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Chapter Text

“What about her?”

“What, Pep, no, what,” Tony Stark looked in the general vicinity of Pepper Potts’ gesturing hand. “Oh, God, Pep, seriously, I feel like your taste has just been rapidly declining since we broke up.”

“Tony, she’s gorgeous!” Pepper protested, glaring at her counterpart – who was now ogling some blonde over by the steps. “Redhead, busty, nice lips. Exactly your type.”

Tony looked at her from above his sunglasses. “You do realize who that is, right, that’s Natasha-fucking-Romanoff, she will kill you with her bare hands and not even blink.”

Pepper frowned. “And how would you know this?”

“Clint said he tried and she put him in the hospital. Supposedly she’s plenty smart already, though, so.” Tony grimaced, already ruling her out as an option, and continued to search for his next victim. Um, tutee.

“Tony…” Pepper’s voice took on that reprimanding, motherly tone and Tony exhaled exasperatedly.

“Pep, I know you’re not going to like hearing this, because; well, you’re like, a feminist and,” he made weird hand gestures toward her body, “well, Clint kind of already claimed her, so y’know, that would prove to be a bit of an issue if I try to fuck her.”

“Tony!” Pepper warned, “You’re not supposed to objectify women like that.”

“Don’t tell me that! It’s Clint being all Hugh Hefner-y and creepy. And you’re not exactly innocent; you’re the one helping me find fuck buddies, remember?”

Pepper sent Tony a withering glare, one so deadly that even Dean Fury would probably topple over at the sight of it. “Fine! Do it yourself! Most ex-girlfriends aren’t required to stick around, let alone help their ex-boyfriends find tutees.” She left, taking both of their coffees with her.

Tony sighed. “Oh, jeez; Pep, Pep I need that coffee! Pepperrrrrrr!”

She didn’t turn around. He sighed again. He would buy her a fruit basket later. But no strawberries. Definitely no strawberries.

"Pepppperrrrr, pick up your phone," Tony whined after Pepper’s voicemail (“Leave a message if you’re not Tony attempting to apologize for another foot-in-mouth situation!”) repeated in his ear for the third time. "You know, I really need Xavier's assignment; you know I don't go to class and he always knows when I'm not there and you don't want me to get in trouble with Dean Fury again, do you Pe - "

"Write a 5-page essay. Genetic mutations; include research info and write a speech on human mutations," said Pepper's exasperated voice from the other end of the line, and Tony silently cheered as he scoped the pavilion. No one worthy yet, though there was this one dark-haired girl who kept waving cheerily at him from a distance.

"Finally, you picked up! If I'd known that was what it took for you to pick up; I would've done it a long time ag -"

He was cut off by said dark-haired girl tackling him to the ground, grinning maniacally.

"Um," he said.

"Hi, Tony Stark," she replied.

"Um," he said again. He reached for his phone, where he could hear Pepper's voice asking frantically what happened. He sighed, and with the girl still sprawled on top of him, said into the phone, "No worries, I'm still alive. Got a girl on me."

"Tony!" Pepper said, clearly scandalized. "You're in public!"

Tony rolled his eyes and snorted. "Pepper, your mind is in the gutter. I'm proud. No, she like, tackled me out of fucking nowhere."

The girl in question grinned at him and pulled out a Taser.

Tony dropped the phone. “Uh, I,” he looked warily at the Taser, “Please don’t taze me, I might have to sue you, and y’know, tazing is generally rude, so uh. Please don’t.”

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice was loud and insistent. “What’s going on? Tony, I told you to wear that rape whistle I got you at all times, because you never know what situation you're going to get into, and –” Tony hung up abruptly and grinned up at the girl.

“So, who are you?”

Tony found himself in a hipster coffee shop half an hour later, having been dragged rather forcefully by a girl four inches shorter than him - but armed with a Taser, so his pride was somewhat salvaged.

