It’s a hot day on the fourth of July in New York City, but in spite of the heat, the moods are high and everyone in the Stark Tower is jovial or at least cordial. Tony’s hosting a massive barbecue for S.H.I.E.L.D., no small feat considering Director Fury seems predisposed to hate all things light-hearted.
Nevertheless, he shows up in a short-sleeved, black shirts and blue jeans with work boots. Tony raises an eyebrow and smirks, slapping the disgruntled spy on his shoulder.
“Oh come on, we’re not even working. It’s Tony, here.” Tony hands him a beer, and Nick sniffs indignantly.
“Bud Light Lime? Doesn’t someone like you keep better beer on tap?”
Tony feigns hurt and motions for Fury to follow. They head to one of the large coolers on the balcony where most everyone else is and Tony stoops to open the chilled chest.
Nick casually browses his options and settles on a Blue Moon. Tony raises an eyebrow.
“You have a sweet side?”
“Shut the fuck up.” And with that, Nick walks away over to where Coulson and Hill are engaged in conversation.
Tony smiles and shakes his head as he walks over to the grill where Steve is standing, watching the meat with Clint. He grabs Steve by the waist from behind and kisses his arm.
“How’s the food coming along?”
Steve jumps a little, but turns to wrap an arm around Tony and pull him to his side.
“It’s coming. Clint was just telling me about how you all use propane now.”
“Well it’s less likely to burn your house down,” Clint shrugs and looks up at the sky. “Unless you don’t mind getting blown up. I personally prefer charcoal.” He refocuses his attention on Tony and looks over the top of his sunglasses. “Why aren’t we using charcoal? This building won’t go up in flames if I dropped a match in a bowl of gasoline.”
“No, but it will burn the stone work and that is not in your budget to pay for, Barton,” Tony warns with a grin.
The music playing lightly over the area switches to something different, and it takes Tony a few moments to recognize it.
As he’s trying to decipher the familiar tune, Bruce stumbles past with an arm full of folding chairs. Clint sees him struggling and goes to help him set them near one of the many folding tables. Soon, Tony is walking after them quickly as the song changes notes. He grabs Bruce by the waist and arm and spins him around, pressing their fronts together. He re-positions his hands on Bruce’s waist and gives him a flirty smile.
Bruce is caught off guard and struggles to keep up with Tony’s moving feet, leading him everywhere and nowhere at the same time, their hips rocking in tandem. Finally, he sighs and rests his arms around Tony’s neck.
Tony catches Steve’s disproving glare over Bruce’s shoulder and dances them over to where the tall blond is standing. Steve rolls his eyes dramatically (something he picked up from too much time around Tony) as they near and he fixes his hands on his hips.
“Steve, I’m only dancing,” Tony sings along with the music. He thrusts into Bruce’s crotch, eliciting an uncomfortable noise and scrabbling of hands against Tony’s shirt, but Tony just holds him closer.
“He turns me on, but I’m only dancing,” Tony grins and lowers his hands to Bruce’s butt, and Steve sees the distressed and helpless look on Bruce’s face. It says, Please don’t kill me. I didn’t ask for this. I just wanted to set up some tables. I don’t even like dancing. I don’t even like David Bowie that much.
“He turns me on, but don’t get me wrong, I’m only dancing,” Tony draws out the last note as he relinquishes his grip on the doctor, who unsteadily runs off in the opposite direction, red in the face. Tony attaches himself to Steve’s hip and smiles up at the frown his boyfriend is giving him.
“Steve, I’m only dancing.”
“The song says, ‘John’ and I’m not John. I don’t know if he appreciates his boyfriend feeling up other people, but I’m guessing he doesn’t by the tone of the song.”
Tony reaches up and kisses Steve’s cheek.
“I’m only dancing.”