#is WAY less a thing in victor/the doombots than like. keeps happening with tony

[the-faultofdaedalus]

IDEA. AIRON MAN BESTIES WITH A ROGUE DOOMBOT WHO'S JUST TRYING TO BUILD THEIR OWN PERSONALITY AND LIFE OUTSIDE OF THEIR IMPLANTED MEMORIES..........

COULD BE AN ACCIDENTAL GAINING OF FREEDOM OF CONSCIOUSNESS, LIKE W/ SENTIENT ARMOR, BUT I ALSO THINK IT COULD BE RLLY NEAT IF THEY WERE A PROTOTYPE DOOMBOT THAT ENDED UP HAVING MORE FREEDOM AND CAPABILITY FOR GROWTH THAN INTENDED AND THEY'VE BEEN LIVING THEIR OWN LIFE SINCE (IDEALLY W/ VICTOR'S SUPPORT BC RESPECT FOR THE AUTONOMY OF HIS CITIZENS AND CREATIONS AND ALL THAT)

BONDING OVER THE TECHNOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS AND LIMITATIONS OF THEIR FORMS, THE PRESSURE TO APPEAR A SIMULACRUM OF A BIOLOGICAL ENTITY AND THE FEAR OF HOW OTHERS WOULD VIEW AND REACT TO THEIR TRUE SELVES, THE "I AM CONNECTED TO MY CREATOR, BUT I AM NOT HIM IN THE WAYS HE WAS HIMSELF AND I AM MORE THAT WHAT HE MADE ME FOR," THE STEMBOY SWAG, ETC........

I ALSO THINK IT COULD BE FUNKY TO EXPLORE LIKE. I AM AN INDIVIDUAL DISTINCT FROM MY CREATOR BUT I AM STILL TIED TO HIM. DO I FEEL OBLIGATED TO ONLY DRAW FROM HIS VISION? DO I FEEL GUILTY FOR ADDING ELEMENTS OF MY PERSONALITY TO HIS DESIGN OF ME? WOULD HE BE PROUD OF WHO I'VE BECOME?

TRULY THIS WAS JUST MEANT TO BE A VAGUE NOTION OF A POTENTIAL CHARACTER BUT I STARTED THINKING AND GOT HOOKED DJSLHFLSHFLS BUT YES HELLO

oh there literally are already feral doombots just Around. thats canon. they are... already sapient as far as im aware (but like, sapient in that they have enough of victor's memories and personality to successfully pretend to be him and sometimes for them to not know they aren't him. also they can feel pain. questioning why victor has made ten thousand cannon-fodder robots with also his whole brain in them which also can fully feel pain is a different post) but yeah feral doombots my beloved

there’s like…. at least two i know of. the one with the fancy coat and the one calling himself vincent that actually looks like a human, i love them. i have so many thoughts about feral doombots just Around and Vibin and its not like victor gives a shit. he can make new ones. whatever.

but also ;-; that's So good, especially if its somehow pre-reveal for iron man being Known as anything other than like, a human in an armor so perhaps he meets a doombot somehow (maybe it's stealing replacement parts from SI and when IM realizes that its not... actually taking anything dangerous hes like. oh. oh. because he's smart enough to also know why he isnt just going to get repaired like normal) and it's just, this sense of Recognition that iron man cannot say anything else

i think it would be good if it was like. iron man offers to help fix the bot. oor just, helps him. no expectation of anything else. and the doombot is supicious because of course it is, it was programmed by Paranoid Bastard Supreme, and it's not like iron man can even tell it why he wants to help it so badly, because even if he doesn't think it's actively a danger that doesn't mean giving it the information that he isn't human like everyone assumes wouldn't be... an incredibly bad idea. it's still attached to a supervillan, after all

