Avengers kissing fest!

[such_heights]

(Me? Procrastinating on my own fannish projects? Never!)

I declare a festival of kissing for my pretty summer fling fandom. Avengers movieverse, all characters, all ships and no ships, all fanworks.

THE RULES:

01. Leave a comment with two or more characters from the Avengers movieverse who you'd like to see kiss. You can include a prompt if you like as an optional extra for the prompt-filler.
02. Reply to a comment with a fanwork in which those characters kiss. The kissing can be platonic or romantic, on the mouth or the cheek or the forehead or the shoulder or anywhere else that you like.
03. All fanworks welcome, including art/podfic/vids/icons/recs/meta/fic etc. Multiple fills for the same prompt are encouraged. Replying to your own prompt is fine. Anon commenting is fine. Coming back and posting a fill two months later is fine.

\o/

eta: fills so far:

Bruce/Clint
by estelendur

Bruce/Natasha
by musesfool

Bruce/Pepper/Tony
by d_generate_girl
by such_heights

Bruce/Tony
by musesfool
by thingswithwings
by florahart
by estelendur

Bucky/Natasha/Steve
by hederahelix

Bucky/Steve
by gorgeousnerd
by jain
by laylee

Clint/Coulson
by sunnyrea
by meinterrupted

Clint/Darcy
by liseuse
by liseuse 2
by grammarwoman

Clint/Hill
by stevie

Clint/Natasha
by recessional (contains gory imagery)
by liseuse
by liseuse 2 (gory imagery)
by some_stars
by recessional 2
by ceridweyn_lin
by recessional 3
by recessional 4
by anonymous

Clint/Steve
by longwhitecoats

Clint/various
by ashen_key

Coulson/Fury
by emmypenny

Coulson/Steve
by estelendur
by such_heights

Darcy/Jane
by meinterrupted

Darcy/Thor
by florahart

Darcy/Steve
by musesfool
by liseuse

Fury/Hill
by longwhitecoats
by igrockspock

Fury/Steve
by jain

Heimdall/Loki
by just_ann_now

Hill/Natasha
by just_ann_now
by liseuse

Hulk/Pepper
by spicedrum

Jane/Tony
by spicedrum

Loki/Thor
by terryh-nyan
by longwhitecoats

Natasha/OFC
by ashen_key

Natasha/Pepper
by thingswithwings
by such_heights

Natasha/Rhodey
by sinensis

Natasha/Steve
by liseuse
by musesfool
by spicedrum

Natasha/Thor
by spatz

Pepper/Tony
by thingswithwings
by spatz

Rhodey/Tony
by spatz

Steve/Thor
by estelendur

Tony/team
by such_heights

Comments

[theleaveswant]

Natasha/Pepper, distraction

[thingswithwings]

Natasha hasn't been Pepper's PA in a long time, but she still finds herself dropping by the office now and then - officially she's Pepper's SHIELD liason, but unofficially, Natasha likes her; likes the parts of her that are tough, that bend without breaking.

Today, Pepper is harried, distracted. Not that very many people would be able to tell; there's not a hair out of place, her clothes are spotless and unrumpled, and she greets Natasha with a polite, friendly smile. But the smile is slightly strained at the corners, and there's a tightness around her eyes and in the set of her jaw that evokes an answering tension in Natasha. She foregoes sitting in the comfortable leather chair and comes around to perch on Pepper's desk instead, putting her body within Pepper's reach.

"Hey," Pepper says, her smile loosening and slipping away. She cups Natasha's knee with her hand, absently, as if to ground herself.

"Tough day?" Natasha allows the touch.

"You have no idea," Pepper says, and now her facade vanishes entirely as she makes a funny overwhelmed sort of face, eyes wide as she blows out an exaggerated breath. Her hand, perhaps unconsciously (or perhaps not - Pepper is a very conscious person, which is another thing Natasha likes about her) squeezes Natasha's knee.

Bending down, Natasha slips two fingers under Pepper's chin and tilts her face upwards. Pepper watches her carefully as she moves in slowly, her mouth first just grazing Pepper's lips and then rushing forward to take her mouth completely. It turns wet, and hard, and after a moment Natasha can feel Pepper letting go, going soft and sharp and eager beneath Natasha's hands, against her skin, against her mouth.

When she pulls back, Pepper is smiling, and the tension around her eyes seems reduced.

"Maybe you need a distraction," Natasha suggests.

She waits patiently while Pepper cancels her three o'clock, but does not allow Pepper's hand to move from her knee.

[theleaveswant]

Bruce/Natasha, trepidation

[musesfool]

When Natasha stalks towards him, predatory gleam in her eye, Bruce feels more than a twinge of trepidation. When she puts her hands on his arms, holds him in place with a light touch and the knowledge that he won't break free, he sucks in a deep, calming breath, and the scent of her shampoo, astringent and herbal. When she presses her mouth to his, hot and open and needy, he gasps into it, surprised, or maybe pleased, and not a little worried about what she's thinking and how it will end.

She pulls back and studies him, her gaze steady and assessing, and then kisses him again, with teeth this time, sharp against his lower lip, a warning and a dare. He holds still and kisses her back gently, letting her have control here, where he doesn't need it, the anger that always simmers in his belly banked for now, overtaken by the heat of desire washing through him.

This time when she pulls back the appraisal is still there, but its edged with need, and her lips curl in a small, smug smile. She muffles his answering laugh with another kiss, her hands sliding down his arms to fold around his hands, and pull him towards the couch. He goes without resistance and, for once, without being afraid.

[-samalander.livejournal.com]

Clint/Natasha - We aren't even real.

uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[recessional]

9 times out of ten, Nat is the most grounded, unflappable, composed and cool-headed person in the world, even if (for instance) their contact dissolves in front of them. Literally. Which has happened. And of that one time out of ten that she's not, ninety-nine times out of a hundred (of that one time out of ten) she just gets pissed off and a pissed off Natasha is bad news for pretty much anything she encounters.

But that one time out of a hundred of those one-times-out-of-ten, something hits her brain just the wrong way and lets some of the carefully controlled and neutralized fucked-up out.

The first time she doesn't shove it all back in like you'd to for a gut wound where your intestines fall out is the time that Clint realizes she actually trusts him (inasmuch as she trusts anyone, ever). And this is hugely gratifying and heart-warming and totally, utterly fucking terrifying when he finds her standing in front of a mirror she apparently smashed with her hand (which is bleeding), staring at the fractured reflection like it's got the secrets of the universe or has pissed her off recently.

(These are remarkably similar expressions, in Tasha.)

" . . . Natasha?" Clint says, cautiously. Then he searches for something to say that isn't going to set off Mount Vesuvius and settles on, "You're bleeding all over the tiles."

Natasha frowns and stares at her hand like she's not sure she's ever seen it before or like someone redecorated it while she was out. "How do you know?" she asks, in a weird and distant voice.

"Uh," Clint says intelligently, reflecting that "dealing with the Black Widow's mental breakdowns" is sadly not a currently listed training course at SHIELD. "I can see you. You're right there?"

Now Natasha turns her stare on him and he fights the urge to take a step back, because that . . . well, he hasn't seen that stare since before he decided not to kill her, and it's still fucking scary. But he just stands where he is, and she asks, "How do you know it's me? And don't say you know what I look like, Barton. Looks are nothing. Bodies are nothing. We're nothing. We're not even real."

There's probably a right answer to this, like, an approved and brilliant one. After a minute, Clint just shrugs and says, "I think if you were anyone else and I walked in on you being crazy and punching mirrors and questioning reality, I'd probably be dead by now?"

