Antonia Stark leans back in her chair, fingers steepled over her mouth as she studies her latest creation. It’s a thing of beauty, like anything she designs, elegance combined with function to create precisely the machine she desires. She stands up and crosses the lab, her battered sneakers soundless on the stained concrete as she circles her new toy, admiring its sleek lines.
This is all Bruce’s fault.
He, like the other Avengers, accepted her offer to stay at the Tower, complete in his case with a state-of-the-art lab built to his specifications, and a lucrative job offer courtesy of Stark Industries. She’s still not entirely sure how he ended up in her bed in addition to her labs, but she’s certainly not complaining; he’s brilliant, gorgeous, and oddly sweet for a man who turns into a green rage monster. He’s also kinky as hell, which fits her nicely. So when he pointed out that he’s an MD and a genius, and why shouldn’t the Avengers take advantage of that since none of them really trust SHIELD, she agreed and built him an entire infirmary. Most of it’s to his designs, cunning improvements to even cutting-edge machinery, all of it loaded with monitoring and analysis devices of her making. But there’s one device Bruce didn’t ask her for. It’s her baby, a sleek gynecological chair Toni machined herself when she couldn’t find anything that quite fit the schematic in her head on the market. It’s contoured into a gentle curve much like the Aegea version one of her gynecologists used, but she added to it: the arms slightly wider and capable of swiveling out much like the arms of the surgical table she built Bruce, butter-soft leather restraints on the arms and leg rests to bind the occupant in place. The detachable footplate drops down, allowing access to the tray that slides under the table for easy disposal, and the attached instrument tray to the side. She loves bondage and she’s got a med kink she doesn’t display; the table combines the two, and hits nearly every button she’s got on the way.
She doesn’t expect to use it, but that’s not the point. The idea popped into her head when she was working on the surgical table, and that was pretty much it as far as she was concerned. She’s not in the habit of denying herself what tempts her, even if she doesn’t expect her lover to indulge this particular kink of hers. Besides, there are two women on the team, a gynecology table is entirely justifiable and that’s precisely what she’ll say if anyone asks. Granted, Natasha might kill her for the idea alone, but hey, it’s worth it.
She runs a hand across the smooth surface, pressing down lightly against the cushioning before she steps back, heat flaring between her legs and dampening her panties as she thinks of what it would feel like to lay on it, bound and helpless under Bruce’s skilled hands.
The medical floor contains an ICU, an O.R., a trauma response unit, a burn unit, and seven rooms that afford their occupants relative privacy while allowing medical personnel to monitor every aspect of their condition via the sensors embedded throughout the suites. Any hospital would kill for a setup like this. The chair, and its accompanying array of gynecological instruments, will be installed in the room she’s set aside for it.
“JARVIS, would you have all equipment installed on the medical floor?” she asks.
“Certainly, Ma’am,” he answers, and she walks out of her workshop to find her lover. She’s got a boyfriend to jump.
Bruce walks through the infirmary, running his hands over StarkTech equipment he’d have killed for while he treated people with whatever he could scrape together. Toni’s spared no expense, not that he’d expect anything less of her, and from what he can tell, she’s incorporated his designs and expanded on them. Between Toni and JARVIS, this facility is probably at least thirty years ahead of the most advanced medical facility in the world, and it’s his. He has to resist the urge to rub his hands while cackling his glee, because this is as much his personal candyland as the lab she gave him. His first and deepest love will always be his research, combining biology, chemistry and physics into new creations, new ways to save lives, but his years on the run gave him a new appreciation for the pleasure of hands-on work with patients. It’s one of the reasons he volunteers every other week at a couple of clinics--Avengers schedule allowing--and one of the reasons he suggested taking over medical care for the Avengers. (Other primary reasons include Toni’s intense distrust of all medical professionals other than Bruce himself, and his own passionate distrust of everything SHIELD, their doctors included.)
