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Five Other Uses for the Arc Reactor

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1. power tools

Pepper walks down the stairs to Tony's workshop, and even before she puts in the code and walks through the glass doors she registers something odd, something out of place about the scene. Tony's wearing long gloves and goggles, welding something on the Iron Man suit, and there's a cord coming from the welding torch but no cord trailing across the table or the floor –

"Oh god," Pepper says. "Are you kidding me?"

Tony turns around, grinning at her from behind the goggles, shutting off the welding torch. Which is attached to and drawing power from the ostensibly medical device inside his chest.

"Hey Pep. Guess what I figured out."

"How to make a small, portable voltage adapter that converts the arc reactor output to something you can plug power tools into?" Pepper groans. Tony grins at her blindingly.

"Yes! I had to strip the cords on all my power tools and rewrap them to make them plug into the arc reactor, because, let's face it, I'm not going around with a wall socket on my chest, but – "

"It's a medical device, Tony, it's supposed to keep you from dying – "

"I was dying for a good solid weld."

"And aren't you – won't you – what if it interferes with the – "

"With what?"

"I don't know!" Pepper explodes. "With the thing!"

Tony puts down the tool, takes a step toward her, realizes he's still attached to the tool, and reaches under his shirt to fiddle with the cords for a second. Pepper rolls her eyes and crosses her arms and resists the urge to bury her face in her hands in despair.

"Pep – I – ouch – okay, some kinks to work out, yes, but – ouch – okay!" Finally disentangled, he walks over to her and takes her hand. It's a strangely distant and chaste move for Tony; usually he has two modes, either not touching her or really, seriously, absolutely touching her.

"I run the Iron Man suit off of this power supply," he says, pushing his goggles up his forehead and giving her an unsure half-smile. "It's not gonna be a problem to use it around the lab a little bit."

Pepper doesn't feel mollified. "It's not that," she says, aware that her objection doesn't really make sense. "I just – you're so casual about it."

Leaning up and in, he kisses her softly. "It's part of me, Pep. And frankly it's criminal to just let this much energy go completely to waste all the time."

"It doesn't go to waste," she says, kissing him back. "It keeps you alive."

"That's sweet."

"Just promise me you won't stick a USB power adapter on that thing."

Tony draws back, a light in his eyes. "Hey – "

"Why do I even try," Pepper sighs, and then sinks into another kiss.

"Look at the bright side," Tony murmurs, pressing her up against the nearest lab table. Pepper pushes the heel of her shoe into the back of his calf obligingly. "We can plug all sorts of toys in here."

Pepper imagines it, a vibrator thrumming inside of her, powered by Tony's heart, his genius; imagines the wire that would connect the two of them together, delivering power directly from his body into hers. She could straddle him, thighs around his chest – or maybe put his dick in her ass so that they could both feel the energy vibrating inside of her. She bites at his lip, lets her fingernails dig in to his arms, feeling the rush of arousal moving through her body like a wave.

"You had that idea, and then instead of coming directly to me you decided to weld something with it first?" she breathes against his mouth. He shivers.

"Thought I should test it out," he says. "Proof of concept." His hands are all over her now, and she's pressing hard up against him, driving the unyielding circle of the arc reactor against her breasts.

"Mmmm. And is the device ready for phase two of testing now?" She reaches down, cups her hand over his cock and squeezes him through his pants.

"I really, really love you," Tony says fervently, as she grabs a handful of his t-shirt and drags him towards the door.

"Bring your voltage adapter," she says, in her sexiest voice.

 

2. cell phones

"I'm just saying, this is the fourth time. Bail isn't cheap."

Steve smiles at Tony indulgently. "It's cheap to you." Tony waves this off as inconsequential as they breeze through the doors of the police station.

"But if we keep bailing him out, how's he going to learn?"

"Learn . . . not to turn into a big green monster and defend the city from supernatural foes? Pardon me, ma'am." Steve pauses to hold the door open for an old woman going the other direction.

"Right!" Tony calls back, waiting impatiently for Steve to catch up.

"I think there's a flaw in your logic there."

Sighing dramatically, Tony walks up to the little window and makes a show of allowing no part of his body to come into contact with the stained, scarred counter in front of him. "Yes, hello, hi, I'm Tony Stark, this is Captain America, and we're here to bail out our friend, who's been arrested for indecent exposure. Again."

