The Things We Carry With Us

Bruce grimaces as he sips his now-cold coffee, and then gulps it all in one go, rubbing tired eyes as he tries to focus on his advanced organic chem lab report.

He’s only a few weeks away from finishing his junior year, but the work hasn’t let up; he needs sleep, but there’s no time.

The phone in his room rings, and Bruce ignores it. The ringing stops, and then starts up again a few seconds later, and Bruce finally gives in, picking up the receiver. “Banner.”

“You don’t call, you don’t write, I’m beginning to think you’ve completely forgotten about me.”

In spite of his exhaustion, and his stress level, Bruce smiles. “Tony.”

“You’re still coming up for graduation, right?” Tony asks.

“I told you I would,” Bruce replies. “But I’m right in the middle of something right now, so—”

Tony quickly says, “I have a proposition for you. I won’t keep you long.”

“Shoot.”

“What are you doing after finals, say through June?” Tony asks.

Bruce frowns. “I don’t know. Probably working somewhere, if I can find a job.”

“Then what would you say to a vacation?” Tony asks. “Graduation gift from my parents.”

Bruce only wishes he could. “Tony, you know I don’t have that kind of money.”

“All expenses paid, me and a friend, and Dad said that since it’s you, he can actually trust us not to do something incredibly stupid,” Tony wheedles.

That kind of generosity is typical of Tony, and Bruce is mostly over the fact that Tony has more money than he could ever spend. It helps that Tony doesn’t ever throw that fact in Bruce’s face, or act superior just because his dad is a billionaire.

Tony values brains, and he values Bruce for his intelligence, and his ability to keep up in a way most people can’t. Bruce feels much the same way about him.

“I don’t know, Tony,” Bruce hedges. “That’s a lot.”

“I’m not going without you,” Tony replies with the flat tone of voice that tells Bruce he’s serious. “If you don’t want to go, or you can’t go, I’ll go back home and start working.”

Bruce snorts. “That’s blackmail.”

“It’s the truth,” Tony counters. “Come on, you know everything is changing. This is pretty much our last hurrah.”

The thing is, Tony isn’t wrong. He’s graduating from MIT and will go back to California, whereas Bruce has another year to finish his degrees in biochem and physics before he starts his doctoral program. Bruce knows he’ll have even less free time then, and probably less money, too.

What Tony is offering is more than just a trip to Europe—it’s the promise of weeks alone together.

“No chaperones?” Bruce clarifies.

“Part of the terms of the agreement,” Tony confirms, sounding triumphant, probably because he knows he has Bruce on the ropes. “I had to swear we wouldn’t get arrested.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me,” Bruce replies. “I’ll have to make sure my aunt and uncle are okay with it, and I need to get my passport.”

Tony sounds almost unbearably smug when he says, “I thought you might. I’ll let Dad know. Get back to work, Banner.”

He hangs up, but Tony’s always that abrupt on the phone, so Bruce is neither surprised nor insulted.

But he is breathless as he realizes exactly what he’s signed on for—a little over a month, just him and Tony, away from adults and roommates and school.

Bruce wonders if he’s overthinking this, if he’s reading too much into it. He doesn’t think so.