“Darcy, friend of Jane’s,” she said cheerfully once they were seated and the Taser had been tucked safely away in her back pocket.

He blinked. “Jane Foster? Hot brunette with an affinity to science?”

“That’s the one.”

“Hm, she never mentioned she had a crazy ass axe murderer as a friend. But I guess that isn’t really a conversational topic, especially not while converting subatomic particles, so,” Tony told the barista his order. Darcy contemplated for a moment and settled on a blueberry muffin.

“Oh, trust me, if I was here to murder you, you’d already be in a ditch in Mexico by now,” she proceeded to give him a creepy smile that wasn't really helping her case at all. She leaned forward. Tony leaned back and may or may not have inched his chair a couple of inches further away.

"So," he said, leaning back as far as possible.

"So," she said back, Cheshire smile unchanging, not even faltering for a second. Tony was seriously considering recommending his therapist to this girl at this point.

"Are you looking for a tutor because no offense and all, but you're kind of crazy and, well, the Taser shit's kinda kinky, and I don't do kinky," he paused and thought. "Okay, no, I'm so down with the whole teacher/student horizontal tango, the schoolgirl thing's totally fucking ho - "

"I'm not looking for a tutor, dumbass. But I happen to know someone who is," Darcy grinned as the barista set down Tony's coffee and Darcy's blueberry muffin. There was a scribbled number and 'call me xoxo ;)' written on Tony's cup, and as the barista walked way he leered unashamedly at her shapely bottom.

"Who is it?"
"His name's Steve Rogers," she said, all teeth and unreadable eyes.

“Is he a bag ‘em, shag ‘em kind of guy?” he turned back to look at her, blinking slowly, a corner of his mouth curling into a smarmy grin.

“Not exactly, Stark,” and with that, she grabbed her blueberry muffin off of the table and walked straight out the door, looking back only to give him the tiniest of mocking salutes.

Chapter Text

“This is so not happening, oh my God why am I doing this; he isn’t even the type I like,” Tony rambled on as Rhodey watched, elbows propped on the table and fingers steepled over his chin. “Darcy was super fucking mysterious about him; I mean, who the fuck is this guy anyway and why did Darcy tackle me to get me to tutor him?”

Equations whirred in his head as he attempted to come up with a reasonable explanation, and the only normal conclusion his brain seemed to want to come up with was that Darcy was just a crazy motherfucker who shouldn’t be trusted, and Steve was some sort of serial killer who was going to kill him once Tony agreed to tutor him.

Yeah, and that was normal.

“I’m sure he’s just a normal guy, Ton,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes methodically as Tony continued to ramble, his imagination running wild as he spurted different theories.

“Oh my God, what if he’s secretly a felon and wants to cheat me of all my money; I don’t think I can deal with another gold-digger, seriously Rhodey,” Tony’s eyes widened almost comically; Rhodey didn’t have to guess twice to know that Tony was probably running solely on adrenaline and coffee.

“Tony. Seriously. Darcy probably thinks you two would be good friends or something. Just tutor the damn kid and shut up because I seriously need to work on Xavier’s essay right now.”

“Genetic mutations occur only in certain genes, like, say I had brown hair or something –”

“Tony. I need to work on Xavier’s essay. By myself. Your specialty isn’t even in genetics, Ton,” Rhodey gave him a very unamused look.

Tony snorted. “My specialty is everything, Rhodey. How long have we known each other? Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, remember?”

“That shit doesn’t work on me, shut up and let me work, you giant dickfucker,” Rhodey didn’t look up from his notes, and knew what Tony was going to say before he even opened his mouth. “Don’t even say it.”

Tony pouted. “I was just going to say ‘dickfucker’ isn’t a word, or a legitimate insult. How do you fuck a dick?”

“I don’t know, Tony, people fuck you.” Rhodey paused. “You call people ‘assbutts.’ That’s completely redundant, you do realize.”

Tony huffed. “You’re just upset that my insults are infinitesimally more ingenious than yours.”