Everything’s set up just as he asked, and he grins helplessly at the machines, the cabinets full of instruments, even the rooms with pristine sheets. Then he pauses, tilting his head to study a plain door with Exam 1 stenciled on it. He doesn’t remember that in the schematics Toni drew up. In fact, he doesn’t remember her mentioning this at all, which is unusual to say the least.
“JARVIS, what’s this?”
The AI hesitates briefly and his interest peaks; JARVIS only hesitates when it’s something concerning Toni, something he’s not sure he should reveal.
“JARVIS?” he pushes, even as he opens the door and the lights come up for him. Interesting. She put in a full gynecological setup, which isn’t a bad idea. Granted, it’s hardly his specialty--he just did the basic OB-GYN rotation during his internship, and his practical experience is pretty much limited to childbirth, miscarriages, infections and rape victims--but there are two women on the team, rape is an unspoken fear they all live with, and he knows for a fact that Toni at least doesn’t have a primary care provider.
Still...he circles the chair, positioned in the center of the room. It’s not his forte, but he’s pretty sure this is not your standard chair. He’s a Dom, he knows restraints when he sees them and this? This chair is as much a bondage device as it is a medical one.
“Ma’am designed it personally,” JARVIS says finally. It’s not an answer...and it’s far more of one than he’d expected.
Huh. Well, he knows Toni likes bondage; medical kink isn’t something he expected, but he definitely doesn’t have a problem with it: Toni, begging and writhing under his hands any way he can get her is entirely fine by him, and the thought of medical play is...surprisingly erotic. He circles the chair again, this time testing it, ensuring it’s as comfortable as it looks, that the restraints hold without chafing. JARVIS controls it like he does everything else in the Tower, so Bruce is confident it’ll be comfortable for both of them.
He smiles, a dark smile full of promise that’s been known to make Toni beg on occasion. He’s got new toys, it’s only fair he plays with them. And Toni’s given him such lovely toys this time, it’s only fair to reward her.
“JARVIS? Would you ask Toni to join me on the medical floor at her earliest convenience?”
There’s a brief, telling pause. He doesn’t take offense; JARVIS has spent his entire existence watching over Toni. It’ll take awhile before he’s certain Bruce isn’t going to hurt her like so many others have.
“Certainly, Dr. Banner. Ma’am will be down shortly.”
“Thank you,” he says with absolute sincerity, and begins to set up his scene.
Toni finishes the delicate soldering work and sets her torch down on the damp sponge, laying her goggles next to it. She inserts the battery with a pair of forceps, connects the leads with tweezers, and seals it up, flipping over the thin device with a triumphant smile. The new Avengers communicators have the new microprocessors she’s built, with the computing power of a half dozen mainframes. She built in her holographic tech, added wireless capacity and every program she could think of, and encrypted the lot of it. There’s even a special SHIELD channel--one that’s isolated, and can’t be used to break into the others. Not bad, and she grins down at it. She’ll still need to finish off the earbuds/mikes, of course, but that’ll wait until tomorrow. She sits back, flexing stiff fingers, and JARVIS makes the short noise that’s his version of an apologetic cough.
“What’s up?” she asks.
“Dr. Banner requests your presence in the medical floor at your convenience,” her AI tells her. She looks down at herself, at the filth caking her jeans and tank top, the grease streaking down her arms and embedded under her nails, the oil undoubtedly in her hair from raking dirty hands through it as she worked. He said at her convenience and she’s going to interpret that as time to grab a quick shower, especially since she’s done for the day. Everyone else is gone, on missions or in Thor’s case, back to Asgard; might as well take advantage of their privacy because it won’t last long. Besides, her all-nighters have decreased since Bruce started sleeping in her bed, mainly because he claims a regular amount of sleep helps with the Other Guy, and he only lets her go so long without food or sleep before he steps in--forcibly, if necessary.
