"

Logan swings down off the rocks to land with a quiet thump in the dirt. "Stay here."

Not for the first time, Tony wonders if Logan can smell it on him through the stink of booze-soaked desperation. He'd be worse than useless in a fight. Naked and vulnerable, human or less than without layers of metal between him and the world. His chest aches all the time now, in the suit or not, and that urge slinking through Logan's blood isn't interested in something not worth the chase. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Logan doesn't turn around this time, doesn't stop. "Same reason you're not gonna stop me now."

*

There's a flask of Johnnie Walker in the pack Logan left behind. For the first hour, Tony just holds it. By the second, it's gone. Before the sun slips into the third, Logan's come prowling back, blood in his teeth and hell in his eyes.

Tony aims a smile up at him. "Now you want to fuck me."

Logan's growl at the offer of his throat wraps up warm around the alcohol buzzing through his veins. He slumps down lower against the heat-soaked rock, head as hazy as the sky, his pulse kicking up a notch for every step closer Logan takes until his heart's thundering against his ribs and Logan is on his knees between the spread of his thighs. One wide hand, streaked rusty red and caked with dirt, thumps to the rock beside his head. The other seizes his chin, forces it up to keep his throat exposed. Logan's short snuffling breaths cool the sweat beaded in the hollow. "You don't smell worried this time," he says.

"You got what you wanted," Tony says, groping blind for the buckle of Logan's belt. He finds the leather torn through, barely hanging on through the loops, and yanks it free. "My turn now."

He chokes on a breath as Logan's hand goes tight on his throat. One good heave has him sprawled on his belly in the dirt, Logan's teeth clamping down on his neck to keep him there. Grit digs into his elbows as he pushes up into it, scrambling to get his knees under him in time for the shove of Logan's hand down the back of his jeans. The button pops and the zip wrenches open with one hard tug, metal teeth grating over his knuckles, splitting skin.

Logan's jaw slowly unclenches. "This all you wanted, a hard fuck in the dirt?' The flat of his hand drags down to press hard to the quiver in Tony's belly. He noses at the hair curled damply above Tony's ear. "Fight me some, Tony. I like you better when you're squirmin."

Flashfire heat sweeps up from Tony's stomach and leaves his insides brittle ashy twigs. He twists up and back, straining to catch the hem of his shirt and yank it off over his head. Whiskers scratch down his spine in kisses made of chapped lips and scraping teeth. The whole damn desert swims.

"Tell ya what you do smell like," Logan says, rough knuckles scraping the curve of Tony's ass as he curls both hands into the back of his jeans and hauls them down so fast he skids through the dirt, knees knocked out from under him. "Somethin' desperate. Sure my dick's what ya want me to stick you with?"

Rolling halfway onto his side, Tony looks out over the brown nothing to the figure hunched on a cliff in front of the setting sun. "Same question."

Logan slaps him onto his back, a parade of rocks marching new bruises across his spine. The grate of knuckles against his cheekbone forces his head to the side. He meets Logan's gaze from the corners of his eyes and bares his teeth in something like a smile. "Usually I'd like a finger or two," he says, spitting dust, "but since you're wearing half the godforsaken desert, I'll take some spit, your cock, and call it a day."

Face twisted in a soundless snarl, Logan drives his face harder into the dirt for a split-second before letting up entirely. "Back on your knees," he growls, and jerks his chin at the boulder. "There."

"Fucking finally," Tony says, wiping his face off on his arm as he shuffles over. It doesn't help much. Giving up on any attempt to get rid of the dirt clinging to him until the next shower pops up on the horizon, he slaps both hands to the rock and spreads his legs as wide as they'll go with his jeans caught around his knees. The sound of Logan's zip tugged open ratchets up his spine. He bows his head, braced for the gritty push, eager for it like that first smooth burn of scotch down his throat.

Instead it's Logan's tongue dragging roughly up his spine, whiskers scratching at his skin and the catch of teeth on bone. He sucks in a hissing breath and Logan's up, a hand slapped between his shoulder blades to keep him down before he can move an inch. "Stay down."

Tony's gaze travels back up to the cliff. He got from the start that this was a show, but he'd been wrong about what kind. "You're gonna need more than that if you want to make me howl." He hears Logan spit twice before saliva hits skin. One thick finger pushes roughly up through it and into him straight to the knuckle, easy as one of those claws through flesh, and he aims a grin back over his shoulder at Logan's surprised grunt. "I think I said a couple."

"Said none," Logan says, but a second follows, slicked with spit. His mouth drags across Tony's back, lips almost as rough as his whiskers, lighting nerves on fire with a twist of his fingers and a flick of his tongue. "There some reason you're lookin' for hurt?"

"Do we really need the heart to heart before you fuck me? Because while I'm all for pillow talk, I like mine trashy. Kinda like that cowboy hat of yours."

Logan's teeth graze his ear. "I know what you're aiming to do here," is a hot slither against the back of his neck.

"Clearly not, since you still haven't-- Jesus fucking Christ, yes." Bracing his forearm against the rock, Tony reaches back, slides his fingers along Logan's cock up to where the head is nestled snugly against his hole. "All of it, c'mon. You can't break me any worse, Logan, you know it, come the fuck on."