“Ha, yeah, that’s it. Stop using big words to deter me.”

“You are a bag of dicks. I’ll be leaving now, off to do super important genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist things, which you are not invited to.”

Rhodey raised two fingers in parting as Tony slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the room.


Tony swears up and down, five minutes ago he was definitely off to do those highly classified genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist things. Somehow (he really wasn’t sure how) he ended up in the main office, asking the receptionist where a “Steve Rogers” lived on the campus and what was his number, thanks; to which the receptionist replied with a reprimand. (“Just because you are Tony Stark does not mean I’ll just answer any of your questions! You rich boys think you can do whatever the hell you want and the rest of us are just supposed to do as you please; why I should report you to Dean Fury for your absolute disrespect–”)

She gave him the number after he stumbled and “dropped” a one hundred dollar bill on her desk. His brain repeated the numbers over and over, scrambling and unscrambling as if the phone number was just code, and he didn’t understand why his brain was deeming this acquired number as something important.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. A woman’s voice answered, a breathy giggle heard before she said, “Hello?” And what, his brain wasn’t processing anything right now.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Steve Rogers could be a woman.


Okay, the reason it didn’t occur to him was because he actually wasn’t a woman. The woman who’d answered the phone turned out to be Peggy Carter, bestest friend forever and not-girlfriend of Steve Rogers. Tony wasn’t sure why his brain had even momentarily entertained the idea of Steve Rogers being a woman, really. He clearly needed more sleep; these kind of shit conclusions never arrived when he was completely lucid.

After a beat’s silence, Tony replied, a little dazedly, “Steve Rogers?”

“No, this is Peggy Carter. Here, sorry, I’ll pass the phone to him.” Tony heard a faint rustling noise and Get your ass over here, there’s someone on the phone for you, and then he heard a new voice come onto the line.

“Hi, this is Steve. Who is this?” he sounded faintly out-of-breath, which made Tony wonder what exactly ‘Peggy’ and ‘Steve’ were getting up to before he called. He smirked a little, feeling the tiniest bit triumphant for cockblocking.

“I’m Tony Stark,” he said a little warily and slightly suspiciously. Considering ninety-nine percent of the population of America knew his name, he was expecting some wonder and some wows and maybe even a little, Can I have an autograph?

Instead, he got a faint, “Oh.” And then a dial tone.

Tony stared at his phone. Well, that certainly had never happened before.

He got a call back moments later, which he considered not taking because excuse me, who hung up on Tony Fucking Stark, what even. Was this guy just seriously socially deprived, or what?
Tony looked down at his cell phone for precisely five rings, knowing that would send across the message of, I’m a very important and busy person and don’t have time to take the calls of peasants, and then he picked up the phone.

“Yes?” he said, with just a dash of irritation; he knew exactly how to send across messages, he knew social niceties as well as social not-niceties.

“Sorry,” the voice blurted from the other end of the phone; Tony felt the corner of his mouth curl up in satisfaction. “I just didn’t, uh, know how to react.”

Tony only just managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know; I’m Tony Stark. I’m rich and shit and on the cover of Forbes sometimes. Blah blah, yakkity yak, what, do you want an autograph?”

“No!” Steve Rogers sounded almost offended. “I’m not amazed that you’re Tony Stark, uh, no offense, but I don’t think you need any more inflation to your ego. I’m just excited because I really need a tutor.”

Tony wasn’t really sure how to reply to that. No one had ever been unimpressed by his being a billionaire; not even Pepper and Rhodey were immune to that shit, though they got over it a lot faster than other people did. (That was why he kept them around, really. They acted normal around him. They were his family, in all honesty.)

“A tutor,” he eventually said slowly when he realized he was taking way too long to reply. His brain was buzzing, algorithms in his head not making a lick of sense, because who was this guy? What kind of person wasn’t amazed by him, seriously. Not that he was offended or anything.

(But he so was.)