She showers quickly, scrubbing off the filth of a day in the lab, then yanks on clean jeans and her favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. JARVIS shoots her straight up two floors to the infirmary, and the doors open on a quiet floor. She steps out, studying the layout curiously. This is Bruce’s baby; she just built the parts for it, so she takes a minute to poke her head in every door even as she looks for him. There, a light in one of the exam rooms in the back. She shoves her hands into her pockets as she walks in. Bruce is the first thing she sees, and her attention fixates on him; he’s wearing a pristine lab coat, always an instant turn-on, and a dark smirk she recognizes all too well. That smirk heralds nasty, filthy, awesome things that usually leave her a blissed-out heap.
Then he steps to one side, still watching her intently, and her gaze drops to the very familiar chair behind him. Oh, shit. Bruce found it and realized exactly why she made it, of course he did, he’s as much a genius as she is. Although...he doesn’t exactly look pissed off. Her eyes fall to his crotch. Yeah, definitely not pissed off. Turned on. Okay. This is looking promising.
Bruce points at a pile of thin cotton on the edge of the chair. “Please remove your clothes and put that on,” he tells her, bland and professional. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
She stares at him. He breaks character enough to run a hand over her shoulder as he walks out, door clicking shut behind him. The choice is hers: she can walk back out after him, they’ll have a great night anyway, and he’ll drop this. Or she strips off her clothes, puts on a hospital gown and plays doctor with her lover. She very rarely indulges in med kink, mainly because it’s not your standard bondage shit which everyone with an internet connection knows she’s into. It’s more unusual, more specialized, not something she’s inclined to risk with strangers and one-night stands. But this isn’t a stranger, this is Bruce and he won’t hurt her more than she wants him to.
This is Bruce, and she trusts him as she does no one but Pepper and JARVIS. This is Bruce.
By the time he comes back in, with actual paper chart in hand--where is he finding this stuff?--her clothes are abandoned in the corner and she’s sitting on the chair, complete with gown snapped closed over her shoulders and tied in the front, hands folded demurely in her lap, arc reactor shining brightly through the paper-thin fabric and wet heat gathering between her thighs. His eyes light up at the sight of her, but he takes a deep breath.
“Usual rules apply, love. Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means good. I’m not going to gag you, and I will do checks as I feel they’re needed.”
Toni nods, relief flaring through her. She hasn’t done this since Afghanistan, and although she trusts Bruce, she can’t help being nervous. The last time she was strapped down with a doctor leaning over her, he was performing impromptu surgery while she was semi-conscious. It’s not a good memory, so knowing she can safeword out if she needs to is the safety net she needs right now. Later, maybe they’ll try a gag.
He smiles at her, his eyes heating again. “All right, miss, let’s get started. Lay back for me, please.”
She obeys, excitement kicking up a notch as thin paper presses against her bare back and ass, warming quickly with her body heat. He hasn’t missed a trick, he’s even put down the disposal cover on the chair that technically he doesn’t need, not with the micro-resistant covering she designed than can simply be wiped clean after an exam. She lets her arms fall out naturally, resting them on the armrests. Warm hands stroke up her arms to her wrists, where he pulls the soft restraints on and buckles them down. She shivers when he finishes the second one, tugging against the straps instinctively and relaxing back into the chair when there’s no give. Bruce pauses.
He unlocks the foot rest, she can hear the bolt clicking back, and drops it down, leaving her legs hanging over the end of the chair for a minute before he repeats the process, dropping the leg rests into a vertical position, then draping her legs over them, her knees and calves cradled by the rests, her feet resting on the stirrups built into the end. He buckles the restraints over her ankles, running a careful finger under each one to ensure they’re not too tight, that her circulation won’t be affected. She gives him the green light again at his check.
Cool air brushes against her, making her shiver again as Bruce steps away, flipping back the sterile drape off the instruments on the tray. He returns to stand between her spread legs, pulling on a pair of latex gloves with deliberate slowness as she watches intently, skin rippling into gooseflesh at the crisp snap of the gloves against his skin. Shrewd dark eyes miss nothing, and his lips curve slightly as he notes her reaction before he moves over to the side of the chair.