The guy behind the window has the universal stony expression of all bored, overtaxed, underpaid civil servants everywhere ; the look hasn't changed a whit in seventy years. "Name," he says shortly.

"Bruce Banner, sir," Steve says, ducking his head to make eye contact through the glass. His deference has absolutely no impact on the man, whose nametag reads CONNORS. "Officer Connors," Steve amends.

Officer Connors squints at him suspiciously, and Tony elbows him in the side. It's Tony's laying-it-on-a-little-thick-there-Steve elbow; Steve would know it in the dark.

"Fill these out." A clipboard full of paperwork is pushed through to them, and Steve picks them up.

"Thank you," he says, and turns to go sit down before Tony can elbow him again. Tony flops into a chair beside him, slouching back against the seat, legs sprawled, hands already reaching for his cell phone.

"You're not helping me with the paperwork, I take it," Steve sighs.

"I don't even know why I'm here," Tony mutters. "Happy could do this. Why are we sitting in this police station with – " he grimaces as a woman sits down next to him, coughing in to her hand, " – everybody."

Steve smiles, but doesn't look up from the forms. "You're such a snob, Tony." The waiting room is pretty full, though, almost all the seats taken up. Steve knows that Tony doesn't do well with crowds he doesn't control, so he pats Tony on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Whatever."

"It makes things easier on Bruce if we're around after he de-Hulks. It's part of teamwork," Steve explains.

Tony snorts. "You use that on everything." He puts on a whiny, parodic voice. "'Tony, come get knocked around the gym by all your superstrong soldier and assassin friends, it's for teamwork!' 'Tony, make me a sandwich, it's part of teamwork!' 'Tony, teamwork wants you to give me a foot massage.'"

Steve leans forward and makes eye contact with the young, scantily clad woman sitting to Tony's left. "I have never asked Iron Man for a foot massage," he says. The woman, who looks like she would really rather not be drawn into this conversation, just raises her eyebrows and then looks away, as if for an escape route.

Tony's fingers fly over his phone keypad, eyes never leaving it. "Yeah, well, Natasha did."

"And you've never made me a sandwich." Steve gets up and hands the forms back to Officer Connors, who grunts suspiciously and takes them. Steve sits back down.

"While you were gone I had to defend your seat against usurpers," Tony says.

"Very brave," Steve agrees, looking pointedly at the people nearby: a strung-out looking drug user, a woman with two little kids, an older lady who's probably someone's mom. Steve tries not to feel uncomfortable about not offering any of them his seat; every time he's tried doing that, since waking up, he's been met with suspicious glances and muttered refusals.

Tony types for a few more minutes, and then his brow furrows.

"What?" Steve asks.

"I – oh, damn. I'm running out of juice."

"You could put your phone down and have a conversation with me," Steve offers.

"What, like, as part of teamwork?"

"Sure."

"It won't come to that." Tony reaches his hands up to his collar and unknots his tie, pulling it apart, then starts unbuttoning his shirt.

He stops suddenly and glances at the woman sitting next to him. "You don't mind, do you?" he asks solicitously. "It's just that she gets so fussy if I don't feed her around now."

The woman blinks at him. "What?" she asks.

"Anyone?" Tony calls to the room at large. "Any objections?" He's got his shirt mostly unbuttoned now, exposing his chest, his cold fusion reactor, and, in Steve's opinion, a rather unnecessary amount of stomach.

A few other heads turn toward them, and Steve sighs, resigning himself to being in the newspaper again tomorrow. Tony hums as he removes the necessary cords from his pocket and plugs his cell phone into himself.

"I object, since you're asking," Steve says.

"Hush, you don't count. Anyway I need my phone for later. For crucial strategic superhero reasons."

"Uh huh."

"There, there," Tony coos, stroking the side of the cell phone sweetly. "Drink up, baby." More people are staring now, which Steve can't really blame them for. Tony looks up and glares at them. "What?" he demands. "It's a perfectly natural process! Don't be so narrow-minded."

Steve wishes desperately for his naked criminal monster friend to show up soon, because Tony is just embarrassing.