“Yeah, a tutor. I heard you had a tutoring business, or, y’know, um, yeah. Oh, dear,” Steve said, and HOW WAS THIS GUY EVEN REAL, WHAT. “I’m not really doing this right, sorry. I just meant, I’m not really that great at Anatomy and Physiology and I really need to pass this class. So. Yeah.”

“You do know how I tutor people, right? Like, you know how they end up paying for this shit? It’s not free,” Tony said suspiciously, because someone who said “Oh, dear” didn’t really seem like the type who’d be willing to pay with sex and blowjobs and other dirty things.

He could almost hear Steve’s embarrassment through the phone. “Yes, I know how your, um, tutees pay. I was wondering about that, actually.”

And yup, there it was. Tony sighed, ready to explain that sex was the only way he was going to be willing to tutor anyone, because it wasn’t as if Tony needed any more money. He had enough as it was. Steve was either going to ask for another way to pay for it, or he was going to end up lecturing him like the little prudish grandma Tony was sure he secretly was.

“I was wondering…” Steve continued, sounding as though this was very painful for him, “if I could, um, pay for it a different way? Please?”

Tony replied flatly, “No.” And he prepared to hang up, because surely now Steve was going to sigh and say something like, Well, darn it. No thank you, then.

“Okay,” Steve said, finally.

Tony said, “Uh. I don’t know what that means.”

“Okay,” replied Steve, somewhat exasperatedly, “I’ll pay you…that way. But I’m not doing it regularly. You’ll get a final payment in the end.”

And shit, Tony felt like a prostitute. He brushed it off and wondered who the fuck did this guy think he was. There was no way he was good enough in bed for one final payment. Tony was definitely an appreciator of the finer art of sex; he knew techniques and considered himself an expert – which was definitely something to be proud of.

“A final payment? Like, one?” Tony snorted. “I highly doubt you’re that fucking phenomenal in bed, Rogers. Especially since it sounds like you’ve never actually done it before, let alone with a guy.”
Steve Rogers replied firmly, “Trust me. I’m great in bed.” He sounded like he was blushing. “It’ll be worth it.”

Tony highly doubted it, but something about Rogers’ tone of voice made him want to…agree. And besides, if he wasn’t good enough the first time, he was sure he could guilt-trip Steve into doing a little repeat performance.

Okay, he needed to work on not sounding like a total pervert all the time.

He could hear Rogers’ breathing through the phone as he waited for Tony’s reply. He said slowly, detachedly, “Fine. Whatever you say, Captain. Library, 4 PM tomorrow. See you there, sweet cheeks.”

He hung up before he could hear Rogers’ embarrassed reply.

Chapter Text

Tony dumped his bag unceremoniously on the floor next to the table, not even glancing up from his coffee to look at Steve Rogers.

“Whoops, guess I’m running late, sorry ‘bout that, barista took a helluva long time with my coffee, kept asking me for an autograph or some shit like –”

Tony abruptly stopped speaking, because holy motherfucking shit Steve Rogers was hot as fuck. No, but seriously, this guy was – shit, he looked like he came straight from J. Crew magazine, with a sweater that hugged his large frame and jeans that fitted just right, and not a hair out of place.

“Hi,” Rogers said, a tad breathlessly as he shoved his chair back to face Tony, the chair scraping along the hardwood rather loudly. Rogers winced as he put out his hand, offering a small smile. Tony stared at it for a bit, because seriously?

He blinked up at Rogers, looking rather lost as his hand hovered in midair.

“Rogers, this is the 21st century; no one does that shit anymore,” Tony raised an eyebrow at the proffered hand, but he shook it anyway. He thought he saw Rogers flush slightly, but when he looked back at him, the blond was straight-faced, teeth worrying slightly at his lower lip.

Rogers was still standing, unsure of what to do, so Tony took pity on him and sat down. Tony began pulling the books toward him; eyes skimming, brain working ridiculously quickly as he absorbed the information. And as he took in the material, the facts, his mouth opened and a flurry of words poured out, and it was so familiar that he didn’t even bother to look up through his blather.