Even if he were, though, Bruce would still go. No matter what he’d said, Bruce is pretty sure there’s no way he can say no to Tony.

~~~~~

Tony would skip his graduation ceremony if he could get away with it, but it’s impossible to do so. His parents had shown up for it, and it’s a photo op for the press, and a chance for his dad to give a few sound bites about how Tony is the future of Stark Industries, and he couldn’t be prouder that he’d graduated from MIT, summa cum laude.

Those words would probably mean a lot more if Howard Stark actually said them to Tony, and not to the microphone shoved in his face.

Tomorrow, a story will run about how Tony Stark is a chip off the old block, and it’s one big happy family, but Tony won’t be around to see it.

No, instead, he’ll be jetting off to Europe for a little over a month, free from obligations, duties, and parental figures.

Tony may have been planning this for a while.

He spots Bruce approaching and grins. “Bruce!”

Bruce pulls him in for a hard hug, pounding him on the back. He’s grown an inch or so, and has filled out slightly since the last time Tony had seen him, and he looks good.

“You look good,” Bruce says with a grin, tugging on the front of Tony’s graduation robe. “Congratulations, man. Not that I had any doubts that you’d graduate in record time and at the top of your class.”

“You, too,” Tony replies. “I’ll be at Culver in a year when you do the same.”

Bruce grins, looking a little bashful. “You never know. I might crash and burn in my last year.”

Tony laughs at that. “Yeah, right.”

“Bruce!” Tony’s mom calls. “How nice to see you again!”

Bruce blushes, but he accepts her hug with one of his own. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Stark. Thank you for this. I really appreciate the opportunity to go to Europe.”

“It’s our pleasure,” she assures him. “I know how close you and Tony are, and I’m sure it will do you good to get away from the grind.”

Tony’s dad approaches, and he shakes Bruce’s hand formally. “I hope you boys have a good time.”

“Really, thank you, Mr. Stark,” Bruce says.

“As hard as you boys have been working, you deserve a break,” his dad says. “And I know you’ll keep Tony out of trouble.”

Bruce has visited Tony in Malibu a few times now, at least once every summer so that Tony could make good on his promise to teach Bruce how to surf, and once for Spring Break last year. Tony isn’t terribly surprised that Bruce had managed to charm both his parents without even trying, just by being himself.

But then Bruce is serious and studious and polite. He is exactly the sort of friend Tony’s parents want him to bring home.

Although it’s probably for the best that they don’t know about the depth of Tony’s feelings for him.

And yeah, Tony is a little jealous that his dad seems so openly approving of Bruce when he doesn’t show as much regard for Tony unless he’s talking to a reporter.

“There’s a car waiting for you two,” Tony’s mom says. “You’ll be safe? And let us know how you’re doing?”

“I promise,” Tony says. “We’ll call.”

His mom hugs them both, and his dad shakes their hands, and then they’re headed out. Bruce had stashed his pack at the back of the room, stuffed to the gills, and he tosses it in with Tony’s.

They’ll run out of clean clothes eventually, but Tony isn’t worried about that. His dad had insisted they stay at hotels he knows of, that he can trust, which means they can ask to have their clothing cleaned easily enough.

The hired limo hums quietly as the driver heads for the airport, and Bruce laughs. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“You and me, Brucie,” Tony replies, waving his arms grandly. “We’re going to have fun!”

“Where are we going first?” Bruce asks, and then laughs again. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask you that before now.”

Tony grins at him. “You trust me.”

“Implicitly,” Bruce agrees. “So?”

“Italy first,” Tony replies. “Rome, and then Venice. After that? I guess we’ll see. We can figure it out as we go along.”

Bruce’s hands clutch the fabric of his jeans. “Okay. That sounds good.”

“You’ve flown before, right?” Tony asks.

Bruce shrugs. “Sure.”

“So, this is even better. Dad sent the company plane, so there’s no going through security, no crying babies, it’s just us, and whatever we want,” Tony replies. “Relax.”

Bruce glances over at him. “It just feels weird.”

Tony is fairly sure Bruce is referring to the fact that Tony is paying for everything, but he doesn’t look at it like that. If they’d stayed in the United States, there probably would have been someone around to watch over them. He’d pay a hell of a lot to ensure several weeks of privacy.

“Look, I wanted to hang out with you before I started my job with Stark Industries,” Tony says seriously. “And you needed a break before you finished undergrad and started your graduate program. This was the solution I came up with.” He pauses. “Where are you doing your graduate degree, anyway?”

Bruce looks out the window at the scenery, such as it is. “Either University of Michigan or MIT. I have offers from both already.”

Tony isn’t surprised that Bruce has his pick of the top physics schools in the country, although he is a little disappointed that if Bruce does choose MIT, he’ll be there after Tony’s gone.

Also, neither school is in Los Angeles or New York, the two cities where Tony’s going to be spending the bulk of his time. Granted, Tony can visit Bruce just about any time he wants, even if he’s in Timbuktu, but Tony knows better.

Life is going to change after this, which is what this trip is all about.

“They’re both good schools,” Tony says, “and I say that as someone who is completely biased towards my alma mater.”

Bruce offers a quick, relieved smile. “Yeah, I know. It’s a difficult decision, although I have time. Dr. Singh has indicated that she would be willing to be my advisor.”

Tony had met her a time or two at MIT, and he whistles. “Then I think you have your answer. It’s not like I don’t know the way there.”

Bruce’s grin is answer enough. “Even if you didn’t, I know that wouldn’t stop you.”

“I’d hope it wouldn’t stop you either,” Tony replies.

Bruce bumps his shoulder against Tony’s. “No, not even close.”

~~~~~

Other than the flight crew—pilot, co-pilot, and two stewardesses—Bruce and Tony have the plane to themselves, and Bruce honestly has no idea what to do with himself.

He sits, facing Tony, in a plush leather seat, and there’s hard rock playing in the background. It all feels so surreal, and Bruce wants to pinch himself to prove that it’s not a dream.

“You want something to drink?” Tony asks. “We’ve got pretty much anything you want.”

“Water is great,” Bruce replies.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Water? Loosen up, Bruce.”

Bruce smirks. “Orange juice?”

“That’s your version of living large?” Tony counters.

Bruce doesn’t really drink alcohol, partly because it’s illegal, and he doesn’t want to get into trouble, and partly because of his dad, and not wanting to risk getting addicted himself.

But there’s a part of him that wants to prove he’s not his father’s son, and he can drink and not get drunk, or at least that he doesn’t have to get drunk.

There’s a part of him that likes the idea of flirting with danger.

“What do you have?” Bruce asks.

Tony grins at him. “I’ll surprise you.”

There’s orange juice in the glass that Tony hands him, but Bruce feels the warmth of alcohol, too.

“Screwdriver,” Tony says. “With plenty of vitamin C.”

“Pretty sure the alcohol makes it less healthy,” Bruce replies, taking a sip.

Tony shrugs carelessly. “So what? We’re on vacation. When have you really ever cut loose, Brucie?”

“Pretty sure we cut loose last summer,” Bruce replies, taking another cautious sip.

Tony snorts. “Surfing doesn’t count.”

“I thought it counted.”

“My parents were around the entire time,” Tony protests. “We surfed, we ate, but we did not drink.”

Bruce smirks, not above flirting with him. “We spent a week surfing and laying on the beach. And we picked up a few girls.”

“True,” Tony replies. “I’m hoping we can do something a little different with this trip, though.”

Bruce takes another drink. “Oh?”

“You’ll see when we get to Rome,” Tony promises. “We’re going to have the time of our lives.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the comfortable seats, but Bruce falls asleep shortly thereafter, waking when Tony shakes him. “There’s a car waiting to take us to our hotel.”

