The problem is it's very hard to tell when a superhero is recklessly endangering himself versus when he's accepting the very real dangers of the job. Tony, who is the embodiment of reckless on a good day, doesn't know if Captain America is throwing himself into his work because it's his work, or because secretly he wishes he were dead.

It scares him. And the fact that it scares him also scares him. Tony is used to being a shallow jerk; he's very good at it. Caring about Steve to the point that he worries if the guy goes off his own personal radar for more than an hour is seriously fucking with him.

There is a pattern. At twelve he surrounds himself with engine parts and tries not to think about the empty spaces. Fourteen and it's the first time he hears about molecular engineering, nanotech and how to bend the laws of physics as he knows them. He meets Rhodey and booze and the three become the kind of friends that don't need explanation.

Pepper and Steve totally ignore Tony as the agree on what to do with him. It's decided that the next day they'll pack up whatever crap Tony wants to bring with him (mostly research that will be carefully vetted before leaving the tower), and he and Pepper will move back into his Park Avenue house; Steve promises to visit a couple of days later. The way they're talking about it, it sounds like it's sort of a permanent thing. Tony decides that he doesn't want to be disabused of that idea, and lets them hash out the details as if he wasn't there.

[Sequel to Commitments by boombangbing]

The subject just says "Re: Today" and Steve clicks on it even before the little preview sentence is there.

"He doesn't know what to do about you. You might just have to let him buy you things for a while before he figures out that he doesn't have to try to buy your affections."

There's a brief "P." above a formal signature reading "Virginia Potts, CEO Stark Industries" above lines of incomprehensible ways to contact her.

"Blah blah civil rights liberty Nazis," Steve said, more or less, in a very serious voice. Tony yawned and pressed closer to his side. He'd had been taking call after call from various news organisations who were probably hoping for outraged comments about the sanctity of marriage and the general depravity of the modern age. Steve had the glitter in his eye that suggested he was enjoying disappointing scandal hunters, and Tony had tuned out the stream of platitudes an hour ago in favour of channel-surfing for reactions. Some sort of religious fundamentalist was predicting the downfall of society on Fox; Steve's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Blah blah *justice for all* God is love. Hitler." he said - or something like that - and slammed the phone shut. "Turn that off. Or over. Go back to the channel with all the dancing and cheering."

Steve hugged his knees to his chest gleefully. Any minute now, he'd get up and tell someone, and they'd be excited together, but right now it was just him and the TV, and he could privately glory in what America was becoming.

“Stark, did you just make Captain America come out?” Clint asked from the corner, one hand on his bow. “Christ, never mind the suit. It’s your mouth that’s the deadly weapon.”

“I know,” Tony said, happily, watching the way Steve’s neck was getting redder and redder. “It’s one of my best features.”

He can see the line of Steve's bare back, the breath that pushes into his body, too fast, uneven, and he wonders what Steve sees when he looks at the wall.

"What year is it?" Steve asks.

"Twenty-twelve," Tony replies, and he sits up slowly, lets the sheets slide loose, doesn't touch. He remembers this – how he felt sure he would shatter. There are grey spaces, empty time where he thinks perhaps he did.

"What happened to him before?" Steve interrupts. There's a growing feeling of unease in his stomach, and worse, he recognizes it. Ever since he walked away from Tony he's mentally been cataloging the way Tony hunched around his injured shoulder, favoring his arm, and the unsteadiness in his hands, and the way he swallowed like there was some sort of sour taste lingering in his mouth. He recognizes the symptoms—not precisely, but close enough.

Tony being insecure and Steve reassuring him. WITH HIS PENIS.

“It’s like living with a bunch of drunk, stoned, super powered, genius toddlers with ADHA,” Coulsen moaned, staring out the window as Thor, Banshee and Havok crouched behind a bush, stalking a duck on the other side (clearly, ducks had joined squirrels on their list of enemies). Acrid black smoke was billowing out of one of the labs where Hank and Bruce were working. Tony and Steve were sitting on the lawn (Fury had wondered about the picnic basket he’d seen Xavier pass Starke earlier), nibbling on bread, cheese and fruit, while Xavier and Lehnsherr were off somewhere, “playing chess”.

Everyone knew what that was code for.

Two events were a coincidence, three was a pattern, ten was time to sit up, take notice, and admit that yeah, maybe villains really were trying to rip Captain America's clothes off.