“Relax,” he orders. “I’m going to start with a brief physical exam of your abdomen. Tell me immediately if you experience any pain or discomfort.”
He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the sensations are familiar because he’s done this before, compulsively checking her over in the aftermath of battle. She relaxes even more under his hands, even though there’s not really anything sexy about this; he’s taking the exam part a little more literally than she’d anticipated. When he’s palpitated to his satisfaction, his hands shift from clinical to sexual, untying the front tie and pulling the gown open until it’s more or less draped loosely over her, held only by the snaps along her shoulders. His hands smooth across her torso, light strokes that tease and tantalize, making her want more. She arches up, trying to coax a firmer touch; he laughs softly and keeps his fingers deliberately light until every brush of gloved fingers leaves her skin tingling in their wake. She whines a protest as he pulls his fingers back slowly, unsnapping the gown at the shoulders and pulling it free so she’s left lying on it, naked under the bright lights. He kneads her breasts, rubbing his palms over her puckered nipples, rolling them just the way she likes as her breasts plump up in reaction. He’s not doing a serious exam the way he did her torso, but then he’ll probably find any lumps in her breasts long before she does. This is teasing, nothing more, nothing less. The latex drags against her skin as he twists her nipples sharply, the sudden spike of pain making her cry out as her body clenches on nothing, heat coiling, sharp and sweet, in her gut.
Bruce chuckles, soft and husky as he runs his finger deliberately over her arc reactor, then walks down the chair, one finger running deliberately down her body as he does until he’s back where he started, standing between her legs. She yanks against the restraints for a second before she settles again, breathing hard. He waits until she’s not fighting, waits until she relaxes back into the chair again, accepting that he’s not going to touch her until she obeys his unspoken command.
Then he rewards her with a finger brushed lightly over her clit, making her shriek at the jolt of sharp pleasure. One touch and he withdraws again. She quivers but sinks back again. He smiles at her.
“Good girl,” he praises her softly, and she squirms, paper crinkling at the motion. His praise warms her, contents her, and she waits to see what he wants from her next. He raises a hand, making sure she’s got a good view as he squirts lube over his first two right fingers, spreading it down the glove with his thumb. He sits down, the chair automatically adjusting so she’s at a good height for him, and scoots the stool over. Long fingers stroke her labia, then slide in, spreading her for his view.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “You’re already wet and flushed. Such a pretty pink, nearly as bright as that chair.”
She can’t help it, tries to grind down, get some pressure where she so desperately needs it. He pulls back sharply, his free hand smacking her hip in sharp rebuke.
“No,” he scolds her. Toni whines, and he smacks her again. “We’re not done with your exam, Miss Stark. If you can’t hold still for me, I’ll have to stop and begin again.”
She quiets again, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He leans back and lifts a gleaming stainless steel instrument, holding it up for her view as he coats it with medical grade lube. Her eyes widen as she stares at the biggest speculum she’s ever seen, her thighs tensing as she instinctively tries to close her legs. Bruce pauses.
“...Green.” She’s as excited as she is intimidated by the size of the thing; her previous partners used a speculum once or twice, but never this big. This could seriously hurt...but she trusts Bruce. He’ll hurt her, yes, but only enough to put a sweet edge of pain on her pleasure, not enough to turn her off entirely.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, free hand caressing her hip for a moment before he slides between her legs again. Her eyes shut, hands clamping down on the ends of the arm rests as blunt metal presses against her hole. Bruce keeps the pressure slow and steady, forcing her body to open and accept the speculum. It burns as she stretches around it, jerking slightly as the cold metal slides deeper and deeper until finally it’s buried inside her. “You’re doing so good,” Bruce tells her, and the warmth in his voice makes her shiver again, this time in sheer delight. She likes pleasing him, savors his praise as he runs his hand up her thigh. He rewards her with another brush of his thumb over her clit, this one slower and firmer, and she gasps as she clamps down tightly around the metal buried inside her. Shit, fuck, she’s already on the edge and she knows he’s not anywhere near done with her.