Luckily, he doesn't have to wait that long; Bruce comes around the side of the barriers a few minutes later wearing his now-customary orange pajamas, and he and Steve go about signing a lot of things.

"I have a special dispensation from SHIELD to be naked in public," Bruce grumbles. "I have a condition." Steve pats him on the back.

"You didn't have it when we picked you up," Officer Connors points out.

Bruce's mouth twists wryly. "Yeah, I always lose the little card they gave me when I lose my pants. I'm thinking of getting a tattoo."

When they turn around, Tony is standing right behind them, shirt still undone to the navel and holding up his phone, which is still connected to his chest.

"I thought I was the naked Avenger," Bruce notes dryly.

Tony grins at them. "Smile!" he says, as the flash goes off.

 

3. hospitals

There's a brief lull in the action, and Natasha uses the time to reload. It's better not to rely on her Bite if she can help it. She keeps her eyes on both corridors, just in case there are any HYDRA agents hiding among the disused hospital equipment.

"Natasha?" comes Tony's voice. "You okay?"

"Fine," Natasha calls back. "Just taking a break."

She counts out four seconds before Tony speaks again, which is longer than she would've credited him for. Pepper's right; he's really grown as a person.

"Whatcha doing now?"

"Still defending you from HYDRA, Tony," Natasha says shortly. She hears him sigh even from this distance, because Tony can project.

"I'm bored," Tony yells. "So terribly, intensely, completely bored."

"Generators don't get bored," Natasha points out, rubbing her fourth finger against the grip of the gun impatiently. "And they don't talk this much."

Tony makes a wordless cry of frustration and annoyance. Natasha spots a flash of green coming around the corner, and has a bead on it immediately. Once she can confirm that it's a target, she pulls the trigger calmly. The HYDRA agent goes down.

"Need any help?" Tony calls hopefully.

"Nope. You stay where you are."

Another inarticulate moan of despair, and then, "Natasha."

Natasha doesn't respond.

"Natasha!"

"Yes?"

"Okay, one, don't do that to me. Two, I really think I haven't communicated to you the depth and pain of my current boredom."

"Oh, I think you have." Natasha picks off another guy. If they're going to insist on coming one by one, she's got plenty of ammo. HYDRA is never the greatest at tactics, though. Giant underwater tentacle robots, sure, but not so much tactics. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little bored herself, but at least she's not going to announce it to the world like she's owed something.

"Nataaaaaaaashaaaaa," Tony moans. "I am sitting in a dank hospital basement, basically inside a cupboard, in the Iron Man suit, which is not comfortable to sit in by the way, hooked into machines by my heart. I can't move. Do you understand this? I can't move, Natasha."

"Yeah, it sounds sub-optimal," Natasha agrees, taking down another HYDRA goon. "But just think of all the lives you're saving."

"Oh god, Natasha, seriously."

"You're doing great superhero work right now."

"Bruce and Clint and Thor and Steve and Carol are all probably out smashing giant underwater tentacle robots," Tony pouts. Natasha can't see his face from here, because she's watching the corridors and because he really sort of is sitting in a cupboard, but she can hear the pout in his voice.

"It's definitely unfair," she agrees. Another lull. Natasha stays sharp.

"Natashaaaaaaaaa."

"Look, you're the one who saw the lights flickering and immediately said, oh, me, let me wire myself into an entire hospital, I'll do it," Natasha points out. "And you were right, because HYDRA sabotaged the backup generators too, and there wasn't time to get everyone out."

"I feel like we didn't try hard enough."

"You were all for this when you were hooking yourself up." Tony had built an entire rig to transfer the power from his body into the hospital systems; it'd taken about twenty minutes of furious work. It'd been something to watch, actually.

"That was when I thought we'd get the generators back up! Or bring in new ones! It's been hours and hours!"

"It's been forty-five minutes."

"Whatever, Natasha, when are the new ones coming?"

Natasha hears a ding as the elevator doors open a little ways away, and the sound of the boots and the radio silence tells her it's more HYDRA guys coming to try to shut down the power.

"Probably be a while yet," she warns.

Tony groans, and makes a noise very like a man bashing his own head against the inside of a cupboard.

Natasha resolves to throw him her iPod on the next lull. She can only take so much, after all.

