Usual
How or why was out of the question in your mind.
It just sort of… happened.
The way he felt, the warmth, the smell.
It just sort of happened.
Sitting on the couch, lounging around and being lazy like you and Tony usually did on Sundays, watching some movies, snacking.
You two brushed, glanced, and then got carried away, eventually ending up in the bedroom, grabbing at clothing, mouths everywhere.
You were touch-starved, you convinced yourself. When was the last time you’ve been with a woman? Had a girlfriend? It’s been a while. It’s predatory instincts, it’s normal. You brushed it off, tried to shove any intrusive thoughts to the side while you focused on more important matters.
And then you and Tony saw each other again. And once again, clothing was tugged off, hands everywhere.
And like before, you brushed it off.
Even when it became a habit.
You found yourself at the Tower more often than not, specifically in Tony’s bedroom, sating those desires everybody had.
You didn’t dare ask Tony what this was. You didn’t dare ask yourself what this was. What you two were. That was a uncharted territory. And with everything going on, you didn’t need to rock your boat. You were afraid it would flip.
Heaving out a breath, enjoying the afterglow of feverish kisses, touches, and climaxes, you lay in Tony’s bed once again.
You sat up, ready to gather your clothing and leave, like usual.
Tony grunted from behind you. You looked over your shoulder.
“You’re not going to stay?” Tony asked, quiet but enough so you could hear that hint of bitterness.
What else would he have wanted from this?
But either way, you found yourself at a loss. He’s never asked this before. “Yeah?”
Tony stared at you, gaze unwavering. You felt trapped in it, impossible to break that connection.
“Did you need something?” You asked quietly.
“I guess you could say that,” Tony responded.
“Well, what then?”
“More.”
You raised an eyebrow. More? Sure, you and him have gone a few rounds before, but this time, when you knew you both had things to do after this, you were a bit surprised.
You sighed and scooted back over, already reaching out to slide the blanket back off of his waist and press kisses down his neck.
He put his hands on your chest. “No — not more, just —” He cut himself off. “Never mind. Forget it. You can go.”
Yoh paused, assessing his face. It was nearly expressionless, but you could see that complicated of knots that’s always terrified you when you’ve gotten a glimpse of it. Not because you were afraid he had… more underneath all that arrogance and snark, but because there was a possibility that the massive, labyrinthine knot was something you caused. The dude didn’t need more messy emotions clouding and fucking with his head.
But you went despite it, pulling on your clothes and walking out, like usual.
Was he the asshole?
Was Tony misinterpreting this entire situation? Was he reading into it too far? Reading not enough? Was he missing something? Why did he feel a pang every time you collected your clothes off of the floor — clothes he tore off on purpose.
Maybe he was.
Maybe he was using you. Maybe he was pressuring you into this, pushing you against all those walls when you two were alone. It was just so hard to talk, to get even a little peep out, to ask what the hell is going on?
For weeks, it’s been the same thing. And he’s loved every moment of it. Every stolen glance in a room full of people, every small touch, every laugh he’d catch. He’s loved it, seeing you this way, seeing you other ways, spread out, curled up. It’s something, but he doesn’t know what. And he’s afraid.
What would happen to the years of friendship you two have been participating in? Would that string of memories and connection suddenly snap the moment he opened his mouth? Would he unwittingly undermine this entire companionship by trying to understand somebody for once?
It would come crashing down on him either way, wouldn’t it? He was just doomed to that kind of thing. Finally caring more than he was permitted and it would bite him in the ass. Even if he didn’t say anything, you two would move on like nothing happened, like this tension and leverage you have over him now never happened, and he’d be abandoned with an infuriating knot of emotions — and it would be his fault, like it always was.
God, his head hurt.
He ran a hand down his face and stood to pop the sheets into the washer.
Tony even contemplated sending you a text. He didn’t know what he would say, but he would say something, and that felt better than nothing. But something held him back, and he let that heavy silence weigh on his shoulders.
Sledom but never never, Tony went over to your apartment this time.
He never really understood why you didn’t live full time at the Tower but he’s always respected the space.
And hey, he needed the distraction. Even when the thing he needed it for was you.
Tony pushed the door to your bedroom opened and searched the room with his eyes for you.
Laid on your bed, curled up and probably sulking, Tony spotted you.
You never talked to him anymore. He’s always wanted to know what was going on in your head when you went quiet like this, staring off, to know you on a deeper level than physically, but he refrained, respecting your space, in spite of not wanting to.
He padded over to your bed, kicking off his shoes as he did and then crawled over to you, like usual.