“Okay so, basically the body functions through a series of muscle movements and shit; there are a shit ton of different muscles, but most of this is memorization, and a bit has to do with your brain function and cells and skin. There’s also some stuff about bones and marrow and how the bones and muscles work together. But mostly it’s easy stuff, that kind of shit you learn in like, the seventh grade,” Tony paused to look at the blond. Rogers was staring, the tiniest crease just between his golden eyebrows, but his blue eyes were bright. “What, what is it, are you following because I speak kinda fast, just so you know.”

When Rogers still didn’t respond, and just continued to stare at him, open-mouthed, he took it upon himself to word vomit some more. “What’s your major anyway, sweet cheeks? Who takes these classes; are you like, learning how to be a nurse or something, because you totally seem like the type.”

Rogers cracked a smile, straight white teeth gleaming. Okay, what even, was there anything about this guy that didn’t scream PERFECTION, or.

“No, yeah, I just. I’m keeping up fine; I’m just not really used to. Um. You. I guess,” Rogers scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, looking appropriately bashful, and Tony almost smacked himself in the face, because oh my god. “I’m an art major, actually.” It came out more like a question, and a deliciously pink flush crept up his cheeks.

Tony’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. Well. He certainly had not been expecting that. “Wow, shit, really? Didn’t peg you as the I’m-going-to-cut-off-my-ear type, but okay.”

Rogers laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Even the sound of his laugh was GQ material, goddammit. “No, I happen to like my ears attached to my head. I just happen to really, really like painting. Color on a canvas is one thing I can do right.”

And that gave Tony the perfect opening. He leaned forward, looking at Rogers through his dark lashes, enjoying the way Rogers’ blush came back full force. In a low voice, he said, “Well, maybe one day you can paint me like one of your French girls.” As he winked and looked back down at the books, Rogers turned an interesting shade of red.

The first tutoring session flew by, and Rogers seemed to grasp Tony’s method of teaching very quickly. Tony’s innuendos, on the other hand…

Throughout the session, Tony had blatantly made passes at Rogers, leaning too close or placing his hand on Rogers’ very firm bicep, or sucking on his pen rather suggestively as he explained the structure of certain reproductive organs. (Shut up, the guy couldn’t take a hint, okay.)

Every time Tony made a comment like, for instance – “There are certain parts of the body I’d actually like to study in great detail”, or “Do you want a hands-on example on how the tongue muscle works, because I’d be willing to help you out with that,” or any overtone that had to do with anatomy (and there were a shitload of insinuations he could make; Tony didn’t think he’d be running out any time soon) – Rogers blushed, steadfastly ignored him, and flipped the textbook to a random page.

That strategy didn’t work most of the time; Rogers always ended up flipping to a page with even more chances at innuendo than the last.

Anyway, Rogers didn’t seem any closer to caving and giving Tony “early payment.” Tony supposed he would just have to try harder. He wasn’t going to give up quite so easily, especially after seeing just how innocent and motherfucking hot Rogers was.
Besides, Tony liked a challenge.

“Okay,” Tony started as he glanced at his phone, digital numbers reading six o’clock, “I guess our time’s up. So, how are you feeling about this, is this good; do you want to change anything about our arrangement…?” He let the question trail off as he looked at Rogers, making sure to lean just the slightest bit forward.

The blond looked up from his textbook, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing out. He blinked wide eyes, looking unfairly innocent, and Tony wondered how dark those blue eyes could get. “No, I think this is fine. Thanks, Tony.”

Tony sighed and shoved a hand messily through his hair. “Sure, yeah, no problem, sweet cheeks. See you in two days then, Cap.”

He picked up his bag off of the floor, watching for a bit as Rogers shoved his books back into his worn messenger bag; when Rogers looked up, raising a hand up in parting, Tony’s back was already turned.