 

4. popcorn

"I'm telling you, it's not going to work," Bruce says. Clint rolls his eyes.

"What do you know?"

Bruce snorts. "About arc reactor technology? Less than Tony does, less than Jane does, and way, way more than you do."

Clint finally gets the bag of popcorn balanced perfectly on Tony's arc reactor and draws back with a satisfied smile, settling back in next to Natasha among the sea of cushions and blankets. He looks up at Jane, who's curled up next to Thor, focused on the movie.

"Jane?" he calls. "What do you think?"

"Not gonna work," Jane replies shortly, not even bothering to look his way. "It's called cold fusion for a reason."

Tony lets out a particularly loud snore and shifts a little in his sleep; Clint puts his hand on the popcorn to make sure it stays in place.

"Also, it's kind of skeevy that you've undressed Tony and are now using his body while he sleeps," Carol puts in. She and Rhodey bogarted the last of the previous bag of popcorn via sneaky Air Force tricks, so in Clint's opinion she should be more supportive here.

"I only unbuttoned one button," Clint protests. "And Pepper's here to supervise. Pepper, you can consent to things on Tony's behalf, right?"

Pepper shifts slowly, drawing her leg around Tony's side, settling him back a little more securely against her chest. "That's not usually how consent works," she says. "But I am in favor of this experiment. I think it has a real chance of success. And I want popcorn."

"I agree with Pepper," Thor puts in, though whether he's expressing his faith in the experiment or his desire for popcorn, Clint's not sure.

"Not gonna work," Bruce insists.

"Carol, I don't suppose you could use your magic Kree powers to pop the popcorn?" Clint asks hopefully. He's sprawled happily between Tony and Natasha and he really, really doesn't want to get up to go to the microwave.

Carol squints at the sad flat paper bag. "Yeah, I mean, maybe. Did you want it to stay in the bag and not be disintegrated as well?"

Clint sighs.

"Let's maybe not start using our superpowers indoors," Rhodey suggests, his voice muffled by the cushion his face is pressed into. There's a pause as they all look around at each other guilty, and Rhodey, sensing it, amends, "or, let's not use them in this particular case, at least. I don't want to die in something that will be reported as a bizarre popcorn-making accident."

"If Monica were here, she could probably do it," Carol offers, not at all helpfully.

"It'll work," Clint insists. "I saw it on Mythbusters, they popped popcorn with lasers."

"The arc reactor isn't a laser," Jane says. "It's a – "

pop

They all freeze, turning away from the movie and staring at the bag of popcorn on Tony's chest.

"Ha!" Clint crows, and then regrets it when Tony stirs at the noise. He waits, and after a moment Tony pushes his nose against Pepper's neck, sighs, and starts snoring again.

"Ha," Clint says, much quieter. "I told you!"

"That wasn't – " Bruce says, furrowing his brow.

"Couldn't be," Jane frowns.

"There's no way – " Bruce begins, but then is interrupted by a second, soft pop.

"See? All it took was faith!"

Natasha pats Clint's arm condescendingly. "Good work, buddy," she says. Clint doesn't let her diminish his triumph.

There's another pop, and then another, and then they start to work up to a steady rhythm. Bruce and Jane crawl over to where Clint's sprawled among the cushions and peer curiously at Tony's chest.

"What do you think, the radiation?" Jane asks. Bruce purses his lips.

Clint draws back from where he'd been celebrating his victory above Tony's unconscious body. "Uh, what? Are you saying Tony's radioactive?"

"Just a little," Bruce says, grinning up at him. "Not as much as I am. Or Carol."

"About the same amount as Thor and Steve," Jane adds.

Clint looks around; Carol shrugs, Thor looks pleased to be in the club, and Steve says nothing because he's still asleep and drooling against Thor's thigh. Clint wonders if he could pop popcorn on Steve's . . . whatever body part is most radioactive.

"So, I'm never having children," Clint says. Bruce grins.

"Relax, it's not harmful. I think. Mostly. I'm pretty sure."

"And he's the world's foremost expert on radiation," Jane adds brightly, jerking a thumb at Bruce.

Beside him, the popcorn keeps popping merrily away. Pepper reaches around Tony and adjusts the inflating bag so as to ensure even heat. Or even . . . whatever.