A lot of different expressions go across Natasha's face, that scrunch it up in different shapes, until she looks back down at her bleeding hand and seems to actually see it.

"Here," Clint says, ducking into the bathroom and opening one of the cabinets, holding up some gauze and bandage. Natasha lets him use the iodine wipes on her hand, but takes the gauze and bandage herself. When she's done she sighs, and looks up a bit more like herself.

"Sorry," she says, short and grudging, like she hates having to see it. On the basis that a little obnoxious is always more welcome than pity, Clint puts a mocking arm around her shoulder.

"Don't sorry about it," he says, and decides to totally break the mood by dropping a kiss on the side-top of her head.

The world pauses for a second, and then Tasha says, " . . . did you just give me a patronizing kiss on the head?" and really sounds a lot more like Natalia Romanova and a lot less like a crazed remnant of a super-spy-assassin. Clint congratulates himself.

"Yeah," he replies, and then adds, "And now I really know it's you, because I'm still not dead."

She's trying not to laugh as she shoves him away. Clint'll count that a win.

[such_heights]

Tony & Bruce

[musesfool]

Tony's used to feeling a lot of things--feeling all the things, as the kids on the internet say these days (why no, Pepper, he's not screwing around posting pics of his robots to Tumblr during briefings, why do you ask?) but he's never been much good at expressing them in ways that aren't getting drunk or having sex or building robots, so he doesn't know what to do with this weird swell of tenderness that's surging in his chest as he watches Bruce sleep.

Tony tucks the blanket around him again, like it wasn't good enough the first two times he did it, and sighs. It's a sound that's more like Pepper than like him, so he plays a little game of "What Would Pepper Do?" and remembers the many times he's pretended to still be asleep so she would smooth his hair back and kiss his forehead. He does the same to Bruce now, hesitant in a way he'd never be if Bruce were awake, more afraid of himself and his ability to break everything he touches in ways Bruce can't even comprehend than he is of Bruce or the Hulk or even the possible weirdness of getting caught watching Bruce sleep.

He brushes Bruce's hair back as gently as he can and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, the skin there sweaty and warm against his lips.

Good, he thinks, that's good, sitting back and making sure Bruce is still asleep, unsure of what to do next for once. He dozes a little himself, eventually, and wakes to find Bruce's blanket tucked around him, and the sound of Bruce singing in the shower in the next room.

[theleaveswant]

Darcy/Steve, squee

[musesfool]

Steve slides across the plate and jumps up, pumping his fists in the air, as the umpire calls him safe. He’s never scored the winning run in the bottom of the ninth with two outs before. It feels even better than he dreamt when he was a kid.

His teammates surround him, shouting with victory and trading high-fives and pats on the butt (or squeezes, in some cases--Steve's gotten used to being teasingly groped by various Avengers, though he’s never had the nerve to reciprocate).

Darcy jumps into his arms, heedless of the dirt covering his uniform, cups his face, and seals her mouth over his in a hot, fierce kiss that makes him a little dizzy.

"We won!" she says, raising her hands in the air and trusting in him to hold her.

"We sure did," he answers, licking the sticky sweet taste of her lipgloss off his lips and kissing her again.

[theleaveswant]

Darcy/Jane, for science!

For science!!

[meinterrupted]

"WHAT?!?!"

Jane covered her ears and winced. "Darcy, it's not that big of a deal. And keep your voice down!"

Darcy narrowed her eyes and leaned across the table, heedless of the effect her bust was having on the empty beer bottles between them. "I can't believe it. Never ever? Not during some game of spin the bottle in middle school--"

"I didn't really go to parties in middle school--"

"Not during truth-or-dare in high school--"

"I didn't really go to parties in high school either--"

"Not even during your twenty-five years of college--"

"It was only seven years, Darce, and I was kind of busy, you know getting a PhD--"

"Never have you EVER kissed a girl?"

Jane shrugged, her face flushed with alcohol and embarrassment. "No, I have never kissed a girl."

Darcy's expression turned mischievous, and suddenly she was out of her chair and tugging Jane to her feet. Her hands were warm as her fingers threaded through Jane's hair, cupping the back of her head. "Well then, consider this an experiment. You know, for science," and then Darcy's lips were on hers, all heat and beer and strawberry chapstick.

Jane had always loved science.

[such_heights]

Tony/Pepper, post-mission

[thingswithwings]

Tony in his default boyfriend state tends towards extremes: it's always either complete interest in everything she's doing and overwhelming levels of affection and heat, or it's three days of him locked in his workshop, dead to the world and issuing only single-syllable responses to most questions. Pepper finds that, while she knows she's not supposed to like such a thing, she kind of does; they've always been good at finding a rhythm together, and this is no different. They are desperately in love in their own, rather practical way, and if she would just as soon he were out of her hair while she's busy running the company, that's no one's business but theirs.

One of the rhythms she's learned to anticipate, though, is the way Tony will always come to her after a tough mission, whether as Iron Man or with the Avengers; the way he'll want more than anything to get his mouth on her, to kiss her and draw his teeth over her skin as if desperate for the taste of her. This is something Pepper can understand and live with, especially when he's got his face buried between her thighs and is licking and sucking at her cunt like it's the only thing he needs in the world: like he can forget the adrenaline and violence coursing through his system by bringing his focus down to this one point, the point where his mouth meets her body and draws her pleasure from her. He rarely gets hard, on those nights, and when she finally can't take any more he'll lay his head against her thigh and kiss her absently, eyes closed, before falling asleep.

Pepper, for her part, watches JARVIS's video feed from the Iron Man suit, watches as Tony dodges alien destructo rays and takes hits from things far stronger than he is. As she watches she anticipates the moment when Tony will come back to her, when she can fuck his face and tighten her fingers in his hair and hold on, bring him down, bring them both back down together.

[musesfool]

Steve/Bucky, reunion

And it feels so good

[gorgeousnerd]

The message comes from Maria Hill. She doesn't send a digital note or make a phone call; instead, she appears at the door of Steve's Stark Tower apartment, face serious.

"Come with me, Captain Rogers," she says.

"Why? What's going on?"

She deliberately moves her eyes to look suspiciously around the hallway until Steve sighs, grabs his jacket, and says, "I guess you can tell me on the way."

It isn't until they've ridden down the elevator and climbed into a large black vehicle that anyone speaks, and it's Steve who initiates. "You know Stark will find out what's going on anyway. He's not the type to sit around while a SHIELD agent escorts me out of the building."

"This is a personal matter, Captain," Hill says.

"I don't follow."

She hands him a file folder. "Personal for you."

Steve frowns, but when he opens it, his breath catches.

"How long are we driving?" he asks.

"ETA fifteen minutes."

It's the longest fifteen minutes of Steve's life, thumbing through Bucky's file. There are portions missing - it doesn't escape Steve's notice that he's looking at paper instead of a computer, after all - but just the allusions to a recovery team and medical interventions are enough to tie his insides into knots.

"You understand," Hill says after the car stops and they're making their way to the transport waiting atop a skyscraper. "Director Fury wanted you brought in immediately."

Steve nods.

"There's still work to be done."

"I can be patient, Agent Hill," Steve says more calmly than he's feeling. When Bucky's life is in the balance, he'll do whatever it takes to save it. Even if it means doing nothing.

They fly in silence to the Helicarrier, and Hill wastes no time in leading him to a waiting area. She directs him to sit in a chair and disappears into a room down the hall.