(also sidenote but i am frothing at the mouth about potential doomquest in this universe it would be SO funny,,,,,, king arthur sends a pretty lady to iron man's room for "companionship" and iron man is just like. ah. ok. i dont know what is expected of me right now. also doomquest is very good to me, specifically, because its one of the only early comics things where almost anyone has more respect for tony than for iron man, which i enjoy, i think it would be SO good for airon man au especially if iron man is like. in danger of just... running out of power. technicallyyyyy i think this should also be a problem in canon, i think doomquest happens during chestplate era, where hes largely not able to go more than about a day without Dramatic Wall Outlet Time and yet hes fine just vibin in camelot (famously deprived of wall outlets) for at least a couple of days, but YEAH SEND AIRON MAN TO CAMELOT i think hed be both freaked out and also. sad that tony couldn't experience it. i think the background radiation of iron man's life is just... sadness that tony cannot experience any of the cool things he does)

but like... him continuing too help this doombot. maybe the doombot also helps him out somehow, as well. maybe subtly interveening in some fights. maybe giving iron man some neat lil tech tips. maybe a;klsdjfasdf the doombot still wants like. Something To Do and not just sit idle all the time or something so iron man hooks 'em up with a fuckin. tech support job. or like, product testing, for SI. something where he can just fix shit thats been broken in the stupidest ways or, try to destroy other things. who knows i dont. but maybe theres an attack at SI and iron man deals with it but hes damaged, and normally he'd like. hide away and do a quick n dirty patch job just so theres not obvious holes into nothing, but. the doombot follows him. and finds him. and its just... looking at eachother. knowing "oh fuck we're the same" and also "oh fuck he knows"

i think they should help fix eachother up and be buddies anyways it'd be good

[tisfan]

Doom’s Day Scenario

Part Three of that IronDoom fic that nobody asked for.

NSFW, contains smut, identity porn, blow jobs, and Reed Richards being an asshole.

To Victor goes the Spoils A Stark Reminder

New text from Unknown: Grand Hotel, Stockholm. Friday night 9pm local. Ask at desk for Mr. Alil. 

Tony’s phone nearly spilled out of his hand, he was shaking that hard. Twenty-thousand, six hundred and fifty two minutes since he’d heard anything from Rabun, and Tony had been an absolute terror. Even Pepper had given up trying to coax him into some semblance of civility, banished him to the workshop rather than make clients and partners work with him, and even refused to let him even attend the board’s semi-annual meeting. 

Being in the workshop hadn’t helped. He’d yelled at DUM-E so often that the bot was sulking in his charging station and refusing to hear Tony’s apology. Tony hadn’t been able to create. He hadn’t been able to do anything useful. He’d just sulked, poked at a few old ideas, drank breakfast, forgot about lunch, slept through dinner. Tony Stark, fully capable of sleeping anywhere except in an actual goddamn bed, and his back wasn’t thanking him for that, at all. 

And suddenly the ache in his chest was eased, enough that he filled his lungs with air, it felt, for the first time in days. He became aware of how hungry he was, and for that matter, the fact that he smelled of unwashed sweat and motor oil. He checked his phone; the message hadn’t disappeared. That would be a nightmare, and he knew that for a fact because it was one he’d had. That he’d gotten a call or a text or anything, and woken up a few minutes later to find out that nothing of the sort had happened. 

Wednesday? How had it gotten to be Wednesday already? Okay, Tony supposed if you were thinking in terms of hours and minutes, days of the week sort of faded out to unimportance. 

[more below the break, you can read from A03, mobile users]

But it gave him some time. Food first, then shower, and then… he was pretty sure he could finish that improvement to the suit’s power conversion system, to eke another six percent out of the repulsors. 

“JARVIS?” 

“Yes, sir?” The AI sounded relieved, which was somewhat annoying. Tony Stark was a grown-assed man, he could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much. 

“Set an alarm for me, I absolutely need to be in Stockholm by 6, local time. Get a hotel room, and --” 

“Are you flying, sir, or flying?” 

“Smart ass,” Tony muttered, looking for his multitool, he was sure he’d left it around here -- aha! There were problems with either answer. Tony Stark’s private jet was not what one would call discreet, although it wouldn’t be the first time he just randomly up and went someplace. On the other hand, the Iron Man suit was waaaay beyond incognito and everyone noticed him. One of these days, he really needed to build a stealth suit. He made a note in one glowing screen in front of him and flipped it into his ever-growing honey-do list. He certainly wasn’t flying commercial. 