Bruce rubs his eyes. “We’re here already?”

“You slept the whole way, which is great, because we can hit the ground running,” Tony replies. “I’ll tell them to deliver our bags to the hotel.”

The sun has just risen in Rome, and they get out of the car at the hotel, which looks far nicer than any place Bruce has ever stayed. Tony holds a whispered conversation—in Italian, no less—with the bellhop, pressing a folded bill into his hand, and then turns to Bruce. “You want to get cleaned up or anything?”

Bruce wouldn’t mind a shower, but he’s not tired, and they’re in Rome. He doesn’t want to miss a thing. “No. Let’s go explore.”

They find a shop and drink cups of espresso and eat pastries, and then they go wandering the city.

In Rome, they blend in with all the other tourists, even though it’s not quite peak season. Here, they’re just another couple of American teenagers, even if Tony speaks better Italian than most. They join the crowds at the Coliseum and then hit most of the highlights, wandering ruins in warm sunlight, stopping for lunch at a café and for gelato in the mid-afternoon.

Bruce still has to resist the impulse to pinch himself, staring up at the ruins that have lasted for centuries, with Tony standing next to him.

For a moment—one incredible, shining moment—Bruce feels content, and he wishes he could freeze time and stay here as they hang out by Trevi Fountain.

“You okay?” Tony asks.

Bruce turns his head to look at him. “I’m happy.”

Tony’s expression is one of uncomplicated joy. “So am I. What do you say we go dancing tonight?”

Bruce suspects that he’ll be ready for sleep long before then, but he knows he doesn’t want to waste a second. “Yeah, okay.”

“Come on,” Tony replies, grabbing his wrist and hauling Bruce to his feet. “We’ll catch a nap, get some dinner, and then we’ll go out.”

Bruce feels a buzz of anticipation, as though his life is about to change, even if he doesn’t know how, but he’s willing to follow Tony’s lead.

They eat dinner at a tiny restaurant, their knees bumping under the table as they eat plates of pasta carbonara and freshly baked bread. Tony orders wine, and Bruce isn’t exactly used to ordering alcohol in a restaurant, but it’s apparently normal here.

The red wine is full and rich in Bruce’s mouth, and the scent is unfamiliar, nothing like the alcohol that Bruce’s dad regularly drunk.

“Good, huh?” Tony asks.

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t mind it.”

He hasn’t had enough to even begin feeling it when they finish up and Tony pays the bill, leading him out of the restaurant and down several streets. Bruce has no idea where they’re going, but Tony apparently has a destination in mind because he hails a taxi and reels off an address to the driver.

They wind up outside a club, and Bruce can hear the heavy beat of the music from inside the taxi as Tony pays the driver and opens the door. He lets Tony pull him out, his hand wrapped around Bruce’s wrist before he grabs Bruce’s hand, entwining their fingers.

Bruce is too surprised to pull away, and Tony’s hand in his feels right, even though it’s also dangerous.

Tony pays the guy at the door, and they slip inside, the music so loud that Bruce can feel his chest vibrate. Tony drags him over to the bar and orders a couple of drinks.

Bruce has no idea what’s in it, but he tastes lime and something bitter, and it’s cool and refreshing in the heat of the club and the press of bodies. There are a few strobe lights, but the interior is otherwise dark, and it feels both intimate and public, as though no one can see them, and yet they’re exposed as they lean against the gleaming bar.

“Dance with me!” Tony says, shouting to be heard over the pulsing beat.

Bruce hesitates, but when he looks out on the dance floor, he sees all kinds of couples—boys grinding against boys, girls entwined together, whole masses of people moving together, their faces radiant with joy.

“I don’t really know how to dance!” Bruce shouts back.

“I’ll show you,” Tony says, his mouth so close to Bruce’s ear that Bruce can feel his breath. “Follow my lead.”

The dance floor is so packed that they don’t have much choice about staying close together, and Tony loops his fingers through the belt loops on Bruce’s jeans, pulling him in until they’re pressed close together.

Between the undulating motion of Tony’s hips, and the guidance provided by Tony’s hands, Bruce finds himself getting into the rhythm. There are other people bumping up against them, and a couple gyrate against Bruce briefly before moving on; others do the same to Tony.

Most leave them alone, though, in their own little bubble of two. Bruce’s shirt sticks to his skin, and he pushes his hair out of his eyes and turns, and then Tony is plastered against his back, and it should be too hot, and too close.

But there’s the bass that feels as though it’s rattling his ribcage, and Tony’s hands on his hips, and the hardness of Tony’s erection through layers of denim. Tony pushes up Bruce’s t-shirt, his hand resting against the sweat-slick skin of Bruce’s abdomen, and Bruce pushes back.

It’s like a moment out of time, just like at the fountain earlier, and Bruce feels as though the person he is right at that moment wouldn’t—couldn’t—exist anywhere else. Here, for the moment, he’s with Tony, Tony grinding up against his ass, the music making it impossible to talk, and all they can do is be.

For the moment, Bruce feels like he really is eighteen, like he hasn’t already been through hell.