It's hard, but it's not bad, waiting around. It's taken Steve time...no, it's still taking Steve time to integrate into the future. Not because it's different; he's always been stubborn enough to pull through any new situation. It's just hard to stomach that the bullies look almost exactly the same as they always did. Getting a piece of his past to share in that experience is a lot for a guy to wrap his head around.

Hill comes out twice alone: once to hear Steve tell check the details around Bucky's death - as if it wasn't all in the reports Steve gave before and after he was frozen - and once to update. The second time comes while Steve's at the end of a nap lasting several hours, but once Hill steps in front of him, it was like he was never asleep.

"He's awake," Hill says. "It'll probably be another hour while the doctors finish the preliminaries."

Steve nods. The lump in his throat won't let him say anything aloud.

Hill ends up being right; judging by the very expensive wristwatch Tony insisted on buying Steve, it's fifty-seven minutes before a man in a thin hospital gown steps out into the hallway. Steve stands up immediately, and Bucky grins, walking over with Hill at his back like he never missed a day of his life.

Steve doesn't waste any more time. He meets Bucky halfway, cups his face in his hands, and leans in for a kiss.

Bucky flushes right away and leans back. Steve drops his hands and is about to step back when he notices Bucky looking at Hill, who politely stepped away and turned her back.

"It's okay," Steve says. "We can do this now."

Bucky's smile returns, and he sets a hand at the back of Steve's neck. "I like the future already."

Their lips meet, Bucky's soft and slightly salty from sweat. Steve sighs quietly into his mouth and wraps his arms around to hold him close.

He suspects Hill's lurking to take Bucky somewhere different: maybe to quarters, or to debriefing, or to a place Steve doesn't know. But for the few minutes that Steve reminds himself of the taste of Bucky's mouth, he remembers the feeling he'd thought he'd lost forever: stopped time.

"I won't disappear if you let me go," Bucky says into Steve's skin as he plants small kisses on his jaw. Steve chuckles and grabs on tighter.

[musesfool]

Steve/Natasha, lessons!

[spicedrum]

"Natasha?" Steve approached her tentatively. "Can I ask you a favor?"

She turned her attention from her plate to the man standing in front of her and waited.

"I, uh, wondered if you could help me out, maybe teach me a few things?"

"I don't give dancing lessons, Steve," she answered in clipped tones.

"No, not dancing!”

He looked puzzled, so she allowed that maybe he hadn't pushed that particular button on purpose. "Did Tony put you up to this?"

"Put me up to...? I'm not sure what you mean. I mean, Tony did suggest I ask you," he raised his hands in front of him at her murderous expression, "but it's not-- I want you to teach me how to cook!"

She studied him in silence for a few moments, her disbelief written clearly across her face. "You want me to teach you how to cook."

"Yes," he replied in a rush. "Everybody else eats all of those prepared foods from tins and the freezer microwave meals and they taste like cardboard and chemicals and I mentioned something to Tony and he said I should try 'going organic' and maybe I should ask you because you like to eat, uh, healthy stuff and that you won't even let JARVIS pre-heat the oven for you so maybe you know how to cook and could maybe help me figure some stuff out?” He paused to take a breath, exhaled with, “Maybe. If you want to?”

He stood with his head bent, one hand massaging the nape of his neck. He peeked up at her through his eyelashes - nervous - with such a hopeful look on his face, she couldn't say no.
___________________

“This is called...?”

“A kampilan,” Steve answered immediately, ducking to avoid her swing.

“Good. And this?”

The knife in her hand flipped open in the time it took him to blink, and he barely caught her wrist as she thrust it toward him.

“It's a balisong,” he ground out, disarming her and pinning her to the mat. “Why do I need to know this?”

“I'm trying to teach you Eskrima,” she replied mildly, then twisted and attempted to break free.

“Yes, so you told me before.” He held her fast. “What I don't understand is what this has to do with cooking.”

“To cook you need to cut. To cut you need to know knives. Eskrima,” she explained, as if that train of logic should be obvious to anyone.

He just shook his head and smiled. “You're a swell dame.”

“Awww, are you gonna get togged to the bricks and ask me to the local gin mill for a ring-a-ding-ding?”

She took advantage of his surprise and flipped him over her head. She pulled a wicked-looking curved blade from its hiding place and smiled. “This is called a karambit...”

___________________

Natasha leaned over and swiped Steve's fork before it got to his mouth, miraculously not spilling its contents on the counter before it reached her mouth.

“This isn't my recipe,” Natasha observed around a mouthful of piping hot potato cake.

“No, uh,” Steve hesitated. “It isn't. I thought that, well, since you put applesauce on it when you served it that maybe I'd try cooking some apples in it, but it was probably a dumb idea. I'm sorry, I'll stick to the recipe next time.”

Natasha swallowed, feeling the burn all the way into her stomach. “No, it's good! You're a natural.”

“Really?” Steve smiled shyly.

“Yes, really,” Natasha smiled back. “And you are as cute as a bug's ear when you blush like that.”

“I'm-- Um.” His face flushed a deeper red, and he busied himself with dolloping sour cream onto his plate.

“Hey,” Natasha bumped him with her hip, swept her index finger through his sour cream and deposited in her mouth with smack of her lips. “What are you doing after you're done here?”

“Uh, nothing really. Why?” He took a bite of his food and hummed in satisfaction.

“There's this place I found, plays Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, that kind of thing. I thought maybe we could go dancing.” She let out a nervous breath. “Maybe. If you want to?”

She was leaning against the counter, her eyes darting here and there before her gaze locked with his. She was nervous, had such a hopeful look in her eyes, and he couldn't say no.

“That sounds fun,” he told her, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of Natasha in his arms, wearing something clingy, “but, I, uh, don't know how to dance.”

She shrugged, as if that were inconsequential. “It's not much different than Eskrima, really, and you picked that up easy enough.”

Steve gave a burst of laughter. “Yeah, that only took me three months.”

“And now you're as good as an eskrimador who's been practicing for years,” she praised him. “Really, you learn some basic steps, and the rest is just instinct. I'll teach you.”

Steve swallowed the flippant reply that had almost escaped his lips. He'd asked Clint a couple of months ago what the deal was with Natasha and dancing, and was given a very laconic answer regarding false memories and brainwashing, along with an admonishment that maybe there was someone else better suited to be answering his questions.

“I'd love to go dancing with you,” he told her sincerely.

“Great!” Natasha's reply was overly loud. She leaned up and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Wear something nice. It'll be a real ring-a-ding-ding.”

She slapped his buttocks as she walked out of the room, and he couldn't help but smile.

She really was a swell dame.

[some_stars]

Steve/Thor, laughter

fill: Steve/Thor, laughter

[estelendur]

When everyone else in the Tower rubs Steve the wrong way - Tony is being Tony, Natasha and Clint are brooding or being their own little social bubble, Bruce is trying to hide from himself - he can always count on Thor to cheer him up. So one gray rainy day, when all of Steve's sketches turn out melancholy and everyone else's mood matches the weather, he knocks on Thor's door and asks to spar.

Thor, of course, thinks that sparring on the roof is the best idea ever. What the hey, Steve thinks, it's a workout, and the rain isn't bad when he can slip into the immersive mode of being that is fighting. They stop, eventually, and dissect the session, discussing what worked, what didn't, and how they can apply the lessons to fighting as the Avengers.

"You are a good man, Steven," Thor says, clapping him companionably on the shoulder.

"Thanks," Steve says, smiling honestly. "You're a good man, too, you know," he says, nudging Mjolnir with the side of his foot where Thor had lain it on the roof. It moves. They look at each other, at the hammer, at each other, both looking completely shocked.