You didn’t perk up in the wake of his kisses on the side of your neck, or when he slid a hand up your side. So he paused, taking in your appearance up close. He didn’t know what to take from it. Tired eyes, clenched jaw, exhaustion written all over.
He wasn’t cut out for this touchy-feely stuff, now that he thought. It’s always been a yearning, but now that it was right in front of him, the opportunity flaunting around, he felt cowardly.
Tony laid down behind you and wrapped an arm around your torso. He didn’t move when you protested slightly by elbowing him weakly. He stayed, savoring the warmth that fluttered in his chest.
“You alright?” He asked boldly, keeping his voice low.
Your muscles, under his touch, slowly but surely loosened, trusting this softer touch. He savored that as well.
“What are you doing?” was not the response he was expecting, but he took what he could get.
“Lying in your bed.” Tony soothed a thumb down your stomach, feeling the heat of your body from under your shirt.
He didn’t look for a reaction, just… laid there, taking an uncomfortable amount of comfort in this non-sexual touch between you two.
He’s practically committed your body to memory unconsciously, but to feel it like this, so uncharacteristically nestled up and restful, brought something forward in Tony, an air of protectiveness he couldn’t push away. It was too big, too persistent.
Yet again, he loved it.
He loved a lot of things involving you.
“You sure you’re alright?” Tony asked again, just to make sure.
“Yeah.”
Tony nodded.
Tony made no move to leave.
That early morning was a different case.
Falling asleep like that, you in his arms, clothes still on, that wasn’t the usual you both have strived to keep up.
So, Tony found himself trying to escape the inviting mattress, crawling out of your bed as sneakily as he could, so not to wake you.
But he failed.
“Where… ‘re y’going?” Your groggy voice sounded from behind him. Warmth fluttered in his chest. It was ignored.
He didn’t stop his movements, standing out of bed and looking down at your form. Oddly endearing, the way your mussed hair fell over your face, the way your eyes peered at him.
“I’m leaving. I have, uh, things to do today,” Tony answered, keeping his voice low. “Can’t keep those… reports and emails waiting.”
You continued your peering, then said, “But… it’s… early. Sun isn’t even up. It’s….”
“Your curtains are just closed. I have to go.” Tony shushed the sneering hiss that came from the back of his mind, the selfish pleasure he took in seeing you in his position, feeling the embrace of a warm body leaving you when you didn’t want it to.
You rolled over and grumbled, shutting your eyes.
Tony hesitated, the volume of that hiss increasing when you huffed out petulantly.
He left before he could act on impulsive desires.
This… funk you and Tony were going through didn’t last too long. You were thankful of that.
Finally, you two could revert back to normal, stop feeling his soft lips, or his skin, or… everything. Everything that shouldn’t come out of a friendship.
And this was all thanks to some delivery girl you’d met.
She was cute, nice to look at.
You’d just ordered some pizza, finding it nice to have a pretty woman to look at for a moment. Then she’d started flirting with you, pretty openly, and you realized this was how you could put an end to the funk. So you followed suit. And you’d got her number, and her name.
It was welcomed, texting Quinn almost every night, taking calls, even going on a date.
You almost forgot about Tony and you, the idea of it, the reality of it. Up until, after about two weeks of minimal communication in any sort, Tony showed up unannounced.
You and Quinn were on the couch, watching a movie. Arm wrapped around her shoulders, you held her close.
The door opened — startling you because there were only few people who had a key to your apartment. And then Tony appeared in the doorway, that unmistakeable look in his eye.
You watched that deflate. Then be replaced with something much more pugnacious and angry.
“Hey, Tony,” You said.
Quinn turned to look over her shoulder, then at you. You ignored her for the time being.
“Are you —”
“Who is this?” Tony asked sharply, walking further into the living room, eyes darting between you and Quinn.
“I’m Quinn,” she answered calmly.
Tony shook his head, disbelief almost. Did he think you didn’t have game or something?
“Tony, what’s —”
“We need to speak alone,” Tony gritted, jerking his head to the side.
You glanced at Quinn, apologetic. She nodded and smiled tightly.
You stood and followed Tony into the bathroom. He shut the door behind the both of you, standing very close.
“Who is that?” Tony asked again. Why was he so angry? So pressed over this?
“Her name’s Quinn,” You said, feeling a flare of defensiveness. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Uh, yeah,” You answered, swallowing.
Tony just stared at you, his jaw tense. You stared right back, always captivated by his eyes, deep and swelled with emotion now.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you — been talking to me at all?”