“Bad judge,” Tony says, gesturing at himself and spilling water all down his shirt, “of character. Like. Always. Thought Rhodey was a dick too, felt like an ass later--liked Pepper from the beginning, she was always good, she’s like. The exception. And fucking Obie, I always get it wrong. People’re hard.”

“So I should...take it as a compliment?” Steve says, sounding completely at sea. “That you thought I was a dick?”

“Smarter,” Tony says. “If I’d thought you were good you’d probably be like. Uh. Plotting...things, are you plotting things, no one has tried to kill me in awhile, but I don’t think you would. That’s a compliment, sorry I called you a dick. You’re not. A dick, I mean.”

Steve stares at him for a second, then sighs and shakes his head. “You’re a complicated guy, Tony, has anyone ever told you that?”

More than anything else, he just wanted Tony’s company. It was part of being together to share the same bed, or he’d always thought so, and, well, it was lonely and oddly disorienting, lying in Tony’s big bed by himself while Tony was working down here. Steve didn’t mind—well, not much—but he would have preferred Tony there with him. And it couldn’t be good for Tony to keep the hours he did, anyway.

“It’s me,” a voice replies, distinctly not Pepper. “You gave me an access code for your garage and I was told that you weren’t in your office, so…”

Tony remakes the world, one project at a time, and doesn’t even know if it’s a good thing.

He loves his machines, though. They’re more real than most of the people he meets.

Steve's eyes flicker open. “What's wrong?” he says around a yawn.

She heaves a sigh, looking round at him. “Tony destroying the company yet again. Sex tape, you know, the usual.”

[Sequel to Magnetic by boombangbing]

From Steve’s perspective, a little more than a year ago, he lost one of the people he loved best in the world. Then, a little less than a year ago, he woke up and found that he had lost the other one in his sleep. But Tony wants him to celebrate.

Steve nods, looks away from Tony to the big windows that show a sweeping view of New York. “Well, if you don’t mind,” he says firmly, “I would like to continue. I know it’s not the way things are done anymore, but I enjoy doing it.” He looks back to Tony and adds a stammering, “If—if you don’t mind, of course. I just think its right and proper, considering we’re dating.”

“You found it!” Tony said, he turned, and threw his arms around Steve. “Thank you.” He said, grinning up at Steve. And that was sort of an unexpected benefit to finding something. Steve blinked at him.

Tony dragged his eyes off Thor's chest. Stupid sex spores, he thought, and stupid air filters in the armor. He was completely unaffected – well, unaffected by the spores, Thor was definitely starting to affect him, as was the sight of Steve's naked chest streaked with golden dust and the sounds Spiderwoman was making somewhere to his left. He was going to have to bow out of an orgy of beautiful, flexible people, at least two of whom he'd been fantasizing about for years. Life was not fair sometimes.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I think my mental fantasies are interfering with my real life again.” Because there’s no way Steve just said that. Tony’s not that lucky.

He had always loved Tony and Steve. They embodied traits he had always admired, and knew he would never master himself. Tony with his charisma, confidence, and brilliance. Steve with his charisma, confidence, and nobility. Even when they stumbled, dragging Peter’s world down with them, he had loved them. It wasn’t until the second time he shared a bed that he fell in love with them.

Tony Stark lives a double life; he's secretly the supervillain known as Iron Man. But his loving husband Steve has a few secrets of his own, as Tony is about to discover.

Tony blinked at her. "Peter Parker is my roommate. He lives two doors down from here. Why did he feel the need to schedule a lunch appointment with my PA instead of wandering down here around lunchtime and asking if I wanted a burger?" "If I had to guess," Pepper said as she tucked her tablet away and turned to the door, shepherding Rhodey ahead of her, "it's because he's seen how good you are at blowing off other reporters."

“See,” Steve tells him, “there are still some things you don’t know about Steve Rogers.” A lot of things. Like how Steve can't help but feel faintly sick with himself, because he believes to some degree he has tainted something precious with this emotion he can’t stifle welling up within him.

For all the things you try—most of which you like, few of which unsettle you—what you love most is when he takes control and rides you. "So vanilla," he teases without rancor, one lazy morning when you wake him with soft kisses, before you roll over and pull him on top of you. You thrust upwards pointedly, your erection pressing into his cleft. "I'll never know why this is your favorite, Cap."