Right now, he can forget.

~~~~~

Tony’s a little surprised at how well the evening had gone. He’d half-expected Bruce to balk at the door to the club—one he’d heard was gay-friendly from a classmate at boarding school. He’d kind of thought Bruce would refuse to dance.

Instead, Bruce is into it, and he’s so damn hot that Tony isn’t surprised when random people pause to dance with him, although most people seem to understand that they’re together.

They dance, and drink, and then dance some more, finally leaving the club in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted and sweaty and flushed.

Tony wants to kiss him on the street, but he refrains, because they have a month left, and they’re both tired, and he wants to be able to take it a little further than just kissing right now.

There are no cabs at that time of night, so they walk back to the hotel under streetlights, the new moon all but invisible overhead.

“You okay?” Tony asks.

Bruce grins, his expression open and happy. “I think my ears are still ringing.”

“That will pass,” Tony replies. “Did you have fun?”

“I keep wondering if this is a dream,” Bruce confesses. “This doesn’t feel real.”

Tony pokes him in the side—hard.

“Ow!”

“Now you know it’s real,” Tony replies smugly.

Bruce stares at him. “Tony, what is this?”

“This is us stealing time,” Tony says quietly.

Bruce’s smile is a little crooked. “In this case, I don’t mind turning to a life of crime.”

And they walk back to the hotel in silence, arriving before the sun rises, but not by much.

“I’m exhausted,” Bruce admits.

“Me too,” Tony replies, and thinks that tomorrow is soon enough to make a move on Bruce—or later that day, given the time.

They sleep in separate beds that night, something that Tony hopes will change soon, but they’re both too tired to do much more than collapse in spite of how sweaty they are. Tony is the first to wake up, and he’s starving.

He’s quiet as he rummages around in his backpack for clean clothing, and then grabs a shower, even though he’s hoping to get dirty again real soon.

Bruce is stirring when Tony emerges from the bathroom, blinking sleepily in the late morning sunlight. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Tony replies fondly. “The shower’s free if you want it.”

Bruce grimaces. “Yeah, I think I’d better. I still feel sticky.”

“You hungry?”

“Starving, actually,” Bruce replies.

“I’ll call for room service,” Tony says. “I’m too hungry to go looking for food.”

“Yeah, order something for me, would you?” Bruce asks.

Italian breakfasts generally don’t consist of much other than coffee and biscuits, but Tony gets bread, cold cuts and cheese sent up to their room, along with the requisite coffee. The food arrives just as Bruce emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp and curling.

“Oh, good, food,” Bruce says, brightening.

They eat quickly, sipping coffee in between bites. Once Tony’s hunger is sated, he starts to slow down, pouring another cup of coffee from the carafe and watching Bruce as he folds another piece of bread around prosciutto and a slice of soft, mellow cheese.

“Can I ask you a question?” Tony asks, sipping his coffee.

Bruce shrugs. “Sure.”

“Are you a virgin?”

Bruce chokes on his bread.

Tony smirks and pounds him on the back. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Why would you ask me that?” Bruce asks hoarsely, drinking from his glass of water.

Tony gives him the same smile he’s used to great effect on girls in the past. “Because I’d like to help you out with that.”

Now that the initial surprise has faded, Bruce’s gaze is steady. “Why would you want to?”

“Because I’ve wanted to for years now,” Tony admits.

“And what makes you think I’d be interested?” Bruce counters.

Tony knows this is a risk. If Bruce reacts poorly, or if things get weird, they’ll either spend a month feeling really awkward, or Bruce will insist on going home immediately, in which case Tony will have to explain to his dad why he had to buy Bruce a ticket home.

He refuses to consider the potential outcome where Bruce ends their friendship because he can’t deal with the idea that Tony might not be entirely straight.

“I’d hoped,” Tony replies cautiously.

“Was this just an elaborate seduction attempt?” Bruce asks.

Tony shakes his head. “You say no, we still have a month to hang out. You say yes, we’ve got a month to hang out together and have lots of sex.”

Bruce is quiet for a long moment, staring at Tony through half-lidded eyes, and Tony knows he’s going to have a very hard time keeping his hands to himself for the next few weeks if Bruce turns him down.

“I’ve been wanting to try something for a while,” Bruce says finally, and he comes around the table.

Tony waits as Bruce leans in, his breath catching, and then Bruce’s lips are on his, cautious at first, and then gaining confidence.

The angle is a little awkward, so Tony stands, his hands framing Bruce’s face, deepening the kiss, which goes from good to amazing in about two seconds.

Bruce might be a virgin, but he’s clearly an experienced kisser, licking inside Tony’s mouth, his teeth catching Tony’s lower lip, pulling back only to return again, like he’ll never stop. There’s part of Tony that had worried it would be weird, but it feels better than he’d hoped.

They pause to catch their breaths by mutual accord, and Bruce presses his forehead against Tony’s. “Have you done this before?”

“Not with a guy,” Tony admits. “We’ll have to make it up as we go along.”

“Couple of smart guys like us, we should be able to figure it out,” Bruce replies with a cocky grin, and then he pulls Tony in for another kiss.

This time, Tony pushes his hands under Bruce’s t-shirt, and Bruce pulls back long enough to allow Tony to pull his shirt off, and Bruce returns the favor. And now it’s bare skin against bare skin in the warm sunlight streaming through the tall, open windows on the other side of the room, the breeze light and cool.

Tony has to take a moment to breathe then, because if he doesn’t, this is going to be over far too soon.

“This okay?” Bruce asks.

“I’m going to come in my pants if I don’t take a second,” Tony admits.

Bruce grins wickedly and palms Tony through his jeans, and Tony groans. “Like that?”

“Pants off,” Tony orders.

Bruce takes a step back. “Don’t you think we’re moving too fast?”

Tony might have been horrified, but he sees the look in Bruce’s eyes that says he’s teasing. “You are a horrible human being.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Bruce counters.

Tony responds by dropping his pants and pushing down his boxers, letting them pool around his feet on the floor. “What are you going to do about this?”

Bruce looks him up and down, and Tony thinks maybe he’s chickening out, or maybe he’s decided he’s not interested, and then he finishes undressing, too, a flush spreading up his neck. “Okay?”

Tony nods, his mouth a little dry. Bruce is on the lean side but still solidly built, a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. Tony might not be attracted to a lot of guys, but Bruce looks good. “You?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Bruce’s expression turns slightly self-deprecating. “I just never thought—”

Tony closes the distance between them, no longer interested in prolonging this encounter. They can get off, and then go back for round two later. Actually, if it works out, they can have more rounds than they can count.

They fall onto Tony’s bed together, bare legs tangling in a way that has Tony harder than he’s been in his life. Bruce’s hands knead the muscles of Tony’s back, then travel south to grab Tony’s ass. Tony really wants to find the right angle, thinking it would be pretty great if he could get their cocks to line up, but desperation is working against them right now, neither of them wanting to let go.

“Hang on,” Tony gasps. “Just—hang on.”

As the more experienced party, he feels it’s incumbent on him to set the rhythm, and he pulls back slightly to line up their hips and their cocks, trying to jack them both off at the same time.

Bruce’s hand joins his, and that’s pretty much all it takes. Tony comes, and his semen coats his hand, making it easier to finish Bruce off, which takes a couple of seconds more. Tony rolls off to the side and tries to catch his breath.

The whole thing has taken maybe five minutes, but it’s probably the best five minutes of his life to date.

Bruce is breathing heavily, and he pants, “That was…”

“Good?” Tony asks, propping himself up on one hand.

“Fucking awesome,” Bruce replies with a wide grin. “God, Tony.”

Tony reaches out to brush Bruce’s hair off his forehead. “We’ve got a whole month of awesome ahead of us.”

Bruce’s expression turns wistful. “Stealing time, huh?”

“As much as we can,” Tony promises.