"Lift it, comrade," Thor urges.

So he grasps the handle and pulls - and the hammer comes with him.

"Whosoever is worthy..." mutters Thor. "My friend, this is marvelous, as well as a distinct tactical advantage. Try to summon it to you."

When Steve steps away and holds out his hand, willing the hammer to him, nothing happens. "Oh, well," Steve says, but Thor holds up a hand and says, "Wait, I will try to will it to you."

And suddenly Mjolnir flies into Steve's hand. He gives it an experimental toss; it returns to him. He throws it to Thor; it stays with Thor.

"Amazing," Thor says, throwing Mjolnir back to Steve. "See if you can fly," he suggests.

"I'd be more comfortable if you were right here to grab it in case it stops working."

"Very well, that is no problem." And Thor steps up and wraps his arms around Steve, holding him tightly. "Now hold out your arm and will yourself to fly. It helps if you spin it."

Suddenly Steve is flying! He almost panics, wraps his free arm around Thor's solid shoulders, and starts laughing, with only an edge of hysteria. He turns and swoops, and feels like he almost drops Thor- "Maybe carrying you wasn't the best choice for my first flight," he remarks.

"Then let me take over," Thor says, calling Mjolnir to his grasp from Steve's. For a heart-stopping moment, they drop into freefall; then Mjolnir catches them again and Thor brings them back to the roof of the tower.

Now Steve lets all the fear catch up and breaks down laughing: laughing because he almost fell to what would probably have been his death on the streets of New York, because even he might break into pieces from that height; laughing because of course he wasn't going to die, he had Thor with him; laughing because the alternative is to break down completely.

He expects Thor to laugh with him, still having difficulty with realizing Thor complexly in his mind, still confusing "ignorant of Earthly things" with "stupid" even though he hates it when the others do that to him. So he's pleasantly surprised when Thor straightens him up and holds him, stroking his hair and rubbing his shoulders until he's calm. He's pleasantly surprised when Thor says, "Do not worry. Next time there will be more control, unless you do not wish there to be a next time. Perhaps we can ask Tony to act as a safety."

Steve takes a jagged, shuddering breath and exhales smoothly. Calm. He's calm. "I think- I think I don't want Tony knowing I can handle Mjolnir. Let's surprise him. He could do with some surprising." He's calm, but he doesn't try to break Thor's hold. He feels safe, for the first time since he lost Peggy, for almost the first time since he lost Bucky.

"You are well?" Thor moves away enough to look him in the eyes. "I did not mean for you to be frightened."

"No, I'm good."

Thor nods, once. Kisses Steve on the left cheek, right cheek, mouth, once. "You are a good comrade. Shall we celebrate your newfound ability?"

Steve blinks, swallows, says, "Celebrate how?"

"In whatever manner you feel appropriate! Although perhaps we should begin by changing into dry clothes."

Right. It's raining. Steve nods, leans in, returns the three (ritualized?) kisses. "Yes. That would be appropriate. Let's watch a movie neither of us have heard of."

"I like this idea," says Thor, and grins. Steve grins back. It's infectious.

So morning finds the two of them asleep on the couch, curled up next to each other, Mjolnir cuddled between them. That is, until Clint dumps a bucket of water on them, and Tony videotapes it because "the internet needs to know!", and Natasha smirks from the sidelines and Bruce sips his herbal tea in the corner. But Steve and Thor just look at each other and laugh.

[musesfool]

Tony/Pepper, bubbly

Don't Burst My Bubble (Pepper/Tony)

[spatz]

"Tony, we had a deal."

"What? I'm being quiet."

"You're doing that thing."

"I'm a man of many talents, Pep - need a little more specificity there."

"The humming thing."

"I told you, it's a high-frequency resonance from the arc reactor. I could, y'know, shut it off, except-"

"No, you're actually humming. I think it's Black Sabbath."

"Oh. Well, I'm informed I have a mellifluous voice. Jarvis, don't I have a mellifluous voice?"

"Very soothing, sir."

"See, there you go."

"Tony, I'm trying to take a bath."

"And I'm being quiet!"

"Tony...."

"Here, look, I'll kiss it better. You have great ears, have I ever told you that? Very cute. And the little bit underneath smells great. With the bubbles, too, is that lavender?"

Pepper rolled her eyes, reached up to grab the back of Tony's shirt, and pulled him into the bath with her.

[samalander]

Steve/Coulson, adoration

[estelendur]

The first time Phil Coulson sees Steve Rogers in the flesh, his breath hitches and something in his chest tightens - this is the man he's idolized his whole life. He sits next to the enclosure holding Steve's gently thawing body and rests a hand against the high-tech glass, awed.

As if to give him a moment of privacy, every SHIELD agent in the room happens to be turned away for a moment - just long enough for Phil to self-consciously press a reverent kiss to the glass next to his hand for the greatest soldier who ever lived, brought back to life.

--

After the last time Steve Rogers sees Phil Coulson in the flesh, when Fury's tossed Phil's trading cards on the table in front of him, Steve pays one last visit to the room where he died. He kneels next to the blood stain on the wall and remembers, mourning.

He's completely alone and he places a gentle kiss just above the blood stain, where he imagines Coulson's forehead would have been, gentle rites for a man who was not a soldier, but every bit as brave, unable to be brought back to life.

[thingswithwings]

Pepper/Tony/Bruce, sharing

Tied Up and Twisted [The Way I Like to Be] (Pepper/Tony/Bruce)

[d_generate_girl]

It isn't that Tony is terrible at sharing - because he is, have you met Tony Stark recently?

It's that Bruce is just as terrible.

Pepper doesn't really mind, though. She's grown accustomed to being the rope in a really adult version of tug-of-war; whether it's Tony's grabby hands on her waist or Bruce's insistent pulling on her hair. It gets even better when all three of them are naked and Tony and Bruce decide to get competitive.

Tony's decided on some ridiculous set of rules - they can't use their hands, and she's blindfolded by one of Tony's ties - and she stretches back against the mountain of pillows ("why do you need fifteen throw pillows, Tony?" "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, you never know when you'll need an extra one"). The silk is cool across her eyes, and she bats Tony's hands away from "checking" its tightness. Bruce laughs, somewhere to her left, which means it has to be his mouth brushing lightly over her shoulder and trailing up her jaw.

Pepper tries to reach out, wanting more of a clue as to who is where, but Tony makes a disapproving sound and his hands come from somewhere to wrap around her wrists. He presses a kiss to her left temple - he could be anywhere, this is frustrating beyond all measure and Tony knows it - and then to her mouth. Then the brush of goatee stops, and Pepper groans before another mouth replaces it.

Bruce and Tony trade off kisses: slow and teasing, flickers of tongue and denying her more (that's Tony); hard and dirty, almost too rough (Bruce, of course). Each one refusing to let the other have more than a few seconds, and Pepper almost can't breathe.

"I'm going to-"

"I don't think she's in much of a position to do anything," Bruce remarks offhandedly. "Don't you, Mr. Stark?"

"That was the point, Dr. Banner, was it not?" Tony asks, innocence in his voice. She can just picture his smirk, though.

"I thought the point was to make her come with our hands tied behind our backs?"

Tony's laugh comes from right below her breast, warm breath raising goosebumps on her skin.

"Absolutely."

[grammarwoman]

Darcy/Clint, chocolate

[liseuse]

It always seems to be quarter past two in the morning when Darcy wakes up these days. She’d trained herself into it being at least four in New Mexico, but something about the lights and the noise around the tower has destroyed that. No matter what time she goes to bed, no matter how many cups of warm milk she drinks, or hot baths she takes, she can guarantee she will wake up at quarter past two in the morning.