Years of searching. Years of disappointment. He’d all but given up on ever finding his mate – and now here he was, standing in front of him. His mate was Captain America.

Steve wasn't going to be just an extra deep notch on Tony's bedpost.

“I trusted him,” Tony laughs. “Joke was on me. He came into my home, used my own tech to paralyze me, then pulled the arc reactor out. Then he left me to die. Fun story, huh?” “Not really,” Steve tells him, trying to keep his voice even. The thought of someone doing that to Tony, of violating his trust like that -- it brings up something fierce and hot in his chest. Tony could have been dead before Steve even knew him and that -- “Touching it made you remember.”

Steve got into Tony’s space, putting one hand on Tony’s shoulder, feeling the muscles flex and tense underneath the fine fabric of his dress shirt. “I’m not some kid. I fought in a kind of war that you can only imagine. I watched my best friend die. I led a mission behind enemy lines and I killed the Red Skull. I lost everyone I ever loved. I’m not a hick; I’m from Brooklyn. And I’m not ninety-five. I’m twenty-five.” He smiled, because he could see and hear Tony’s breathing getting faster as he went on. “And I’m tired of being some icon.”

Tony takes care of Steve when he's injured, but Steve makes for a terrible patient.

Tony and Pepper are in a committed relationship, everyone knows that. Tony still flirts relentlessly with Steve, though, and Steve doesn't know what to make of it. Then he starts having weird feelings about Pepper too, and he really, really doesn't know what to make of *that*.

In the ensuing silence, punctuated only by Dummy's soft whirring, Tony had a moment of crystal clarification that usually only came with technical breakthroughs. The love in Steve's voice was achingly deep—but the mirroring anguish was equally strong. Steve needed Bucky right now, and Tony would do anything to give Steve what he needed, regardless of anything else.

Tony's smile gets even bigger. This should really worry Steve. He's actually a little worried that it doesn't worry him. "This," says Tony, with great dignity, "is boring. This facility is boring. This room is boring. Put your pants on, Steve, we're going out."

An off-kilter romance between a futurist and a relic of the past.

He studies the sketch for a long moment, lets his eyes wander the path of the lines that make up Tony bent over his work station, a look of intense concentration on his face. Steve nods to himself, then adds a light shading to what shows of Tony’s chest, using the eraser to lighten up the space around the arc reactor in order to show the bright glow of what everyone thinks of as Tony’s heart. He’s proud of the sketch; it’s good work, and there’s no denying that his own feelings about the subject came through, but there’s a certain edge of embarrassment spreading through his gut, too. It looks so much like Tony, like what he sees, and thinks, and feels about Tony; he’s afraid he put a little too much of himself into it.

Interested in reading up on your favorite Avengers, but unsure where to start? There are official DVD libraries of back issues and Marvel Digital Unlimited on offer, but what to read? Don't want to sit through five issues of Cap hallucinating for no particularly good reason? Now there's an online guide for that! Well, two.

“Like, you’re set really. You have the mustache,” Clint ran his greasy fingers over his nonexistent mustache, leaving a dark line on one half. Tony remained silent on the matter, patting the ground in search of his grease rag. No such luck. He sat up, planting his feet on either side of the creeper so as not to roll away. “Not to mention you’re already sleeping with the Captain friggin’ America. Just set up a camera in your room.”

Steve is an ex-gladiator. Tony wears a toga. Together, they litigate civil cases.

This was the artist's dilemma; you needed to fall a little bit in love to bring your subject to justice, because if you didn't, the viewer just couldn't. That was it: he was just carried away by the rediscovery of drawing, and at finding such a vital subject. He was just lost in the grey-scale, where feelings got tangled in actual art endeavours.

Tony reached out and wrapped both hands around Steve's left ankle. He tightened his grip and and felt the leather creak. Tony stayed there for a moment, flexing his hands around Steve's ankle, before sliding one hand up, to the back of Steve's knee, and sliding the other hand down, to cup the heel of Steve's boot. Tony tugged gently and Steve straightened his leg. Tony pressed his cheek against the side of Steve's boot, feeling its coolness and inhaling the heavy smell of polish.

Summary: Romancing Steve Rogers is hard enough. The last thing Tony Stark needs is a rival. In the shape of Iron Man.

