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Money Honey

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“So,” Scott says one day, sending him a glance that can best be described as flirtatious, “how rich actually are you?”

“Rich enough,” he grumbles, waves Scott aside with as much irritation as he can muster. It isn’t much, because damn is that kid good at getting past his defences, but at least he can take solace in the fact that he probably comes across as the grumpy old git he’s been for years. It’s just his face, it’s so good at registering quiet rage, “don’t touch that.”

“I’m not touching it,” Scott whines, and very clearly continues to touch it, “what does it even do, anyway?”

“Explode,” he says, just to see Scott snatch his hand away, and smirks. He may be somewhat, more than somewhat, fond of the kid – but that certainly doesn’t mean that he’s going to give up the opportunity for a little amusement, “the cores out of fruit, mainly, but I haven’t tested all its applications yet. Who knows what else it could do?”

“Huh,” Scott frowns, but still gives him an almost admiring look. That’s part of the reason why he’s so dangerous, why he’s got so far through his defences – you tell Scott something absolutely insane, and his first reaction is generally thrilled fascination, “so, how rich is ‘rich enough’?”

“’Rich enough’ is rich enough,” he sniffs, barely holds back a wince as Scott only looks at him like a kicked puppy. He’s not sure if he got it from his daughter or if his daughter got it from him, but it’s damned effective either way “…Rich enough to buy this house, rich enough to maintain myself without ever having to work again, rich enough to maintain you without you ever having to work again. That answer your question?”

“I would’ve preferred hard numbers,” Scott says, ever the practical engineer. But grins at him anyway, bounces on the balls of his heels like even that simple information is a boon. You can fault Scott on a lot of points, he has faulted Scott on a lot of points, but enthusiasm sure isn’t one of them, “but I can extrapolate. ‘Rich enough’ is rich, huh?”

“Indeed,” he sighs wryly, barely bites back a smile of his own. It’s hard to be a cagey dick, sometimes, when so much brightness is regularly in the habit of throwing itself at you, “as it turns out, being a certified genius is a hugely profitable venture.”

“Unless you’re a self-destructive certified genius, of course,” Scott smirks, leans invitingly towards him, only goes a little wide-eyed at the very last moment “…Er, touchy subject?”

“You’re an idiot,” he says fondly, and gives in to that puppy dog look. Reaches out, and traces his fingers over the back of Scott’s hand. He’s not an affectionate person, he’s never quite been capable, but if this is all that he can give Scott then he’s damn well going to try, “and I’m not a Stark, so you’re absolutely fine. Why do you even want to know, anyway?”

“About you potentially being a self-destructive genius?” Scott asks, looking as dopily distracted as he always does when they do this.

“About the money, Scott.”

“Oh, that,” Scott says absently, blinks, smirks a little and moves right in close – until their bodies are pressed together, and he can feel Scott’s breath flickering teasingly over his lips, “I just wanted to know if you were qualified to be my sugar daddy, that’s all.”

“Scott Lang,” he says incredulously, leaning back a little to offer up the most offended stare he can manage while biting back on a laugh, “you are-“

“An idiot who is full of shit,” Scott says solemnly, and smiles. Leans in to kiss him anyway, “I know.”