Then he begins to crank the speculum open. It hurts, but it’s just strong enough to dull the heat coursing through her, just enough to back her off the edge again. He opens her slowly enough that she wavers on the edge between pain and pleasure, feeling like he’s splitting her in two and it feels so damn good. She’s never been pushed like this before. He backs off again once she’s spread wide, leaving the speculum to hold her open as he caresses her, rubbing light circles over her quivering belly until she quiets again, hands kneading the ends of the arm rests compulsively, but otherwise fairly still. This time her reward is another firm caress to her clit; Bruce rubs gently but firmly until she’s squirming against her restraints, clenching desperately around the speculum, frantic for release.
“Please,” she gasps, because she’s about to come and she can’t do that without permission. “Sir!” It’s a desperate warning, and Bruce stops touching her instantly. He gives her a minute to recover while he does...something, she has no idea what and she’s too far gone to really care, and then he’s back, carefully easing the speculum free--without closing it. She goes from almost too full, stretched wide open, to empty and aching and she’s so close, but she can’t come yet. She has to wait for permission.
Toni moans as Bruce slides his gloved fingers into her. The warm, firm pressure is familiar and as reassuring as it is precisely what she needs. She’s loose from the speculum, stretched out and gaping, but this is Bruce and it feels so good as he crooks his fingers, searching for that wonderful, sensitive spot. She cries out as he finds it, hitting it with the firm tapping motion she responds best to.
“Come,” he orders, and that’s it, she loses it entirely, clenching on his fingers, wet heat slicking down her thighs and probably his glove too. She sags back into the support of the chair, gasping as she’s rocked by the aftershocks. She’s dimly aware that the table is moving, lifting up and the front lowering so she’s at an angle. Bruce is unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out. There’s a moment of blunt pressure and then he’s in with one hard thrust. Toni’s tight and sensitive after her orgasm, and it makes him feel even bigger than usual--and Bruce isn’t exactly small.
He finds his rhythm, steady and deep, hands on her hips as he fucks her. He stops, buried to the hilt in her, balls against her butt, and rolls his hips, hitting her just right. She howls as her visions goes blurry, body tensing as she strains towards her second orgasm of the night.
“That’s it,” he pants. “That’s it, Toni, c’mon. You’re going to come on just my cock, aren’t you? C’mon, baby, come.”
That’s all she’s been waiting for, and she comes again, shoved straight over the edge into her strongest orgasm yet. She dimly hears herself screaming as he grinds against her g-spot again, as he falls into the short, rapid thrusts and then stills, buried deep inside her as he comes. It takes a few minutes to come back to herself. She’s blissed out, muscles limp and unresponsive, pleasure still curling through her. Her mind is clear and quiet, a state she only reaches after she’s submitted.
Bruce pulls out, brushing a finger lightly around her entrance to check for blood, a habit she’s yet to break him of. He must be satisfied because she hears him pull off the gloves and condom. She lets herself float on the haze of endorphins and really good sex, vaguely aware that he’s releasing her legs, then lifting them out of the supports, kneading gently for a moment, probably checking blood flow. He does the same to her arms, massaging gently for a couple of minutes before he scoops her up. There’s no way he can carry her all the way back to their bedroom, but he doesn’t have to, there’s half a dozen perfectly functional rooms a brief stagger away, and they wind up in the closest one, curled on the queen sized bed with Bruce spooning behind her, wrapped tightly around her as he nuzzles at the back of her neck, letting her come down at her own pace.
“We are definitely doing that again,” she says finally, once she’s capable of semi-coherent speech, and Bruce laughs softly, one big hand threading through her hair.
“Oh, trust me, we’ve only started.”
Definitely Bruce’s fault. She wonders what else he’s got in mind; something tells her she's going to enjoy finding out.