~~~~~

They leave their hotel room eventually, even though Bruce is fairly sure that neither of them wants to go anywhere. But Rome awaits them, and Tony says, “Not only am I hungry, but I wouldn’t put it past my dad to have someone keeping an eye on us.”

Bruce has been basking in the afterglow, doing his best to forget the fact that their time together is limited. “You think your dad is spying on us?”

“No, I think he probably asked someone at the hotel to keep an eye on us, to make sure we don’t get into any trouble,” Tony says, running a finger down Bruce’s sternum. “And I don’t want to give him a reason to think that this trip is anything other than what it looks like.”

“A seduction attempt?” Bruce teases, masking the pang he feels at the reminder that they have to hide the nature of their relationship.

“Two buddies sowing their wild oats,” Tony counters. “He doesn’t need to know the specifics past that.”

Tony rolls out of bed. “Come on. We’ll get cleaned up and go out. We’ve still got more of the city to see.”

The shower is too small to share, and so they take turns rinsing off, and then pull on the clothes they’d discarded earlier, venturing out into the midafternoon sunlight. Overhead, the sky is a clear, cloudless blue, and Bruce swears he can feel the age of the city in the stones they walk on and the ancient buildings that seem as old as the earth itself.

When they’re hungry enough, they find a restaurant and split a pizza between them, the crust thin and crisp, with a spicy tomato sauce and sausage, with strings of melted cheese and fresh herbs.

Coming from a steady diet of budget frozen dinners and cafeteria food, Bruce feels as though he’s in heaven. The food isn’t expensive, but Bruce isn’t used to ordering from a menu without looking at the prices and doing quick math to see if he’s got enough spare change to cover it.

The fact that he’s with Tony just makes it that much better.

They’re working on the last couple of slices when two girls about their own age approach their table—one with dark hair, one with red, both of them giggling and blushing. The brunette takes the lead, speaking in Italian.

Tony replies in the same language, and then switches to English. “This is my friend, Bruce. Bruce, this is Edita and Stansie.”

“We thought you were American,” the redhead—Stansie—says, in heavily accented English. “May we join you?”

She’s looking at Bruce, which surprises him. When he’d gone to the beach with Tony in the past, learning how to surf, there had been plenty of girls who had approached them, but Bruce had always been the tagalong; the girls had definitely flocked to Tony.

Bruce glances at Tony, who shrugs and quirks an eyebrow, clearly leaving the decision up to Bruce. “Um, sure.”

They order dessert and coffee and more wine, and Stansie leans close to Bruce, speaking English slowly, but fluently, even if Bruce has to pay close attention to understand.

He’s really not quite sure what to do with Stansie’s attention, because she’s clearly interested in him, and not just in getting to Tony through him.

Bruce glances at Tony on occasion, but Tony seems focused on Edita, although the one time he meets Bruce’s eyes, he looks amused more than anything else.

“Do you want to go to a party?” Stansie asks.

Bruce looks at Tony, who smiles, a warm promise in his eyes. “Not tonight. We have places to be.”

Both girls look disappointed, but they accept Tony’s refusal with a quiet, “Ciao.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bruce says as they leave the restaurant, once Tony has paid the bill.

“Do what?” Tony asks.

Bruce shrugs. “Not go to the party. They were into you.”