Of course, usually, at quarter past two there isn’t anyone else up. Which is why she thinks it is perfectly justifiable to, maybe, squeak a little when she pads into the kitchen and sees Clint sitting on the sideboard.

“Just getting in?” Darcy says, as she opens the fridge for the water filter.

Clint just looks at her. “Yeah, from a raucous night of partying.”

“You weren’t partying. Coulson sent you to an embassy dinner. With Natasha.” Darcy winks, and sashays past – well as much as you can in fluffy bunny slippers – “I saw the file.”

“Okay, from a night of watching other people party.” Clint says, reaching across to stir something on the hob. “I’m making hot chocolate. Want some?”

“Is it going to be anything like Natasha’s attempt?” Darcy says, wincing at the memory.

Clint snorts, slightly. “No. Unlike Tash, I believe in sugar and spice.”

“Oh thank God.” Darcy smiles. “Like, I drank it, because, well, she’s terrifying, but I thought I was never going to get rid of the taste. Please tell me she isn’t stood right behind me.”

“You’re clear.” Clint hops down off the side, and reaches into the cupboard for two mugs. Darcy can’t help tipping her head to the side to watch the effect of the stretch on his ass. No one would be able to resist, she’s fairly sure of that. “You watching my ass back there, Lewis?”

“Maybe a little.” Darcy grins sunnily. “It’s a good ass.”

“Why thank you, ma’am.” Clint winks, and pours the hot chocolate into two mugs.

“Thank you,” Darcy says through a yawn, and picks her mug up. “This smells amazing.”

“I am a man of many talents.” Clint says. “You should taste my Key Lime pie.”

“Is that a set-up for a joke?” Darcy asks, before blowing on her hot chocolate. “Because, I gotta tell you, it’s way too early for me to think up some form of pun based on pie.”

“I’m disappointed in you,” Clint says, “I thought you always had a pun for everything.”

“Usually in the mornings, after at least one cup of coffee.” Darcy says and then takes a mouthful of hot chocolate. “Oh. My. God,” she moans, “this is like an orgasm in my mouth.”

Clint raises an eyebrow, and kisses the top of her head. “I would make all the jokes about your mouth and orgasms, but I think you need to go back to bed now.”

“Fine,” Darcy says, pouting. “Write them down. Tell me them in the morning.”

[emmypenny]

Natasha/Maria Hill

Natasha/Maria Drabble-and-a-half (150 words)

[just_ann_now]

Is it cheating if I've written you a follow-on to another ficlet I wrote? it's this one: Peacock.


Keep breathing. Maria told herself. Concentrate.

Ujjayi, it was called, victorious breathing, a whisper sound in the base of the throat. She'd felt victorious when she'd finally mastered it, moving one step closer to mastery of her body and mind.

This moment required mastery of her senses, as well: to not be distracted by Natasha's scent, by her skin, her hair, so close to Maria's lips. Breathe. Concentrate.

Perfect balance. A perfect moment, but even perfect moments must end; why should she not reward herself? So she slid her chin forward, just enough to kiss Natasha's shoulder; inhaled, exhaled, and rolled down smoothly from the pose.

They lay side by side a moment, their breath still in perfect unison. Then Natasha reached over to tilt Maria's face towards hers; one kiss, soft as a butterfly wing, on Maria's lips, and an almost-shy smile.

"Later?" Natasha whispered.

Maria nodded. "Later." Breathe.

[petra]

Hulk/anybody (or everybody)

[spicedrum]

“ALL OF YOU STOP RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!”

Every last member of the Avengers instantly froze, like an outrageous game of Statue Tag, which was appropriate because they'd been playing Keepaway with Steve's shield. Thor and Hulk held it over their heads, neither giving ground in their tug-of-war even though they were now frozen in place.

Steve fell to the ground gracelessly, having been caught mid-leap; Tony, Natasha, and Clint all toppled onto him in a pile.

Pepper stomped across the back lawn. The look on her face as she came to a stop in front of them made them all nervous.

“I have spent 3 months coordinating this gala, wrangling with caterers, linen services, landscapers, arranging the guest list, holding the mayor's hand through seven different panicked meetings promising him that yes, the traffic situation is controlled and won't cause issues for the rest of the city, and no, the New York Philharmonic won't all die in some Avengers-caused mishap, and so help me, if you knock over even one of the potted palms, I will end every last one of you!”

“You know, Pep, they have people called assistants who can...” Tony voice trailed off as she turned her gaze directly on him. He wondered if her glare could somehow be weaponized with laser-sights, then thought better of it and dropped that line of thought immediately.

Hulk took advantage of Thor's distraction and yanked Cap's shield out of his grasp. Before the thunder god could protest, Hulk bent down and handed the shield to Steve.

“Sorry Pepper” he growled, head hung low in shame.

She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“You're forgiven. Thank you for being the responsible one of the group.”

Her expression as she looked at the others spoke volumes of her opinion of the Hulk acting more mature than the rest of them.

“Sorry, Pepper,” they sing-songed in unison.

She sighed, exasperated. “You can prove you're sorry by going and getting dressed. The gala starts in an hour.”

[liseuse]

Clint/Coulson, relief.

[meinterrupted]

Clint hates hospitals. He hates the smell, all antiseptic-clean to cover up the stale odor of sickness; he hates the neutral paint on the walls and the plain white tile floors; he hates the judgemental looks the nurses always shoot his way, like he’s about to make off with the entire contents of the pharmacy. But most of all, he hates hospitals because it’s where people go to die.

He’s been sitting at Coulson’s bedside for hours, maybe days. He's not really sure anymore. Normally, he’s good at waiting out the target, sitting back and taking his time to line up the perfect shot. Patience is practically his middle name (along with trouble, obnoxious, and any number of other less-than-flattering terms Coulson’s called him over the years, usually in that exasperated tone) but tonight, there’s nothing for him to aim at. This enemy won’t go down with a well-placed arrow.

He sighs and rubs his eyes, gritty with lack of sleep. Later, he’ll blame exhaustion for the fact that it takes him a full minute to realize that Coulson’s eyes are open, that he’s finally awake and staring at Clint. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Sir,” he whispers, a question, a prayer.

Coulson tries to talk, his voice barely above a rasp, but he can’t quite form words. Finally Clint shakes himself out of his stupor and grabs the cup of water off the bedside table, holding the straw in place while Coulson drinks. He pulls back after a few swallows. “Talk to me, Barton,” he whispers, his voice wrecked but tone unmistakable.

Clint nearly cries in relief. “We won, sir. Thor took Loki back to Asgard, and Stark blew up the Chitauri planet or mothership, or whatever it was. A lot of the city is rubble, but civilian casualties were less extensive than expected, given the fact that goddamn aliens attacked New York City. Sir,” he adds, belatedly. He can feel the tears threatening to spill over, and he drops to his knees by the bed, clinging to Coulson’s hand. “The director said... We thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.”

Coulson’s fingers twitch under Clint’s, as much motion as he’s capable of right now, and Clint squeezes back gently. “I was,” he rasps. “I got better.”

Clint presses his lips to Coulson’s fingers and lets the tears come.

[such_heights]

Tony/Rhodey, suits

[spatz]

The Starks were dead.

It was all over the news, and all anyone could talk about. The funeral sounded like it was going to be more of a parade than a procession, two reporters had tried to get comments from them on the way in, and the next room was full of Rhodey's future superiors, but all Rhodey could see was the way Tony's hands were shaking as he tried to knot his tie.