“I’ll take the jet,” he decided. Easier to explain that he’d gotten himself a craving for fläskpannkaka or something and gone out for dinner. “But don’t let me be late.” 

“Of course not, sir,” JARVIS said, “provided you actually heed any of my reminders.” 

“That’s it, you’re going off-line and I’m going to break you down for spare parts to run my GPS.” 

“I tremble in fear,” JARVIS responded. 

“You should,” Tony said. “I threw the last GPS out the window; it kept telling me to make legal u-turns as soon as possible.” 

“If you would not persist in driving in the wrong direction --” 

Tony held up one finger and JARVIS shut his synthetic trap, which was good, because Tony thought he finally had a handle on that oscillating quantuum pulse phenomenon. He jotted that down, tagged it, and sent it to the correct file, letting his fingers fly over systems and notes and wireframes and designs without hesitation, fully back in his zone for the first time in weeks. It was wonderful. 

What started as a chess move in the game of figuring out what the hell was going on inside his head and heart had ended with a crate of advanced biological water filters. The technology was decades ahead of most; the various clean-water crises that developed across the globe (Flint, Michigan, Burkina Faso -- where less than thirteen percent of the population had access to clean water -- or Chad, which had an even lower population, and a brutal rate of water-contamination related deaths) had driven the Morocco to push funding toward clean, sustainable water supplies. 

Latveria was an enforced monarchy; the one law of the land was that Doom would provide. 

For all that, in essence, Doom’s country was under military guard all the time, that speaking out against his leadership was a crime punishable by death, and that no one was allowed to enter, or leave, the country without his express permission, Doom took care of his people. 

In theory. 

Doom summoned his court advisor. Did the man even have a name? Doom couldn’t remember. He’d been so busy with dreams of world conquest, with fighting endless battles with the Fantastic Four (more like Fantastic two, one jackass and an ambulatory wall) that he’d been neglecting his duties. 

The advisor, a wispy-looking sort, who bowed so deep that his head brushed against the floor, was trembling to be called into Doom’s presence. That was no good. 

Doom ran his fingers under the jawline seam of his armor. No one, save Tony Stark, had seen his face in decades, not his servants, his enemies, not even his people. No one. He wondered what the man thought was below the Doom mask. Perhaps… the scar had not bothered Tony, had not been anything but a mild curiosity. Tony’s fingers had touched Doom along the scar and the world had not ended. For such a small thing, Doom had hidden his face, kept himself free of human entanglements and a simple caress had changed… everything.

Doom sighed. He was not ready. 

“Report on the state of Latveria,” Doom commanded. “Honest. Doom requires knowledge of the problems of the people.” 

It had taken rather a lot of Doom’s most tactful words -- and he did not have a ready supply of them -- and persuasion to get the adviser to speak to facts. Even as the man had done so, he’d been shaking the entire time. 

Doom couldn’t decide if he required a new adviser, or if his adviser was in dire need of a sedative. Probably both. 

In the end, Doom had to bring in outside consultants, and the first reports that they brought in were not favorable, although they were less dire than perhaps they might have been. 

Most of Doom’s people were homed, which made his rate of poverty slightly above global norms, but part of that was because policy had dictated that the homeless persons were not to bother the sight of their beloved rulers, so those who could not find stable housing were either incarcerated, or worse, executed. 

Fortunately, as a monarchy, Doom didn’t have to press laws through a congress or house of lords, but he still had to notify each and every single one of his enforcers -- although many of them were Doombots and therefore a simple software update was all that was required -- there were still some remote villages where the local enforcement were all too human, and all too used to having their own way. 

He’d had to stomp down firmly on one incident, but in the end, Doom gathered all those who were not currently housed and put them to work. Machinery was brought in to clear the grounds; for the first time in centuries, a new town would be founded. Trees were uprooted, the area cleared. Everyone who could work was put on the task. 