Tony snorts. “Okay, one, Edita might have been into me, but Stansie was eyeing you. Second, this trip is about us. There will be plenty of time to pick up girls when you go back to college.”

“Funny thing, girls aren’t all that interested in me,” Bruce says.

“That’s going to change,” Tony replies. “It’s just a matter of finding the smart ones who want you for your brain.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I’m not you.”

“Lucky for me,” Tony says. “It means we get to have this.”

He still can’t believe this is real, that he gets to have Tony for any length of time, or that he gets to have Tony like this, that Tony would pass on the opportunity to go to a party with a couple of pretty girls.

Bruce resolves to focus on the present, on what he has right now, and not the future.

They walk for a little while, letting their food settle, letting their hands brush, bumping shoulders, and Bruce recognizes it for foreplay, the only kind they can indulge in public.

When they get back to their hotel, Tony pushes Bruce back up against the door with a thump, kissing him with something close to desperation. “Do you know how much I wanted to tell that girl to keep her hands off you? To tell her that you’re mine?”

Bruce groans when Tony shoves his hand down the back of his pants. “I could say the same.”

“I liked seeing you flustered, and I liked that you kept looking at me,” Tony says, nipping at Bruce’s neck. “You have no idea how fucking hot you are.”

“Whereas you are well aware,” Bruce replies, managing to make a snappy comeback in spite of just how quickly his blood is rushing south.

Tony pauses to grin at him. “Aware of your hotness? Yeah.”

“No, you asshole, of your hotness,” Bruce replies, and takes advantage of Tony’s momentary distraction to push him back towards the bed.

Tony backs up, his hands going to the front of Bruce’s pants. “Can I blow you?”

Bruce blinks. “Huh?”

“Blow job, I’m offering,” Tony replies. “You don’t have anything against blow jobs, do you?”

“I’ve never had one,” Bruce says, startled into honesty. “But I’m willing to try just about anything once.”

Tony nods, looking determined. “All right. Come on. Sit on the edge of the bed.”

“Have you ever done this before?” Bruce asks. He trusts Tony, but letting anybody’s teeth near his dick seems a little risky.

Tony shrugs. “I’ve been on the receiving end, but there’s never been anybody else’s dick I wanted to suck.”

Bruce feels strangely honored. “Thanks.”

Tony cups his jaw, moving in for a kiss. “You just tell me if something isn’t working for you,” he says when he pulls back. “And let me know if you’re going to come, okay?”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees, feeling a thrill of anticipation as he pulls Tony’s shirt off over his head, and Tony finishes unfastening Bruce’s jeans. Bruce pushes down both jeans and underwear, and then lets Tony position him on the edge of the bed, pushing his knees apart.

Bruce watches in fascination as Tony kneels, his hands running up and down Bruce’s thighs, his thumbs teasing the creases of Bruce’s groin. And then Tony starts to touch him—his dick, his balls, and then Tony licks his dick from base to tip, and Bruce closes his eyes and tries really hard not to come right then. He doesn’t want it to be over so soon.

Maybe Tony has never done this before, but Bruce has also never had a blowjob, so he has no comparisons to draw. Tony seems fairly enthusiastic, and when he has to pull back to catch his breath, and probably rest his jaw, he uses his hand to keep things interesting.

Bruce yelps when Tony’s teeth scrape the thin skin, and Tony quickly pulls back. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to.”

“Just try not to do it again,” Bruce orders breathlessly.

“Sorry,” Tony says again, and then tries again.

This time, Tony focuses on using his tongue, and there isn’t the slightest hint of teeth. Bruce rests one hand on the back of Tony’s head, and he hums his approval. That vibration pushes Bruce that much closer to the edge, and he tugs Tony’s hair in warning.

Tony sits back on his heels, jerking Bruce off, catching his semen in his other hand.

Bruce flops back on the bed, completely spent. “Give me a second.”

“I’m just going to wash my hands,” Tony replies. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

Bruce takes off his shirt, and then feels too exposed, so he pulls back the covers and slides under the sheet.

Tony emerges from the bathroom a moment later, and he takes off the rest of his clothing and climbs into bed next to Bruce.

“I can reciprocate,” Bruce offers.

“I’d take your hand,” Tony replies.

It’s different, jerking someone else off, but Tony’s already on the verge, and it doesn’t take long. Bruce watches Tony’s face, his changing expressions as Bruce twists his hand just right or fingers his balls or touches the crack of Tony’s ass.

Bruce thinks he’ll always remember this, that in one year, or five, or ten, he will always remember what Tony looks like as he falls apart, watches as all of his walls come down.

Bruce will remember what it’s like to be with someone when there’s nothing between them but need and love.