The harsh sound of Logan spitting again, then the bright blaze of red on the backs of his eyelids that has nothing to do with the setting sun wrenches a low noise straight up from the pit of Tony's gut. He lets another spill free as he squirms back onto Logan's cock, fingers digging into the dirt when the steady push in becomes a sluggish drag out. Hot desert air burns the back of his throat, sweet anticipation coiling his insides up tight as Logan slicks him up a little more and shoves right back in.

Logan sucks in a breath like he means to say something more, but Tony's had enough soul-searching bullshit for one day. There's one thing Logan can always be counted on to do, and Tony rolls to the side, just enough time to kick free of his boots and jeans and toss off a saucy wink before Logan's on him again, shoving his knees up and sliding home smooth as a gear slipping into place. He moans his shameless approval, body clamped down tight to really get a feel for Logan's dick splitting him wide.

Sunset flashes white hot in the darkness of Logan's eyes. His lips peel back in a territorial snarl, almost as much of a thrill as his hands digging bruises into Tony's flesh as he holds him down and fucks like he's the one who's been waiting the better part of a week for this to happen. Grit scores Tony's back as he kicks one of his legs free, hitching it up over Logan's shoulder. His nails dig brief crescent moons into the meat of Logan's arm.

A groan rips free from the tight clench of Logan's teeth. He drives in harder, forcing the breath from Tony's lungs on a sharp gasp. His hands drag down to hook on the jut of Tony's hipbones, thick fingers curling around to dig in above Tony's kidneys and haul him straight onto Logan's dick, not style to it at all, no care for anything except getting off.

Grabbing up a fistful of Logan's hair, Tony yanks his head down and falls about a mile short of the kiss he's been wanting since the last time he managed to crawl deep enough under Logan's skin to get a fuck out of him. The best he gets this time around is another thin-lipped not-smile and a promise from the banked rage in Logan's eyes that if he doesn't let the hell up right now, he's going to get a mouthful of dirt for his trouble. But if he liked to play it smart, or even safe, he wouldn't already be drowning on dry land, so he offers up a crooked grin as an excuse and says, "Worried I'm gonna suck the taste of him off your tongue?"

Logan's answer is a wordless snarl. The flat of one hand slams into the dirt beside Tony's head, the other clamping tight to Tony's ankle and shoving it up, bending him close to double beneath too much of Logan's weight. The ache in his chest flares up and spreads out in a slow molten burn, blurring his vision and eating up all the air in his lungs. His fingers scrabble through the sweat slicking Logan's skin, nothing more than a man's desperate reaction to what feels like dying.

Something like words rumble in Tony's ear. He turns his head to find the scratch of Logan's whiskers against his open mouth and keeps going until he finds the softer give of Logan's lips, the wet heat of his tongue. It's awkward and messy, not a real kiss at all when Logan won't quit, but it's something other than his flagging heart to focus on, enough to bring him around in time to watch Logan rear back, face twisted up and honestly vulnerable for a few rare seconds as orgasm takes over. He gets a hand on his own cock while it happens, usually smooth strokes hitched and ragged. It's enough to get the job done though, and he misses the moment before Logan shakes it off to drop back down, nuzzle up under his neck to find and fit teeth to the raw mark throbbing in time to his pulse. The haze is barely hanging on when Logan digs in harder, worries at flesh like he means for it to scar.

It takes a long handful of seconds before Tony gets the breath to wheeze, "Ease up, Cujo," and another few dozen more before Logan lets go, runs his tongue over his teeth and turns to spit watery red-grey blood into the dirt. Tony stares at it for a long moment, Logan's gaze on him almost as heavy as the adamantium grafted to his bones, and when a hand clamps to his jaw to turn his eyes forward, for once he's got nothing to say.

"Only the good die young," Logan says, rough all around the edges. "Some of us just ain't that fuckin' lucky."

One of those half-smiles Logan's so fond of finds its way onto Tony's mouth. Ruined blood trickles warmly down his neck. "Sweetest thing you've said all week."

I love this! Logan is just so wonderfly rough in all the right ways! I think we all need som more Cowboy/Playboy action!

I thought you guys would like this.

>>48085

the older Tony/Rhodey interactions in comic are great. Serious bromance at the very least! Any fic recs for this pairing?

>>48433
Oh yes!

The Fullest Possible Use
http://samdonne.livejournal.com/86741.html
"They say Jim Rhodes is the only one who can get Tony out of the armour anymore."

It's movieverse, with some nods to Iron Man: Extremis, Iron Man: Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and The Incredible Hulk. And it's got just the right amount of porn, angst and bromance. It's 13k, but oh so good.

I would also recommend The Priming Game, which is movieverse and takes place in that gap between Rhodey finding Tony in the desert and Tony returning to America. It hasn't got any porn, but it's got a lot of angst and Tony having PTSD and Rhodey's observations and thoughts and the way he deals with it. Characterisation is very good, and you can see that it's a well thought-out fic.
http://amonitrate.livejournal.com/tag/priming%20game


Just my two cents.

Bump.

This is autosaging, and I can't have that because I am struggling with a Parker/Stark fic that an anon requested, and I want to post it before this thread dies.