For some reason this motion, rather than all of the fuss and conversation that's been going on around him, is what finally wakes Tony up, snorting and blinking confusedly up at the faces of his friends.

"What – what happened?" Tony asks blearily. "Did I fall asleep during an orgy or something?" Thor and Carol laugh, Rhodey guffaws into his cushion, and Pepper smacks Tony in the arm. When Tony starts to move as if to sit up, Clint and Jane both hold him down.

"Stay down, sweetheart," Pepper says. "We're using you as a microwave."

Tony's eyes finally focus enough to see the bag on his chest. "Oh," he says. "Awesome. I didn't know I could do that."

"Is it the radiation, do you think?" Jane asks.

"It shouldn't be possible," Bruce protests.

Clint grins and gives the bag a little shake before putting it back down. "Never doubt my genius," he says.

 

5. sex

Tony takes a deep breath, listens as hard as he can to the noises around him, and tries not to move.

"Keep your eyes closed," Bruce says softly. His fingers are against Tony's chest, against his arc reactor.

"You know I don't close my eyes and let just anyone tamper with my prosthesis," Tony says, trying for a joke.

"I know." Bruce's voice is calm, controlled. Pointedly ignoring Tony's attempt at levity. Tony grits his teeth; he feels anything but controlled, feels scattered and turned on and apprehensive. There's a familiar bitter taste of adrenaline at the back of his mouth.

Tony waits through another minute of soft rustling sounds, of Bruce uncoiling cables and moving what sounds like machinery. He tries to keep breathing. He's on his hands and knees, naked, not tied to anything at all because Bruce believes in self-control.

"Bruce," he says shortly, and he feels the air warm beside him as Bruce kneels at his side.

"Yes?"

Tony swallows. "I think I'm going to need the blindfold." Bruce touches his shoulder, a fleeting pressure that's immediately gone, just enough to ratchet down Tony's excitement by a notch or two.

"Okay," Bruce says. He goes away, and comes back quickly with a length of fabric that he ties around Tony's eyes. Tony takes a breath and lets his heart rate slow; now that the choice of whether or not to look at what Bruce is doing has been taken away from him, he feels much calmer. He keeps his eyes closed behind the blindfold.

"You want me to tie your hands and feet?" Bruce asks softly. Tony knows it's not a competition, that Bruce won't think any less of him if he says yes, but he wants to do this, wants to give this to Bruce.

"No. I can take it. I can be good."

Bruce chuckles and rests his hand in the hollow of Tony's lower back. He's hot; he always runs a few degrees hotter than the average human, because he's a monster inside. Slowly, he drags the heel of his hand up Tony's spine, and Tony feels his body loosen into compliance at the hard, forceful touch.

"It's sweet that you think that," Bruce says, and Tony, who can hear the smile in his voice, lets his head hang down between his shoulders and smiles too.

Bruce kneels up closer behind him and puts his knee between Tony's thighs, nudging them apart; Tony spreads his legs willingly and tries not to wish for a spreader bar.

"That's good," Bruce murmurs. "You want to open up for me, don't you?"

Two of Bruce's slick, blunt fingers press against Tony's hole, pushing inside to stretch him out. It's quick and efficient, like a visit to the doctor's office. All business.

Tony tries to concentrate on the feeling of the soft fabric beneath his palms, the cold hard floor beneath it. They're in Bruce's suite, in his big living room with the comfy couches and plants and the wood floors; Bruce has spread some soft, thin blankets on the floor to keep it from getting too cold.

He doesn't know why Bruce wants him on the floor. He doesn't know what Bruce's plan is, though he has some educated guesses.

"Tony. I said, you want to open up for me, don't you?" Bruce says, his voice sharper than before. He adds more lube and a third finger. The lube is cold. Bruce didn't even bother to warm it up.

"Yes," Tony grits out, and gets his reward as Bruce curls his fingers inside of him, brushing his prostate. Tony can't help but make a noise.

"You want me to put you on your hands and knees, humiliate you, fuck you." Matter-of-fact, as if Bruce is unaffected by what he's doing.

"Yes," Tony says, after a few seconds. He wants to get up, struggle, try to get away; wants Bruce to hold him down, make him, force him to take it.