He knows that he’s never going to settle for less.

~~~~~

Tony is a seasoned traveler. As the son of a billionaire industrialist, he’s been to most of the major cities in Europe and the Americas. He can speak intelligently about many of the major landmarks and historical events in most of those cities, and can give a brief rundown of the type of government. He can also talk about the intellectual property laws in every country where Stark Industries has a presence, which is a lot of them.

But Tony is traveling with Bruce now, and Bruce has never been outside the United States. Everything is new to him, and they walk down streets that have been around for centuries, passing monuments and ancient buildings and museums. They go boating in Venice and hiking in the Alps; they hit up dance clubs in West Berlin, and Tony pulls strings to get a special tour of the UN headquarters in Geneva.

With Bruce, everything is new again—the sights, the food, even the beaches of southern France, where Tony has spent a lot of summer days.

They work their way across Europe, spending a few days in each city, living out of their backpacks, staying in luxury hotels. At night, they have sex in one bed and sleep in the other, just so no one suspects anything, unwilling to spend even one second apart.

Neither of them talks about the fact that their time will inevitably come to an end, but Tony is all too aware of the passing days.

He knows that it’s going to be a wrench when they have to part. Tony would give just about anything to change that, but there’s no other choice. He has no idea what his father’s response would be if he were to announce that he’s with Bruce, and Tony won’t give him up.

But Tony’s always been aware that he’s the sole heir, and it’s his duty to head up the company. He’s pretty sure that having a queer as CEO won’t move Stark Industries forward—and that’s assuming his dad wouldn’t disown him, which Tony’s not sure about.

And Bruce wants to get his doctorate, which means that he needs an advisor, and he doesn’t need the weight of being labeled as homosexual. Plus, Bruce doesn’t need his aunt and uncle putting pressure on him either.

They’re fucked, and that means they’ve got now, and nothing else.

The truth is, Tony’s pretty sure this is the best month of his life; he knows what Bruce means when he says it feels like a dream. It feels that way to him, too.

They only spend a couple of days in London, and then head to sun-drenched Barcelona to finish out their time in Europe. Barcelona is bright, and the weather is excellent while they’re in the city—clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight, and temperatures that aren’t too warm or too cold.

He and Bruce have grown bolder over the last few weeks, letting their hands tangle on occasion, walking arm in arm, sitting as close together as they can manage in restaurants. They try nearly every sex position they can think of without actually penetrating each other, although they get close.

Bruce clearly hasn’t had anything, even his own fingers, up his ass before, and he has a hard time relaxing. Tony doesn’t have that problem, so he figures if anybody is going to get fucked, it’s going to be him.

Tony broaches the subject two days before they have to leave after a day spent at Barcaloneta. “So, I think you should fuck me.”

He keeps his voice low since they’re out in public, but that’s not hard to do, since they’re sharing a small table in a restaurant on adjoining sides. Bruce is apparently getting used to Tony’s random propositions, because he calmly forks up another bite of his squid.

“Really?” Bruce asks once he’s swallowed, a smirk on his lips.

“I have completely corrupted you,” Tony says.

Bruce shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “So?”

“So, what do you say to my proposition?” Tony asks.

“There was a proposition?” Bruce takes another bite.

Tony glares at him. “Seriously, man? That’s what you’re going with?”

“You sure you don’t want to fuck me?” Bruce counters.

“Am I sure I do want to fuck you? Yes, I am,” Tony replies. “I definitely want to fuck you. Eventually. But you’re still getting used to the feeling of having something up your ass, and I’m ready. So, I’ll wait.”

And now Bruce drops the cavalier attitude and grows serious. “We have two days, Tony.”

“We have two days this time,” Tony counters. “But there will be other moments, Bruce. There will be other times. You said you’d be willing to steal time for me.”

“Always,” Bruce agrees, and then falls silent. He chews thoughtfully, tearing off another piece of bread from the loaf in the middle of the table. “I just don’t think this is going to change. You’re always going to be Tony Stark.”

Tony grabs his knee under the table. “You never know. The world could change. Maybe we’ll be the ones changing it.”

“Or we’ll be the ones reinforcing it,” Bruce says quietly.

Tony frowns. “What do you mean?”

“When this is over, you’re going to go home to your dad’s company, and you’re going to make weapons,” Bruce replies. “And I’m going to get my doctorate and eventually I’ll have to get funding, and that probably means military contracts. You and I both know how likely it is that we’ll ever do more than feed into the existing structure.”

Tony swallows. “You mean how likely it is that we’ll come out.”

Bruce meets his eyes with a wary acceptance. “I mean that it’s impossible right now, and we both know it. And if things change in ten years, or twenty, or thirty, we’ll be different people, and we’ll be in a different place, and maybe we won’t even know each other anymore. Changing things might not even make a difference to us.”

Tony swallows hard. “Changing the world always makes a difference to somebody.”

“And if we don’t change it?” Bruce asks.

Tony forces a smile. “We will. That’s all there is to it.”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “That’s my answer.”

Tony hasn’t forgotten the question, and he nods. “Okay, then. Tonight.”

Bruce offers a wistful smile. “Tonight.”

They don’t head back to the hotel right away after dinner by silent assent, and Tony suspects that they both want to stretch things out, to make the next two days last as long as possible.

Instead, Tony and Bruce wander down brick sidewalks, in the shadows of ancient buildings, walking through the patches of light that the streetlamps give off.