Now, Doom just needed housing. He’d taken the opportunity while abroad to look into the technology that other nations were developing and Sweden had some pretty good ideas, including easily fabricated housing. The materials were weather-proof for both heat and cold, kept rain and ice out, were easily adapted to whatever sort of foundations were available, and came with solar panels and ventilation air cooling, that they would not be a drain on a country’s already strained resources. 

Perfect. Doom booked travel, that he might speak with the production engineers there, under the name of his travel alias, Rabun Alil, a business investor. He’d get the contracts set up, have the materials shipped into Latveria by air -- it would take some small amount of time, since the one airport was decades old and not large, but there were so few routes into and out of his nation. Doom and his ancestors had been very interested in keeping the population isolated, but that was not going to go well anymore. The world was too small for that. 

He purchased a burner phone as soon as he was outside the borders and sent Tony a message. He would be in Sweden for the week, but there was no reason he couldn’t combine a little pleasure with business. 

He sent the text, then crushed the phone in one metal-enclosed gauntlet. He would never use a phone twice; that made him much too easy to track. Doom removed his suit and dressed, for the first time in decades, as merely himself, as Victor, and boarded a plane in Hungary, bound for Sweden. A few days work and he could, perhaps, look forward to seeing Tony for the week’s end. 

The desk clerk had an envelop for Tony when he asked for Mr. Alil. Out slid another card key and a note with the same impeccable, decorative handwriting. 

The room was empty when Tony entered it, no warm, welcoming smile greeted him. Tony put his overnight bag down and prowled through the room. Rabun had left a bag, a laptop computer, some brochures, and a plate of chocolate dipped fruit, along with a bottle of champagne that was slowly sinking into the bucket of melting ice. 

Tony made himself at home, drank a sparkling water from the mini-fridge, and helped himself to some chocolates. He was a bit tired; the renewed energy he’d gotten from the text had been burned into his work, a rather lengthy apology to Pepper, and then the Avengers had called on him for a little bit of saving the world. All in all, he’d barely managed to sleep before he was on the jet and headed across the ocean. 

Tony stretched out on the sofa and stared at the mural that had been painted on the ceiling, all pudgy angels and depictions of God giving life to the earth. Tony let his eyes drift shut. 

A heavy, warm hand came down on his shoulder some unknown time later. “You don’t want to sleep here, love,” a familiar voice spoke. “You’ll hurt your neck.” 

Tony mumbled, tried to roll over and found himself blocked by a muscular chest.  He managed to pry open his lids, saw a beautiful mouth that turned up in a warm smile, familiar amber-hazel eyes. Then the smile vanished and Rabun leaned in to kiss him. 

A touch of lip to Tony’s. Only that, and the world shifted under Tony, rocking uncertainly. Tony reached up, touched Rabun’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his scar. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, voice still sleep-muzzed. 

“Sorry I’m late, beloved,” Rabun said, and he ran one hand down Tony’s shoulder, traced the line all the way until he gripped Tony’s wrist, rubbing his thumb lightly against the pulse point. 

“What have you been doing?” 

“Investing,” came the evasive reply. Rabun kissed Tony’s cheek, then lifted him as easily as if the genius was a doll. “Come to bed.” The sheer, physical power of Rabun was exciting, hot. The way he cradled Tony to his chest in a possessive manner. Rabun pressed his mouth to Tony’s as he crossed the room, tasting and challenging, like a dare that Tony wasn’t quite certain he was strong enough to handle, and yet, Tony had never yet backed down. He returned Rabun’s kiss with energy, the feel and taste of his mouth was beyond sweet. Dangerous and tempting, nothing like the current of kisses he’d experienced before, but a great undertow that would suck him down and drown him in desire. 

Tony circled his arms around Rabun’s neck, held on while the world tumbled away into nothingness. Tony had tasted Rabun’s mouth a dozen times or more, and still, the mere memory of the touch of his lips kept Tony awake at night, restless, dreamless. Sweet like sin, dark like coffee. 

Rabun met his kiss headlong, mouth pressing tight to Tony’s, his tongue curling in tempting dance, the feel of his mouth heated with wanting. 