Bruce must see a muscle twitch, or a drop of sweat fall from Tony's forehead to the floor, or else he just knows somehow, because he says, in a soothing voice this time, "Stay where you are, Tony. Stay put."

Tony doesn't move.

After a few seconds, Bruce says, "Good boy."

Tony concentrates on not tensing up at the words.

Bruce's fingers push into him and out, in and out, in a steady rhythm that Tony can focus on. He pushes back against the penetration, and Bruce lets it slide even though he told Tony to stay still.

"I'm going to hook you up to the machine now," Bruce says, after a few minutes, and Tony sucks in a quick breath. He thought that it would be something like this; this was one of several possibilities, of course, but he'd thought –

Bruce's fingers on his arc reactor again, plugging it in; Bruce behind him lining up the machine; the feel of a slightly cold dildo pushing into his ass.

"Push back," Bruce says. "Take it inside you."

Tony does, bearing down, shuffling backwards on his knees to stretch himself over the hard, thick length of the thing. He hasn't seen it, can't see it, but it feels huge inside him.

"Jesus, Bruce," he mutters.

"Problem?"

"No, I just – give me a minute – "

"Take all the time you need," Bruce says, and it grates against Tony, that freedom, that leniency.

"I – " he can't find the words.

"You want me to turn it on? It's gonna fuck you pretty hard."

"Yes," Tony says.

"Yes, what?"

Tony bites his lip. "Yes, turn it on, yes, please – " he manages, and without another word Bruce flicks a switch somewhere. Tony feels it in his chest like a loss of breath as the fucking machine starts to draw power from him, just a split second before it whirrs smoothly to life and starts pumping slowly in and out of his ass, forcing him to take the rest of the dildo.

"What's it feel like?" Bruce asks softly, a few seconds later.

Tony grunts; his mind is taken up with the hard press of the machine into his body. The rhythm is weird, speeding and slowing without any discernable pattern. He gets lost in his head, frustrated, overwhelmed, trying to anticipate it. "What?" he gasps.

"What's it feel like," Bruce asks again. His hand slips over the arc reactor, fondles Tony's chest and then slips away. He strokes his hand along the power cord, pressing it against Tony's side and then Tony's hip until, Tony assumes, he's touching the machine instead. "What's it feel like to fuck yourself just as hard and rough as you've always wanted?"

Tony gasps, then cries out as the machine suddenly fucks him faster. He digs his fingers into the fabric under his hands, tries to spread his knees a little further to take it, to take what it's giving him –

"Because you're doing this to yourself," Bruce continues, his voice soft and kind. "God, look at you, covered in sweat, cock hard against your stomach, begging to be fucked hard by some inanimate object." Bruce touches him again, randomly, cruelly, pinching his nipples, scratching against his thigh, licking the sweat off of Tony's neck. "You're powering your own humiliation, Tony," Bruce whispers into his ear.

The machine is picking up speed, picking up speed, so that what began as slow, easy slides in and out are turning into hard fast thrusts, rocking him forward, shoving in and out of him uncaringly, mechanically.

"What – " he gasps. "How – what did you – " He's glad for the blindfold, so glad, so glad he can't see Bruce's face, just has to imagine him smirking down at him –

"I connected the fucking machine to your heartbeat and brainwaves," Bruce answers promptly. "The more you want it, the more turned on you are, the more energy it sucks out of your chest and the faster it fucks you. I'll show you the math later, it's really fascinating." A pause to let this sink in. "This is all you, Tony. This is what you do to yourself. This is what you want."

Tony groans, and holds on, and braces himself as the machine fucks into him, powered by him, controlled by him, making him hurt, making him take it, making him want more of it –

Now Bruce is in front of him; Tony didn't feel him move but he feels when Bruce's hands stroke the sides of his face, cup his jaw, and Tony knows what comes next.

"What else do you want?" Bruce asks quietly, fingertips so gentle against his face, just as merciless as the cold unfeeling machine that's pounding into his ass.

"Fuck my mouth," Tony says, hating the words, hating having to say them, "fuck my mouth, you bastard, come on, do it, fuck me – "

Bruce's thumb against the hinge of his jaw shuts him up as abruptly as if Bruce had touched a button, as if Tony's not just machine-powered but all machine, his mechanical workings laid out in front of Bruce like a disassembled car engine, neatly labeled and easily understood. His mouth falls open, and Bruce slides in, and the machine in his ass doesn't go faster this time but harder, lingering on each thrust, and jesus, what the fuck brainwaves had Bruce hooked it up to?