It’s beautiful and haunting, and Tony is fiercely glad they’re ending their trip in Barcelona, because he’s only been here once before with his mom, when he’d been very young. He knows he’ll never come back to this city without remembering Bruce, although he has no intention of returning without Bruce at his side.

Eventually, though, they have to go back to the hotel, and Tony’s brought plenty of supplies, mostly lube. It’s not like he has to worry about Bruce getting pregnant.

He’s the one to close the drapes in their room, and the one to dig the lube out of his pack. Bruce stands in the center of the room watching him, like he’s not sure what he’s doing.

“Are you okay with this?” Tony asks, wanting to check in.

“Yeah,” Bruce replies, sounding a little hoarse. “Absolutely. I just—I want to remember this.”

Tony will never admit it, but he understands Bruce’s impulse. “You always remember your first,” he says, making a joke out of it.

“I guess you do,” Bruce agrees and steps forward, taking the lube out of Tony’s hand. “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

But Tony wants this in a way he can’t describe. There might be other people after Bruce—Tony knows there will be—but he wants Bruce to be the first.

He doesn’t have a lot to give, but he can give Bruce this much. Tony’s pretty sure there won’t be a lot of guys he’ll ever trust enough to fuck him, so maybe Bruce will be the last, too.

“I’m sure,” Tony says. “Go slow, and use a lot of lube.”

“Tell me if it’s not working for you,” Bruce replies.

And then they both undress, leaving their clothing on the floor, and the mood is somber. Tony wants so badly to make a joke, but he can’t, because it feels like a goodbye, and Bruce is too important to make into a joke.

They have today and not much more, and Tony is about to get fucked. He’s not going to jeopardize that.

Tony kneels on the bed, and then goes to all fours, and he feels exposed and incredibly vulnerable.

Bruce rubs his hand up and down Tony’s back. “It’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you. If this isn’t working for you, we’ll do something else.”

Tony believes him. “I know. I trust you.”

He feels Bruce let out a breath at the base of his spine, and then he feels Bruce’s tongue, and holy fuck.

Tony yelps, and Bruce laughs. “I’ve got you.”

Tony had no idea Bruce would be willing to rim him, but by the time he starts opening Tony up with his fingers, Tony is nearly out of his mind with pleasure. All he knows is Bruce’s tongue, and then his fingers, and he presses back into both wanting more.

He always wants more. It might be a character flaw.

Bruce pulls back slightly and pushes in with two fingers. He keeps missing Tony’s prostate, so Tony says, “Crook your fingers. No, the other way. Yes, right—”

The instruction is lost on a grunt as Bruce’s fingers find their mark, and like the genius he is, Bruce correctly interprets that noise and strokes across it a few more times before adding a third finger. Bruce puts his free hand on Tony’s dick, and Tony says, “Don’t. I’ll be done too fast.”

“Okay,” Bruce replies, and presses his lips to the base of Tony’s spine. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Do it.”

Without prompting, Bruce goes slow, demonstrating more restraint than Tony would probably manage, pausing when he’s balls-deep. “Okay.”

Tony’s a little breathless; he’s fairly sure Bruce’s dick is the biggest thing he’s had in his ass. “Just stay there for a minute, okay?”

Bruce’s hand rubs his abdomen in soothing circles. “Long as you need. Within reason.”

Tony takes a few deep breaths. “Okay, but slow.”

Bruce withdraws with agonizing slowness, and then pushes back in, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s added more lube. This time, he angles his hips just right and brushes Tony’s prostate, and Tony’s flagging erection returns full force.

“Okay?” Bruce asks.

“Faster.”

Tony can’t see anything but the bedspread, and he suddenly wishes he could see Bruce’s face. Bruce wraps an arm around Tony’s hips and begins to move a little faster, angling his hips in a way that he hits Tony’s prostate just often enough to keep things really interesting.

Then Bruce wraps his hand around Tony’s dick, and Tony lasts for all of five seconds before he’s coming over Bruce’s hand. Bruce slams into him a few more times and then stops, clutching Tony tighter as he orgasms.

For a moment, Bruce just holds him tightly, resting his forehead against the back of Tony’s neck, one hand rubbing down Tony’s thigh.

“Okay?” Bruce asks.

“Fucking great,” Tony replies honestly, hissing a bit as Bruce withdraws.

“Are you sore?” Bruce asks.

“Maybe a little,” Tony replies, stretching out, ignoring how gross he feels for the moment now that his orgasm has passed. “I don’t mind.”

Bruce props himself on an elbow and watches Tony, a lock of hair falling over one eye. “Thanks.”

“I could say the same,” Tony replies, brushing his thumb over Bruce’s nipple.

Bruce’s expression has turned slightly wistful. “Do you ever wish things could be different?”

Tony flops on his back. “Do you remember when I visited you the first time?”

“Sure,” Bruce agrees readily, his hand on Tony’s chest, right over his heart. “I wished you could stay then.”

“So did I,” Tony replies. “Right then, I could imagine another life entirely, one with you. I still can. I just can’t see a way to get it.”

“There isn’t,” Bruce says simply. “Maybe, someday, things will change, and it won’t matter.”

It hurts to say it, but Tony says, “I want you to be happy more than anything else. You know that, right?”

Bruce presses a kiss to Tony’s bare shoulder. “I love you.”

“I know,” Tony says smugly.

Bruce’s head comes up abruptly. “Did you just Han Solo me?” he asks incredulously.

Tony laughs, although he feels the bittersweet edge. “Maybe. I love that you got that reference, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bruce says, his expression impossibly fond. “Promise me you’ll stay in touch.”

“Like that was even in question,” Tony scoffs. “As my best friend, you are required to be on call for all important events in my life.”

“Same goes for me,” Bruce says.

And then Tony pulls him close and holds on. “Someday, I’m going to figure out how to stop time.”

Bruce holds on just as tightly. “I’ll help you.”

They don’t talk about it again, although they ignore any concerns that someone will figure out what they’re doing, and stay in the hotel room all the next day, neither of them willing to go anywhere.

Tony knows that it’s never going to be enough, but he’s beginning to realize that he’ll probably never have enough when it comes to Bruce.