Secured in Rabun’s arms, Tony was still dizzy, like falling, like flight. He wasn’t sure where he was going to land, and he didn’t particularly care. In the back of his brain, a small voice murmured of danger, of foolishness, but Tony shoved it aside. What good were warnings when he was already drunk on Rabun’s kisses? What need was there of caution, when he’d already thrown it to the wind? He let Rabun bear him down onto the bed, stripping him out of his clothes as they consumed each other in the fire of their passion. 

New text from Unknown: Mandarin Presidential Suite, Tokyo, Tuesday

Crap. Tony stared at his phone in dismay.

I can’t, baby. How long will you be there? He thumbed as quick as he could. Rabun’s phones never lasted long, the number was often out of commision within an hour. Paranoia, Tony had accused him, but they didn’t talk much about it. There was a lot they didn’t talk about, despite the hours they spent laying in each other’s arms, speaking of everything else under the sun. 

Rabun was formally educated, a fan of Western literature. The faintest trace of his accent put Tony in mind of Romania, or another one of those small, eastern European nations. They watched British sports together -- Rabun was in particular fond of cricket and he thought American football was the second stupidest thing in the world, immediately after synchronized swimming. 

In the last several months, Tony had found himself dragged to the opera a few times, which became a lot more sexy with Rabun leaning over and whispering translations of German, Italian, and French in his ear. Tony didn’t need the Italian, but he didn’t bother to mention it, liking the feel of Rabun’s body draped over his. 

They explored various cities together; Rabun’s business, whatever it was, kept him travelling. They seldom met in the same country more than once. Rabun was an adventurous gourmet, willing to try just about anything, but always vocal when he didn’t like a thing. To Tony’s shock and eternal amusement, Rabun hadn’t had much experience with sweets; things like chocolate and ice cream were novelties, and Tony had spent a lot of time dragging the man to various confectionaries. 

New text from Unknown: Not long enough. Beijing in three weeks. I’ll miss you. 

Fucking Senate hearing. Tony wanted to scream. He’d tried dodging them before, and that had been more trouble than it was worth. Tony was the public face of the Avengers, taking all their PR slack and turning their actions into legal activities. If he missed the hearing, Fury would have Tony’s head on a platter. Not that Tony was afraid of Fury, but honestly, Fury just made his life harder when thwarted. 

Yeah, miss you, too. 

Beijing had been a shit show of epic measure. 

The Skrullz had gotten up to some ridiculous plot in the midwest, of all places, so by the time Tony showed up in China, he was exhausted from three days of fighting and then another day of dodging the press; one of whom actually had a photograph of Tony with some unknown man in Germany and wanted to know who Tony’s new sweetheart was. That had taken some clever dodging. 

And then when he finally got to China, there’d been a mix up with the hotels, and Rabun wasn’t where Tony had expected him to be. By the time he got a second text with the new direction, Tony was beyond dead on his feet. 

When Rabun had finally found Tony -- who’d checked into a random hotel just to get off his fucking feet -- Tony had been cranky, underfed, uncaffeinated. They’d almost had a fight. God knows, Tony had been trying his damndest to pick one, because it was starting to feel to him like he was at Rabun’s beck and call. 

“I have obligations, my darling,” Rabun had said. “It is not mere business that takes me ‘round the globe. There are people depending on me.” 

“Yeah, well,” Tony sulked, “it’s not like you don’t know where I live.” 

Which Tony did not know about his lover, not even what country the man was from. When asked, Rabun had said little, except that his home was empty, and too large. Tony could sympathize with that, he’d been in Stark Mansion a few times after his parents’ death and the huge home seemed cold without another living soul in it. Tony’d had the place shut down and rarely visited. 

“You know we have to be careful,” Rabun said. He pulled Tony into his lap, nuzzling at his neck. 

“I just feel like you’re not prioritizing,” Tony complained. “That… I don’t mean as much to you -- I drop everything to come see you, all the time. You don’t even keep the same phone long enough for me to have a conversation.” 