"Hey, c'mon, let me do that," Rhodey said, covering Tony's fingers with his, and riding out the reflexive jerk as Tony tried to pull away. "You're gonna make us late," he added gruffly, and watched from under his lashes for Tony's reaction. He was so tense it almost hurt to look at him, all of his usual grace and efficiency suffocating under the weight of it.

Thankfully, Tony took the excuse, and the defensive curl of his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Just don't screw it up," he grumbled.

"Hey, you're the one who taught me, remember?" Rhodey said. "It's your own damn fault if I get it wrong."

Miraculously, this won a faint half-smile from Tony.

The lesson - if you could call it that - had happened at MIT, at the farewell dinner for the parents before R/O Week kicked off. He'd gone to the restroom to fix his tie, which had suffered the inevitable fate of being shoved into a pocket earlier and was completely undone. While he was staring down his reflection, cursing, this kid had sauntered in, taken in the situation in a glance, and ambushed him: insulted his choice of knot, yanked Rhodey down to his height, and retied it for him, babbling the whole time about Windsor versus four-in-hand and fabric types. Rhodey had been too surprised to stop him. 

Assuming that was the end of it, he'd left with a muttered thanks, but the kid had followed him out to his parents' table, sat down without asking, and proceeded to draw a series of perfectly rendered diagrams of every tie knot he knew. On a napkin. With equations. His parents, the traitors, had thought it was hilarious and somehow charming; they'd been so uncomfortable at MIT up to that point that Rhodey couldn't bring himself to ask the kid why he wasn't sitting with his own family, not when they were laughing like that.

He had been halfway through their ensuing argument about the aerodynamics of assorted salad vegetables before he realized that the kid was Tony Stark. 

Thank god he hadn't asked.

Rhodey tightened the knot - Windsor, formal and just right for the collar of Tony's shirt - and cupped Tony's neck with one hand. He was breathing unsteadily, his head ducked so that Rhodey couldn't see his face. For a moment, he hesitated, weighing Tony's unpredictable pride against his clear need - then cursed himself for being a coward, and bent to place a kiss on Tony's temple. He rested his cheek on Tony's hair afterward, so careful, and Tony leaned into him, his breath stuttering against Rhodey's neck. 

And for just a moment, Rhodey carried him.

Then the door clicked open, Obediah strode in, and Tony snapped upright, blank-eyed and tight as a wire once again. Rhodey wanted to cry. He knew Tony hadn't.

Rhodey won't tell Tony it will be alright, or that he's sorry, because neither of those things were entirely true. Tony wouldn't accept them even if they were. But he could get Tony's back, no matter what.

Someday, Tony will let go, and he'll need to someone there to catch him when he does.

[such_heights]

Natasha/Rhodey, competence

fill: Natasha/Rhodey, competence

[sinensis]

Rhodey had been hopelessly poking and staring into the engine of his rental car for ten minutes before he gave it up and admitted he had no idea what he was looking at, and needed to start walking. This particular stretch of sunny Malibu road was deserted, and the hills must have been blocking his phone, because he couldn't get a single bar. He straightened up, picked up his uniform jacket from the fender where he draped it, and wiped a hand across his forehead. Fuck, it was hot. The house was about two miles away, and there wasn't another thing on the road between there and here. He'd gone three steps when a shiny dark blue roadster came whipping around the curve in front of him. As it passed, he caught a glimpse of auburn hair, and quickly turned to wave. The roadster spun a hundred and eighty degrees, and came to a neat, sure-footed stop, with barely a crunch of gravel. A woman got out, wearing a pencil skirt, expensive sunglasses, and very high heels. He knew her--Tony's, or rather, Pepper's, new assistant, Natalie?...Natalie Rushman, that was it.

"Colonel Rhodes," she said. "Having some trouble?"

He gestured to the car and held up his useless phone. "Ms. Rushman, today is just not my day."

"Call me Natalie, please." She smiled at him politely, and suddenly, she had a very incongruous switchblade in her hand and was bending into the engine compartment. "Can you try starting it when I tell you to?"

He sat in the driver's seat, staring at the raised hood, and when she called, "now, Colonel," he cranked it and heard the engine cough and kick into life. She dropped the hood. The switchblade had disappeared. She strolled over to his open window and said, "It should get you to the house, but I'll follow you, just in case."

"Thank you," he said. "May I ask...?" and then he stopped, because he wasn't sure exactly how to phrase his question.

She smiled again, and this one was sharper--more real, less polite. "I grew up in a bad neighborhood."

***

Rhodey woke up groggy in the New York mansion and stumbled toward the kitchen, determined to get to the coffee maker before Tony brewed up his customary gallon of rocket fuel. Tony only thought he made good coffee. Tony had also kept him up half the night, plying him with drinks and showing him the plans for the remodel on Stark--no, Avengers--Tower, which was totally not fair when the plans were so enthralling but his body was still on Kuwaiti time.

He was only moderately surprised to find Bruce and Thor sitting at the kitchen table, already holding mugs. He poured himself a cup and toasted them; the surprise on his face when he tasted it must have been obvious, because Bruce said, "Natasha made the coffee."

"Her brew is without peer," Thor added.

Rhodey finished his mug and felt all the synapses in his nervous system stretch and groan in pleasure. "In that case," he said, "the least I can do is make the pancakes." Twenty minutes later, Natasha showed up in yoga pants and a damp t-shirt, her cheeks rosy and her hair in a messy bun. She still could have walked the runway in any Paris fashion show. Natasha was quieter, more contained than Natalie, so she didn't say much but "thanks," when he handed her a plate. But she had two large helpings of pancakes, and Rhodey felt obscurely pleased.

***

Rhodey got in the habit of showing up for training runs with the Avengers at regular intervals. It was all part of his job as military liason. Things going the way they often did, this meant he ended up fighting with the team on occasion, dealing with aliens or crazy power-mad megalomaniacs or Doom's bi-annual escape from his latest unbreakable prison. And then Natasha saved him that one time. And all of them that other time. Oh, and some of those other times, too.

He blasted the oncoming wave of invaders, and watched her do a double mid-air spin and land on the neck of the thing that looked like a sentient purple rhino, before he swooped in to pick her up and carry her to the next target. Later, as he pulled a single bright coppery hair from the shoulder plate of the suit, and twisted it gently around his finger tip, Rhodey realized he had to stop kidding himself about exactly why he kept showing up for these little training runs.

***

"Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck," Rhodey said. Stark Industries proprietary technology for secure document transmission--Tony's fax machine, he thought rebelliously, and oh, what an earful he had gotten the last time he called it that--was being a bastard.

"Here," Natasha said from behind him, and reached around to punch a few buttons. "I had to deal with this thing's tantrums when I was working for Pepper." The machine whirred obediently, and flashed a green light.

"Thanks," Rhodey said. "Can you hand me that cover sheet?" She did, lifting an eyebrow at the aggressive "CLASSIFIED, EYES ONLY" stamps. He shrugged. "Every six months or so, Ross gets another wild hair and tries to convince the Joint Chiefs that you all are crazy loose cannons and Fury is plotting to take over the world, so I do a little song and dance about how that's not true." The slot happily swallowed up his stack of documents. "Because it's not."

"Well, not entirely, anyway," Natasha said dryly.

He flashed a grin at her. "Yeah, but I usually leave the best stories out."

"Thanks for that," she replied.