You didn’t respond, mirroring his position.
“Y/n,” Tony said.
“Tony.”
He scoffed. You frowned.
Tony pulled the door open and walked out of the bathroom.
But you weren’t done. You were angry now — because he was angry. Why was he so angry? You weren’t doing anything wrong.
You walked after him, saying, “Tony, where the hell are you going? Why are you so —”
“Are you kidding me?” Tony spun around and stared at you, baffled.
“Maybe I should go,” Quinn spoke up. You looked over.
“No — no, stay, stay. I don’t know what’s going on with him, he’s just…”
“I’m just what?” Tony snapped. “Why don’t you leave, Quinn. Y/n clearly has a lot of explaining to do.”
Stupidly, Quinn took that as her cue to leave, while you protested, practically begging pathetically as she gathered her stuff, pecked your cheek and then shut the door behind her.
You turned back to Tony, angrier than ever now. He didn’t have any right to make Quinn leave because he had a little tiff going on with himself and his ego.
“What the hell?!” You pushed him back, trying to release the anger.
“What the hell yourself!” Tony shouted back, pushing you in return. “You can’t just —!”
“Can’t just what?! Have a girlfriend? Because, actually, I fucking can! Just because you’re jealous you can’t commit, doesn’t mean you have to drag me down to your level!”
Tony sputtered nonsensically. Then kissed you, hot and angry. And you kissed him back, feeling his hands grip at your shirt. He pressed his lips against yours, barely breaking for air until he emptied out your lungs completely and then you pushed him back, panting.
“I can’t keep doing this,” Tony whispered, catching his breath. He started for the door. But you were still worked up, still ready to fight.
“Can’t keep doing what?!” You called after him. “Because last time I checked —…”
He was gone.
You were alone.
It was different, being with a girl.
It wasn’t… bad, necessarily, just different. Different parts, different acts, different pleasures.
Something felt odd about it to you. You’ve had sex before with a girl, of course, but after Tony, there was some inexplicable emptiness about being in bed with somebody you didn’t know as deeply as you did Tony.
You got it out of her and she did you but it wasn’t the same.
You stared at yourself in the mirror after, Quinn lying in the bed in the other room. The way you looked at yourself wasn’t homelike, wasn’t familiar. It was foreign and you knew why.
Something in you broke when you kissed Tony. That was irreversible damage you can’t take back now, can’t fix with ignorance or false pretenses of normalcy. But to think of being something you like that, having everybody view you as somebody that wasn’t normal, wasn’t like them — knowing that they knew what you were was worse than behaving under those fabrications.
So, like usual, when you felt difficult emotions, amassed conflict, you grabbed a bottle of strong alcohol and pushed everybody away.
Tony’s been screwed over more times than he’d like to admit most days.
He could count on one hand how many people he trusted fully. And that was pretty pathetic, especially for Tony Stark. Did that shell of a guy he put up for everybody mean nothing? Why did he let people past it when, subconsciously, he knew how it was going to end? One way or another, he loses something from trusting somebody.
And in this case, it was you.
Physically, you would forever register in his brain. Every curve of your body, every blemish and scar and story of your body. You’d be there. But now, it wasn’t in the way he wanted. Among the confusing way him and his mind worked, there was a part that knew it was selfish, to want something from you that he knew you wouldn’t offer. To want more than messy sex in the dark, where you couldn’t discern him as something more than a body. He’d lost you as a friend, playing a dangerous game of ignorance.
Maybe that’s why Tony felt dread when he heard your unmistakeable footsteps shuffling down his hall around 2 in the morning.
He could tell you were drunk, obvious in the way your feet hit the floor.
Tony held a breath, hearing the door open and you crawling onto his bed.
It was more than dread, Tony thought, it was apprehension.
He knew. But he still didn’t push you off at first, when you started kissing down his jaw, like you’ve done so many times before. He felt that apprehension boil and churn in his stomach, amplified by the scent of alcohol in your breath, which coated his skin. All over him — he felt owned, more than just bodily.
His hands went to your shoulders and pushed you back. “Y/n,” he whispered.
Your hands grasp at his shirt. His eyes prickled with tears. Tony settled you beside him, heat radiating all over, shared. He wanted to call it an end, wrapping his arms around you, settling with the fallacy that this was shared. But the real end was, he’d wake up. His vision would adjust to the flooded sunlight in the room, his blood would slowly drifted through his body as he’d move once more.
Acceptance, apparently, did not come easily for Tony Stark.