“I don’t exist in your world, Tony,” Rabun said, heaving a great sigh. “I would put you at risk, terrible risk, if we were found out. We meet like this because it is all that I can have.” 

“You know who I am,” Tony pointed out. 

“I do,” Rabun said. “I have made a great study of your Avengers. I know your capabilities. Now, will you believe me when I say, this puts you at risk. I do not underestimate your abilities, nor do I overstate the threat. I am working, even now, to change things, that it will be different, but those events take time to set in motion. It may be years before we can… have anything other than this. Will you not… do you not want to give me the time?” 

Tony closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Rabun’s neck. “Whatever you need. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve missed you.” 

“And I, you,” Rabun said, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Truth, each day seems an eternity that I am not with you. My plans. So much has changed, since we met. My life was empty and I did not even know it.” He nipped at Tony’s mouth, coaxing and gentle until Tony couldn’t stand the light touches any longer and threw himself into the kiss with as much heat and passion as he could. 

“I didn’t mean to interfere with your life,” Tony said, teasing. 

“Yes, and how dare you,” Rabun responded, licking at Tony’s neck, tempting him out of his clothing. “You have ruined me with your mouth and wrecked me against your body; you have changed me forever, that I might never want another, but you.” 

“Oh, this is all my fault now?” Tony had his hands under Rabun’s shirt, those fine, taut muscles and silk-soft skin luxurious under his fingertips. “I’ve what, been throwing myself at you and you’re just --” 

“Giving in to your wiles and seductions,” Rabun said. He yanked Tony’s slacks open, pushing the fabric down Tony’s thighs. “Overwhelmed by you.” 

“Well, I am pretty amazing,” Tony said. They weren’t going to make it to the bed this time, Tony could tell. That was all right, he was just as eager to get his hands on his lover, to touch and kiss and caress. To feel Rabun’s mouth; the man had a damn talented tongue and left bruise and bite marks on Tony’s neck that he’d sometimes had to hide with makeup, just so he didn’t look completely debauched at stockholder meetings. 

“You are,” Rabun said. “perfection.” The fire was back, driving Tony to distraction. He got his hand inside Rabun’s pants, rubbed at the hot length and groaned with appreciation as Rabun threw his head back and cried out with need. God, the man was beautiful, from the silver tips of his hair, down amber colored eyes, a firm, fine mouth and determined chin. He was scarred here and there, had been shot at least three times that Tony could tell from old wound-marks. Not that Tony’s body told a much different story. 

Sometimes it seemed that their clothing melted away, other times it was impatient, frustrating work getting down to bare skin. That night was a dream, peeling away the layers and taking their time, touching and caressing, not in such a hurry, knowing they’d get there, finally, finally. 

Rabun’s mouth on him was a blessing, the sweetest sin and Tony arched into it, the head of his cock slipping into that plush, wet mouth. He raised his hips off the sofa and Rabun tugged his pants the rest of the way down, hands smoothing the way. Nudging at the back of Rabun’s throat, it was so good, so slick, and if Tony didn’t concentrate on his breathing he was going to disgrace himself by coming inside two minutes. That would never do. And yet, Rabun wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t slow, just kept his head moving as Tony thrust up and god, that was -- 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tony chanted, and Rabun pinned his hips down, holding him so tight he could barely move, couldn’t do anything but submit to the wet pull of Rabun’s mouth, the tantalizing tongue. Tony’s body arched and twisted, he had no control, was totally enthralled by what Rabun was doing to him, how good it felt, how necessary. He lost any sense of what he was doing, just needed, needed to feel. His hands twisted against Rabun’s hair, the short, silken locks sliding between his fingers. Lower still, and Tony’s fingers sank into the hard shoulders, nails biting down as he held on for dear life.  His blood was rushing in his veins and pounding in his head. Everything was shaking, his legs, his belly tightened. “Oh, god…” 

Rabun didn’t stop when Tony came, didn’t even give him a chance to catch his breath. He just snagged the bottle of lube and started prep, his mouth still working over Tony’s oversensitive and slowly deflating cock. Tony squirmed, almost struggled, too jittery to relax. He cried out, more than once, as Rabun worked a finger into him, and then a second. His cock ached, too much, too hot, and finally, almost in self-defense, grew hard again. 