***

The shock wave receded. The smoke started to clear. Natasha's voice, coolly triumphant, came over the comm, "War Machine, do you copy? the package is delivered," and then she dropped down in front him. He flipped up the face plate, and she was--holy shit--leaping onto him, bracing her strong thighs around the suit, her arms holding his shoulders as she kissed him, a quick soft brush of her lips on his cheeks--left, right, left. A comrade's kiss--a soldier's kiss. She drew back slightly, and he took in the streaks of dirt and sweat on her face, the cut on her temple, her bright eyes. She looked like she might be a little surprised at herself. Before she could pull back further, change her mind, he closed his own eyes and leaned in, hoping, hoping. She met him halfway, her mouth parted and generous, gasping a little as she kissed him thoroughly, properly, with intent.

She lifted her mouth from his, her breath warm and faint on his lips as she murmured, "You're good at what you do, Colonel. It's pretty...sexy." Muffled by the suit, he couldn't feel her anyplace on his body except his lips, and it felt like all the sensation he was capable of had been narrowed into a single, devastating point.

"I could say the same of you, Agent Romanoff," he said, and kissed her again.

[such_heights]

Coulson/Fury, history

[emmypenny]

After the meeting with the WSC, Fury makes his way through the bowels of the helicarrier to a quiet room.

"You'll be happy to hear they did it," he says, crossing to the bed at the other side of the room.

"You were right. They just needed that extra push. Bet you're pretty pleased with yourself. You did what I couldn't. You got even Captain America himself to believe in the Avengers.

"I suggest if you're going to say 'I told you so,' that you do it now, or hold your peace."

He pauses for a moment, before glancing down at the figure in the bed.

"Congratulations, Agent Coulson. You succeeded where I failed. The world owes you more than it will ever know."

He bends down and places a brief kiss on Coulson's forehead.

"I've got my work cut out for me, now that you're not around to cover my ass anymore. You were my good eye. I'm going to have to watch my own back from now on."

He pulls the blanket up, covering the body.

"Thank you."

[such_heights]

Fury/any, guard down

Heads Up

[hsavinien.livejournal.com]

Nicholas Fury never lets his guard down. Director Fury sleeps with his eye open. The Director can kill you before he knows you're there.

That's bullshit, of course it is. He's human, fallible, doing the best he can (doing a damn good job) to keep the world from blowing up on a regular basis and keeping the lives of as many people as possible reasonably safe from forces beyond their ken.

The Avengers, insane though they may be, are a part of that. He prods them, tricks them, bribes and blackmails them, railroads them into proving what they can do as a team. That isn't to say he dislikes them, though he strongly considers wringing their collective and individual necks at times. Even Tony Stark is irritating, but competent.

He does not, however, appreciate the latest in their "team bonding" exercises. "Team bonding" apparently translates in Avengers slang to "prank wars." The current incarnation thereof is both annoying and actually dangerous to his facilities, because the object seems to be to sneak up on each other. With a sniper, an assassin, a part-time Hulk, a demigod, a supersoldier, and a paranoid mechanical genius on the team, there is significant chance that someone is going to get flattened, blow up, knifed, or otherwise maimed and that HQ is going to take collateral damage.

***

Nicholas Fury slid into his chair and rubbed his forehead tiredly. The day had gone poorly. HR was being very pointed after the Avengers' third Public Relations officer had quit within two weeks and there had been an incident in Wyoming this afternoon that involved the flattened remains of an antique car show, courtesy of a giant robotic troop transport driven by a rabid-looking white supremacist and his gang of thugs. Fury had been more than a little gleeful about shitting on that plan for country/world domination, but the insurance claims were going to be a nightmare. Captain Rogers had given a heartfelt, but not entirely coherent speech about Justice and the American Way to a pretty reporter before Stark had corralled him and there was no way it wasn't all over every blog on the 'net by now. (Rule #17. Do NOT talk to the press before briefings. Yes, that includes you. ALL of you.)

An unfamiliar draft touched his face and the Glock was in Fury's hand, muzzle to Barton's temple, before the rest of him had a chance to respond.

"Hey, Director."

"Barton." He lowered the gun.

Hawkeye grinned at him upside-down, hanging from his knees out of the panel he'd removed from the ceiling.

"I'm not playing this game and if it involves any other SHIELD personnel or happens again within SHIELD premises, I will have the person or people involved reassigned to Antarctica."

Barton rolled his eyes. "Killjoy."

"Get out of my office, Barton." Fury sighed, rolling his eye heavenward.

Barton saluted, planted a smacking kiss to the top of Fury's head and executed a perfect curl-up into the ceiling, just ahead of the slap Fury aimed at him.

[raanve]

Steve/Natasha, New Year's Eve

[liseuse]

Steve has got used to coming into the living area and seeing people sprawled over the couches, something on the TV in the background, and a sense of general hubbub. So he’s surprised when he walks in and there is no one there, and the only lights are two flickering candles on the fireplace. He sits down on the couch, and sighs. He’s tired, bone tired. It’s been a long week.

Natasha appears in the doorway, on the other side of the room. She’s holding a champagne flute, and her expression is darker than he’s seen before. Not in her patented I will kill them all, and then wreak havoc on their reputation way, but in a haunted way. She nods in his direction, and then curls up on the squishiest sofa. She raises her glass in the direction of the candles and downs the contents.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, low and quiet, so she can pretend not to have heard.

“Happy new year,” she says, turning her gaze on him.

“Umm …” Steve says, a little ineloquently. “It’s January 13th.”

“Yes,” Natasha says, “Happy New Year’s Eve.” She refills her glass, and then conjures another from somewhere by the sofa, fills it, and hands it over. “Drink with me.”

“I can’t get drunk, remember.” Steve says, eyeing the glass.

“This isn’t about getting drunk. It’s New Year’s Eve. Family, singing, celebrating. All that stuff.” Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Two calendars, two celebrations.”

”Oh”, Steve thinks, remembering Pavel, and holds his glass up to the candles. “Happy New Year’s Eve.” He sips the champagne slowly, and watches Natasha from the corner of his eye. “You know, the others would come and celebrate with you.”

“Yes. We could have a party,” Natasha sneers. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“It might be nice?” Steve says, and catches her eye. “None of us are doing well in the family department. And regular New Year got ruined by having to go fight killer robots. We could handle a do-over.”

Natasha doesn’t say no, which Steve thinks he can take as acquiescence in this matter, and she doesn’t rip his phone out of his hands when he starts typing a message. Sometimes he really wishes she could have met Peggy, and then he wonders if she had, somehow.

Clint is, oddly, the first to arrive. “Stark’s in his workshop, with Banner,” he says by way of explanation, and hands Steve a foil container. “I brought pie.”

It isn’t long before everyone else arrives. Natasha hands them all glasses of champagne, and uncurls into a sitting position. They all raise their glasses to the candles, and toast the old year and the coming new one.

Natasha leans into Steve’s side, and drops a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

[raanve]

Bruce/Anybody, aftermath

afterparty (aftermath)

[thingswithwings]

Tony's kissing everyone tonight, or at least everyone who'll let him. Surprisingly, this includes Natasha (who puts her hand on Tony's throat and backs him against the wall, but keeps the kiss going) and Thor (who picks Tony up and twirls him around, laughing), but not Clint (who ducks away, grinning, and flees to higher ground) or Pepper (who places two fingers against Tony's lips when he tries and whispers something in Tony's ear that makes Tony shiver, before she turns him around and smacks his ass). It's just a thing Tony does, the way he knows how to interact with people, a challenge to keep his mind busy. The team these days is, generally, kind of . . . affectionate. With each other. Like that. Bruce tries not to watch the way Tony's mouth moves eagerly against Natasha's, the way he laughs against Thor's lips, just like he tries not to pay attention to who comes out of whose bedroom wearing whose shirts in the mornings.