The angle isn't perfect and Tony's neck is going to hurt later, but for now he sucks greedily, taking it in, relieved finally of the burden of having to ask for it. Behind the blindfold he squeezes his eyes shut harder, as if something is forcing him to try to open them.

Bruce's hand closes around his wrist, brings Tony's hand up to rest on Bruce's thigh.

"Pinch if you need to me stop," Bruce breathes, and Tony wants to cry in frustration but can't, can't, is full up with Bruce's dick and can't even object to this final cruelty. "You can stop this at any time, Tony."

Tony whimpers, sucks, is fucked, keeps his hands spread flat against Bruce's thighs and doesn't pinch, doesn't pinch, doesn't pinch. Bruce fucks his mouth for what feels like a long time, holding his head. Using him the way that Tony wants to be used. After a while his hands fist in Tony's hair, tight and unforgiving, the spike of pain is enough to push him entirely over the edge into a place of pure sensation, everything around him white noise, overwhelming, drowning him out. Tony comes but it's nothing compared to the rush of the other sensations through his body: the sinking feeling in his chest from the power drain and the rough erratic fucking of the machine into his ass, the gagging slide of Bruce's dick down his throat and the twist of Bruce's hands in his hair. The deep, inescapable knowledge that he has control, that he's chosen this, that it's what he wants, what he needs.

Bruce comes in his mouth with a long, slow cry; Tony tries to swallow but some dribbles out over his lips anyway, down his chin. He must be disgusting, covered in sweat and semen and wires. He shudders as Bruce pulls out of his mouth.

"Very nice," he sighs. Tony grits his teeth, coming back to himself; the machine is still fucking in and out of him, slowing down, and now that he's not riding the edge of orgasm it's starting to hurt.

"Hmm," Bruce says, glancing back. "I wonder if I should just leave that in all night. Let it fuck you to sleep." Tony's skin goes hot and cold at the idea, but Bruce reaches back and turns it off; the machine cycles down with a few last slow thrusts before stopping. Tony lets himself slide forward and off the dildo, collapsing down onto the floor and pressing his face against a cool section of the soft, thin blanket.

Bruce rubs his back a little, then nudges him to roll over. "Come on, I need to unhook you."

Tony rolls over slowly and then tugs up the blindfold, looking up into Bruce's face. "Hey, thanks," he says, in the same tone he would offer a waiter who's brought him something old, single-malt, and single-cask. Or tries, anyway; his voice sounds slurred, his throat hurts, and he feels a little dizzy, so can't make eye contact.

Bruce laughs, hands making quick work of the cords and adapters hooked into his arc reactor. "Yeah, no problem, buddy," he says. He leans down casually, kisses Tony's mouth soft and wet. Then he pulls back briefly before moving further down, applying the same kiss to Tony's arc reactor; Tony shivers, even though he can't feel it.

"Your mouth looks good against it," Tony breathes, tracing Bruce's lips with his finger.

"Thanks," Bruce says, arching an eyebrow. "You wanna just lie here for a while? You need some water or anything?"

Tony tugs at him until he lies down too. Bruce curls up around him, expression strangely shy. "We gotta rest a bit, Bruce. You can't take me back to Pepper in this condition." His voice is hoarse and scratchy.

"I did promise her I'd tire you out," Bruce offers quietly. "But maybe we should shower before we go anywhere." He rubs his hand over Tony's stomach, splattered with semen and lube and sweat. "Even if I like you fucked-out and messy like this."

"Ugh," Tony groans. "You're so ridiculously hot."

Bruce leans in and kisses his mouth again, doesn't even make Tony ask for it, and Tony rewards him with as much tongue and teeth as he can muster the energy for. When he pulls back, Tony says, "Kiss me again," unaccountably breathless. Bruce hesitates, but knows what he means, and when he lowers his head it's to kiss the arc reactor again, mouth lingering against its soft blue glow.

"It's beautiful," Bruce says softly.

"I'm pretty fond of it," Tony agrees, and closes his eyes, just for a moment.