"It's not normal to leave bruises on your partner," Steve said angrily. "I can't - how can you think this - "

But sometimes it seemed like white noise. It didn’t fit, wasn’t always the way Steve wanted to make him feel. Actions speak louder than words and it was important for him to let Tony know that what they had was bigger than just their bed by now. Plus, Tony was hurt. And it was possible he didn’t care about that, but Steve did.

He was fine when he handed Steve the tie, fine when he nonchalantly said he enjoys being tied up during sex, and several orders of magnitude more than "fine" when Steve took the tie with a smile and said, "I know just the right knot for that." But now, even though he's sure he's not in any danger, Tony can't shake the feeling at the edges of his mind. It doesn't make sense; he's pushed harder limits than this, in stranger places, with people he barely knew, back before the Funvee and life as Iron Man.

"It's simple," Bucky said. "You walk up to the girl, say, 'Do you want to dance?' and off you go."

He opened his mouth, intending to reassure Steve, but what came out was, “God, I really want to blow you.” Panic immediately twisted his stomach, but the "Never mind, shit, just forget I said" that stalled at the complete and utter incomprehension on Steve’s face. “Blow me where?” Steve asked. Tony opened and closed his mouth, for once speechless. Steve gave him an uncertain smile. “Is this another superpower or something?”

Steve shrugs. “I know you don’t like me much. Or at least that’s what you said. But I think we’re friends anyway.” He gets up and leaves, before Tony can puncture the moment with a joke.

Tony thinks they needs to talk. Steve isn't sure that's a good sign. Meanwhile, The Avengers prove they really know how to throw a party. [Sequel to Breaking News]

Steve leaned back against the couch and watched Tony's impromptu little dance as he tapped at his phone. He loved Tony like this, excited and happy and practically bursting at the seams with energy. "Marry me," Steve said. Tony's head snapped up and he blinked at Steve. "Seriously?"

In which Tony mouths off to a witch, catches up on his beauty sleep, and learns that True Love might not be such a crock after all. (His status as a princess, however, is still debatable.)

"We have a situation that is somewhat delicate," says Storm's voicemail. "Captain America was – affected – by Nightwitch." "Cap somehow got selective amnesia and doesn't remember you," says Spiderman's, which is even worse. "It would be kind of funny, if it weren't so weird."

"So, your night's shot." Tony gestures at the bag. "I'm bored, so come drink with me." "I can't get drunk," says Steve, standing up to follow Tony out anyway. "Didn't I say I like a challenge?"

Summary: The reasons not to join the Avengers were many and varied. The problem was that when Captain America smiled at him, Tony had trouble remembering what they were.

Tony is the WWII hero waking up in the future.

Steve breaks up with Tony because he's in love with Iron Man. That's when things start to get complicated.

Written for the Thor kink meme, Avengers movie-verse. Tony gets a look at his new team mates and decides he needs to sleep with all of them. Thor and Steve take notice and decide to double team him.

Five missing scenes from Thermocouple Junction.

Five times Tony Stark came out.

Steve makes sure Tony eats after a battle.

Steve and Tony grow old together.

His hand went automatically to check the infusion line, and he followed it coiling around a battered old canteen and then into Stark's arm. Surely that meant this was real? There couldn't be a dream within a dream? Except that if Stark were a projection, he would just be pretending to dream. But why would the prime mover in the dreamworld be a projection? Was this all simply a phantasm of his mind, with no enemy agents trapped in here with him? If this were a dream, then this must be a trap; he should investigate, even if it meant risking it being sprung.

"Steve..." Tony kissed his cheek again, nuzzled his throat and nipped at the slow pulse there. "I like the same old stuff, okay? You. I like you. And I like having sex with you. I don't think I could ever get bored of being here with you, like this, if we did it a thousand times."

September, 1941: Returning from a mission as Iron Man, Tony Stark crash-lands in the Carpathian Mountains and is rescued by Captain America. The two heroes team up to investigate Nazi activity at a mysterious castle. But Captain America is keeping secrets that could destroy their new partnership before it has a chance to begin.

He knew that dolls thought the world of Steve, and after Port-Lyautey it was pretty obvious that Steve similarly thought the world of Tony, lurking around the hangar with excuses to talk to Tony, then peppering Fury with questions afterwards when Stark Industries helicopters had arrived for their master and the Armors, but then Tony had seemed so obviously if politely disinterested, and then they’d gotten involved in the scrap at Tunisia. Steve had stopped talking about Tony, and Bucky had thought that the end of the matter.