Bruce is standing off in a corner with a drink in his hand - his third - and wondering why he doesn't just go to bed. Tony tends to throw these parties every time they defeat yet another giant snake or whatever, and Bruce is almost always too tired to stay, too worn out by the transformation and the fear that comes with it. His adrenaline crash is kind of epic.

When Tony finishes his absurdly slow wet peck-on-the-lips with Steve and comes up to him, Bruce holds out a hand, giving his best wry smile. "I don't need my tonsils cleaned, thanks."

Tony grabs Bruce's arm, a little tipsy, and half-collapses so that they both sit down hard on the little steps down into the sunken living room. Bruce lands with his hip pressed up against Tony's, with Tony's fingers still tight around his arm.

"Why so sad, wallflower?" Tony asks, and it's teasing, but there's something dark behind it, too.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "I'm just tired. You put on and then lose 900 pounds in a day and see how you feel."

Tony scowls. "Ugh, I hate how you break the law of conservation of mass. Like, don't even talk to me about it. I'm so freaked out just thinking about it."

"I know what you mean," Bruce sighs.

Tony lets go of Bruce's wrist and slides his arm around Bruce's shoulders, holding him tight for a second and then loosening his grip, like a sideways one-armed hug. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Tony says. "It'll just lead us to a new understanding of matter and energy, that's all."

Bruce wordlessly holds up his glass, which Tony clinks with his own, and they both drink. Tony's arm is still around Bruce's shoulders, a warm steady weight.

"It's not just the physical transformation, though, is it." His tone is casual, like they're discussing the weather or the latest alien attack on New York City, not Bruce's bizarre destructive illness slash superpower.

"Nope," Bruce agrees. He thinks about elaborating, but there are so many other things he could say, and each of them makes him feel just a little like there's a weight on his chest, big and green, keeping him from taking a breath.

"Losing control, becoming yourself but not yourself anymore. I think I'd want to be unconscious afterwards too." He takes a long pointed sip of his drink, and Bruce takes the hint and does the same. "There are . . . other ways to lose yourself, though," he says, this last in something more like his usual arch tone.

"I'm sure you've tried them all." Bruce smiles at him, and is rewarded with a long, serious, appraising look.

"I have," is all Tony says, but he maintains eye contact.

Bruce leans in and presses his mouth to Tony's, letting himself stay soft and yielding and everything he's not when he's huge and green. Tony kisses back slowly, almost thoughtfully, his tongue licking in easy unhurried little touches against Bruce's lips. Bruce pulls back an inch and then moves in again, another slow soft kiss, and then another, a whole series, broken by brief pauses for breath, for the moment when Tony cups Bruce's face in his palm before tilting his head to meet Bruce's mouth again.

With their faces still close together, Tony grins and says, "Now I just need Clint for the whole set." Bruce smacks him in the chest. Tony grins and stands up, then offers Bruce his hand. Bruce takes it and lets Tony pull him to his feet.

"Seriously, come by later. We should talk." And since they're already at Tony's home and Bruce already lives two floors away, what Tony really means is come by my bedroom, we can fuck. Bruce nods, considering.

"Maybe I will," he says.

[raanve]

Tony/Anybody (everybody), after-party

[such_heights]

Tony feels entirely fucking excellent right now. He's just saved the world and that's a far better excuse for a party than most. He's got a beer in his hand and is laughing his ass off at Thor trying to teach everyone an Asgard drinking song, which seems to involve a lot of singing in the round and improvised middle eights in which you are meant to sing out all of your deeds of valour.

Steve's putting in a good effort, singing a not-quite-rhyming verse about his battles with the Red Skull to a tune that's rapidly descending into Glenn Miller. By the time Steve's singing about 'any time, any place, I've punched Hitler in the face' Tony can't stay upright any more and collapses onto a sofa, cackling.

When the singing finally fades down, he looks around the room, a room that is full of startling hot superheroes. "One of you should totally make out with me right now," he announces. "I did just save the world, after all."

Thor turns to him, his eyes glinting. "You were most valiant indeed today, my friend," he says. "We should all pay homage to your courage."

"That's what I'm talking about," Tony says, eyeing Thor up appreciatively as he approaches.

He's not prepared for Thor scooping him off the sofa entirely and dipping him backwards. Tony squeaks a bit as he finds himself bending in new and unexpected directions, and then Thor is full-on dipping him and planting a big, wet, scruffy kiss right on his mouth.

"Mmph," Tony says appreciatively, and clutches Thor's arms, groping his biceps just a little, because who wouldn't? Thor gives as good as he gets, grabbing Tony's ass.

There's a murmur above him, and then Thor's letting him go, and he falls backwards for a second before someone catches him, and he's spun round to face Steve, who's grinning at him.

"My captain!" Tony declares, and Steve rolls his eyes but he kisses him too so Tony figures that Steve really has started to find him endearing rather than profoundly annoying. Maybe it's a mixture of the two, but he'll take it. And my, is that a little tongue there from America's poster boy?

"Hmm yes, very good," Tony says when Steve pulls away, looking flushed. "Top of the class, though I'm happy to offer extra tuition if you want."

"I will bear that in mind," Steve says with a laugh, then he shoves Tony away and there are more hands on him and what is this, some sort of awesome superhero kissing gangbang? Tony loves his life sometimes.

Clint's up next, his eyes narrowed at Tony as if in warning that this gesture shouldn't be interpreted as some kind of sign of affection or anything. Whatever, Clint totally likes him, Tony can tell.

"Show me what you've got, Katniss," Tony says.

"Katniss?" Clint blinks. "Seriously?"

"Katniss is a total badass," Tony points out. "What's the matter, uncomfortable with comparisons to strong female characters?"

"Well she's better than a fucking elf, I'll give you that much. Now shut up."

Tony does, because now Clint's kissing him too, and Tony's mouth starting to feel slick and stretched and really good from all these lips and teeth and tongues. Clint is right on target, kissing Tony deep and hot for a minute before pulling away, and dragging a whimpering noise out of Tony along with him.

"Now then," says Natasha, watching Tony with dark, promising eyes. "Why don't I show the rest of you how it's done."

"Please do," Tony says.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and leans in slowly, her mouth millimetres from his for agonising seconds before they touch. Tony's mouth falls open for her but she takes her time, licking her way into his mouth and digging her fingers into his hips. Natasha kisses like she does everything else - calculated, in control, almost unbearably hot. She pulls away and licks her lips and pats his head.

He's ridiculously wrung out and no one's even touched him below the belt. "Bruce, babe, help me out here," he says, and then Bruce's cool, firm hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back down onto the sofa, where he collapses gladly.

"Just so you know," Tony says tonight, "if at least one of you doesn't fuck me tonight I may actually die. Have a heart--hnngh."

He's cut off by Bruce's mouth on his. Bruce's kiss is closed, soft, gentle, and it's enough to make Tony's breath slow a little, the frantic thudding of his heart calming down to a low, insistent thrum. He tangles his hand in Bruce's hair and anchors himself again.

Bruce draws away and strokes his face, looking down at him with fond, warm amusement. Tony grins back up at him. "I'm not kidding about the fucking, guys," he says to the room at large. "Pepper's out of town visiting her girlfriend and really that is terrible timing."

He looks pleadingly up Bruce.

Bruce looks around the room, and he seems to like what he sees because his face lights up in a crooked, conspiratorial smile. "We'll see what we can do," he promises, and kisses Tony's cheek.

[such_heights]

Everyone, Spin the Bottle