“There you are,” Rabun said, finally pulling his mouth off, and Tony heaved for breath, tender and throbbing. 

“Well, it’s pointless to stop now,” Tony said, petulant. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Rabun said. He dragged Tony’s thighs up, hooked them over his shoulders. “Can I --” he stopped, gazing up into Tony’s face “-- without?” 

God, that was… Tony shuddered. Trust, on both sides. He knew he was clean, a benefit of having one’s own personal doctor. Ever since Afghanistan, he’d been wary of hospitals and he had never been a big fan of medical care even before that, but the arc reactor had made it necessary. “I’m clean,” he said. “If you are.” 

Rabun slicked himself and breached the ring of muscle. Tony wriggled, feeling his body giving way, slow and sensual, burning ache and stretch. Slowly, the faint pain faded, the pressure eased, and his muscles let go, letting Rabun in. Rabun leaned down, pressed in further, touched his mouth to Tony’s and as Tony twined his arms around Rabun’s neck, to pull his lover closer, the excitement and need came back. Rabun worked in him, slow, almost too slow, and Tony groaned. “Come on, come on,” he said, urgent, his fingers tightening on the back of Rabun’s neck. 

Rabun thrust into him, again, and again, and Tony’s body moved without his direction, matching stroke for stroke, crooning encouragements and need into Rabun’s ear. Like some transcendent experience, he was lifted up and dropped 

“So gorgeous,” Rabun was murmuring in his ear, and Tony could barely hear it, so wrapped up was he in the movements and the feelings and the thick, sensual slide of Rabun’s cock, and… 

“Oh, my… god.” Tony twisted his hips. 

“Yes, love, I’ve got you,” Rabun said, and then he ducked his chin, groaning as he thrust one last time into Tony. “That’s… exactly. Right.” 

Tony drifted, hazy on the cloud of hormones and bliss. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to, how safe and warm and perfect he felt. He patted one hand on Rabun’s shoulder. What had Rabun said? It seemed important somehow. “Love you, too.” 

“What?”

Tony groaned, leaning back in his desk chair. He didn’t want to be talking to Reed Richards. Richards annoyed the shit out of him, if for no other reason that the man was almost as smart as he thought himself to be. Arrogant, annoying, and with the personality of a cheese grater. And when Tony was feeling generous, probably Tony’s equal, just in an unrelated field. But like all geniuses, Richards was convinced that his field of expertise was the most important, that his intellect was the most keen.

Which, obviously, it was not. 

“We think Doom’s gotten his hands on some of your tech,” Richards said. “Not sure what, or what he plans to do with it. Since I can’t make heads or tails of your spare parts, Sue thought you should come with us.” 

“You’re going to Latveria?” 

“Doom’s been all over the world, recently, but the last movement we had on him, he was home. Come with us, we’ll knock on his door and Ben can beat the tar out of him for a while.” 

“Does that actually work?” Tony sighed. It was going to create an international incident, to raid Latveria without any sort of evidence. Although, knowing Doom, there would be something shady going on there. They could probably make it work. 

“Talk to Fury, get him to issue an edict or something,” Tony said, waving a hand, forgetting that Richards couldn’t see him through a speaker phone. He pulled out his cellphone. Maybe, maybe this time… 

You there, babe? 

New text from Unknown: Yes. 

Gonna be near Hungary in two days, if you want to meet me for a change. 

New text from Unknown: Why? 

Superhero shit. Petty dictators. I don’t think they have good hotels in Latveria, tho, so I’ll find someplace else to go for the night. I’ll let you know.

Rabun didn’t answer, but that wasn’t unusual. Tony would see if he texted back later, from yet another new number. 

Doom stared down at the burner phone. He’d forgotten to destroy it, so wrapped up in Tony’s declaration of love. 

Fuck.

Doom was in so much trouble.

TO BE CONTINUED

(please don’t kill me)