Wormholes usually don’t appear out of the blue, but the chances increase if you are a) a superhero, b) in New York and c) an acquaintance of Reed Richards.

That had been the reason he was drinking, Tony remembered suddenly. The Avengers had answered a call at Daytona, and then stuck around to relax. "Tony Stark" hadn't been there, and Iron Man couldn't take off the armor to swim, obviously, but he'd watched Steve being swarmed by beautiful women. They were all out of costume, but the ladies still surrounded him, even without knowing who he was. Steve, who was honest and kind and a real hero and probably the most heterosexual man since God created Adam. When they'd gotten back, Iron Man had vanished, and Tony had started trying to do the same.

Tony's hands left his tie, and he took a step toward the screen as Captain America appeared, three microphones shoved up under his nose. He looked exhausted, deep shadows under his eyes, a very slight slump to his shoulders. Tony made a noise of exasperation and reached for his phone. "Pepper, I need to go be at the Mansion all this evening - yes, it's urgent. Yes, cancel it."

Tony knows that worthwhile things take hard work and sacrifice. Steve's not so sure.

"Welcome to the 21st century, here's a ID card, sixty years of back pay and a pet genius inventor to sexually service you. Don't worry, he's had all his shots. Just don't let him near any boxes of scraps."

But this moved exactly right; the way it leaned against the wall, not quite a slump. The tired look in the eyes it raised to the cameras, knowing Tony would be watching it. Even the way its hair stuck up at the back. It was too thin, but if it was hoping to convince Tony... surely it couldn't be hoping to convince him. They knew that he knew about the Skrulls. Carol had already sent him a message to let him know there was a Steve Rogers Skrull in Manhattan, and had been sending him regular updates, which Tony hadn't been reading. He didn't need, didn't want, to know the details.

The first time Tony noted Steve's sensitivity was, predictably, one when he was preoccupied. People to seduce, worlds to save, quite the usual set of events, really. Discovering how Steve had been able to discern the difference between copper and steel in a pitch-black containment cell had been far from his first concern. After they'd freed themselves and subsequently exploded the base, it had been nearly forgotten.

"Hank. We're in a remake of Freaky Friday." Tony crossed his arms. Steve had never realized how intimidating it was when he did that. Or maybe it was just that Tony was used to having authority. Steve's body to back it up. "It's obviously not impossible. Just fix it."

"Oh, no." Steve put the palms of his hands against the chest plate and pushed. It was ridiculously easy to get Tony flat on his back, squirming and helpless like an overturned turtle. "You fell asleep standing up in the middle of a briefing. You're going to sleep, Mister."

Tony's arms draped heavily over his shoulders, metal-plated fingers gliding smoothly through the short hair at his nape. "So," Tony said. "Ready to take me for a ride?"

"I definitely want to do this," she replied cheerfully, and really it was the happiest she'd sounded since the whole mess had started, so - Steve twitched at the light touch of her fingers on his thighs, and craned his neck to look at her. Familiar blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, but heavier jaw and brow, and most obviously, a neat goatee and moustache. She caught his gaze and raised her eyebrows. "Relax, Steve, it'll be fine."

It's humbling and terrifying to have someone place themselves so completely into his hands. Captain America gets that sort of trust, because he wears the flag on his chest and Stands for Something, even if sometimes no one agrees with him. Steve Rogers has never even kept a plant. He gropes for words, mouth forming them silently and then shutting when everything comes up short. "Because you can't stay like this" will just bring more questions, and it's not very accurate. Tony very well can stay like this. He just shouldn't.

The similarity to his own thoughts just moments earlier made Steve twitch, but Tony continued on. "I'd guess that Pepper ordered you in here, since I ignored her, and that makes your Pepper about as happy as it does mine." Steve saw the corners of Tony's mouth curl up, but the man continued, "And honestly, what I'm really wondering about right this moment is why you've been avoiding me. I know it must be hard, since I look like your Tony and I'm not him, but that can't be the only reason. I know you've experienced alternate universes before."

"I don't see why fucking you is suddenly verboten because I've bumped my head," Tony wriggled against his grip, puzzlement furrowing his brow at Steve's inflexible grip. "Are you my ex? Did I swear never to touch you again?"