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“What – but, you can’t–” Tony sat heavily on his bed, barely able string together a sentence from the shock of his father’s verdict.
Howard’s glare deepened, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, boy. Your wild behavior has gone on long enough, and I refuse to fund any more of it.”
Tony’s mouth flapped open and closed a few times before he found the words he needed to get out. “OK, point made, I–I–I won’t go to any more parties, I’ll focus completely on my classes, on – on the projects for SI, I know the R&D department is still waiting on a few...” Tony trailed off at the unwavering expression on his father’s face.
He’d fucked up again, getting wasted despite still being a year underage, and woke up to seeing his face plastered on the front page. Tony didn’t know if it was just one party too many, or the fact that the photo clearly showed Tony sucking face with another man, but he knew arguing against Howard was a lost cause. Not that that had stopped him before.
Fresh anger blossomed at Howard’s indifference, and Tony spat out, “You keep preaching to me about getting my degrees as quickly as possible, that I need to live up to the Stark name and be ready to inherit the company next year. Well how the fuck am I supposed to do all that without the money for my classes?”
Howard shrugged, unperturbed. “Get a job. You’re always complaining that you’ve never had a normal childhood – well now you’ll be able to juggle your studies and making rent just like your classmates. Have fun.”
And with that he turned and left Tony’s dorm room. He fucking left, as if he hadn’t just doomed Tony to even more stress throughout his college career. ‘Old bastard, couldn’t give less of a shit.’
Exhaling loudly, Tony swiped a hand through his hair, messing up the tangled locks even more. What was he going to do? MIT didn’t come cheap, and he hadn’t accepted any of the scholarships he’d been offered because Howard had been footing the bill. He’d have to get a job, but he just knew that applying at the grocery store or something wouldn’t end well. He needed something that would help him burn off energy, otherwise he’d go back to the dancing and drinking.
Although, perhaps dancing had potential. Tony’s head perked up, his gaze going vacant as he recalled a conversation he’d overheard. ‘What was that place called? The – no, it was a single word. Goddamit what wa– SHIELD!’
Kind of a strange name for a strip club, but if Tony remembered correctly, they were hiring at the moment. Now he may not have had sex yet, but Tony knew what felt good. He sure as hell didn’t doubt his dancing abilities either. Some gyrating here and there during parties had been commonplace, both done by or to him, and he’d left more than few people longing for more with teasing moves.
A grin slowly graced Tony’s face, the first one since getting a call from Howard a couple days ago, about needing to talk. He was by far a quick learner; he could do this. He’d earn some money for himself, and shove his success into Howard’s face once he finished his degrees.
*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****
4 months later
T’Challa let out a relieved sigh, rising from his chair to shake hands with his newest business partner. His father had allowed him full reign over this new international business, after T’Challa had professed a longing to open Wakanda’s borders again. Despite the fact that their economy was flourishing, even in isolation, he wanted more for his people.
While their country was not putting out a welcome banner just yet, King T’Chaka had helped him start this new company for his 28th birthday. Their potential partners all went through a vigorous background check, but T’Challa felt no small amount of glee each time a meeting went through successfully.
However, even if the professional part of the meeting went well, T’Challa sometimes had to accompany the other business owners as a celebration. So far, the events were commonplace – getting a drink, going to one of their secluded properties for a party. He should have predicted that these sorts of men would partake in more private celebrations too.
“I know this great joint. It may not be your usual choice for cutting loose, but trust me when I say you’ll enjoy yourself by the time the night’s done,” the man, a Bryan Daley, leered.
T’Challa fought not to grimace at his words, and inclined his head in acquiescence. “Where is this place then?”
“I’ll have my driver take us there, it’s almost 8:30 anyways. Our meeting went longer than I thought.” T’Challa looked out the large window of the conference room, seeing that it was indeed much darker than when they had started discussing ideas for their businesses.
He was still a little hesitant, but it was when Bryan said, “Your bodyguards can of course accompany us – the more the merrier, I say!” that T’Challa’s mind was made up. He would not miss a chance to see the reactions of the Dora Milaje at a club in New York.
*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****
Once at the club, Bryan strolled right through without a moment of hesitance, leading T’Challa to assume that he was a regular attendant. He was proved right when Bryan led him to the bar to order drinks, greeting near everyone working there by name. A booth by the far wall was opened for them, and T’Challa took a moment to look around after sitting down.
Multi-colored lights flashed constantly from corners of the room, with a few steady lights shining down on small stages scattered around the room. A group of men, most in suits, were seated around the circular platforms, chatting amicably even as they stared hungrily at the performers twirling around the poles.
T’Challa couldn’t help but feel some sort of awe for the men and women who put themselves on display in such a way. It took a new level of bravery and determination to do so, particularly dressed in such tight and little clothing as they were. He watched avidly as a woman near them clung to the pole with a single arm, bringing her legs up so that her feet were pointed at the ceiling and she was looking at the ground.
She brought her legs out into a split, then hooked her right leg around the pole, relinquishing her grip ever so slightly so that she slid down to about a couple feet off the ground. The sheer control that she and the other dancers must have over their muscles was amazing to imagine.
Turning his gaze to another stage, keeping one ear on his associate’s constant gossiping, T’Challa’s mouth fell open at the dancer he found there. The young man’s tanned skin shimmered under the lights, glitter highlighting his cheekbones and sprinkled across his bare chest, a fine layer of sweat covering the rest of him. Sinfully tight shorts accented his round ass, the pants’ legs sneaking further upward when he bent forward to lean against the pole in front of him.
Wavy brown hair was deliberately messed up, more glitter hidden between curls. A smirking mouth opened for a pink tongue to dart out, wetting red glossed lips, white teeth following to bite the lower lip playfully. But it was the man’s eyes that T’Challa was drawn to in the end. Dark brown, made more intense with black kohl outlining them, but warm nonetheless as they met T’Challa’s mesmerized gaze.
A coy smile, mischievous eyes clearly looking him up and down before the man returned to his work. An elbow nudging him in the arm brought T’Challa out of his revere, and he turned towards Bryan to see him wink and nod towards the young man. “Would you like me to bring him over? I know you won’t regret it.”
The way Bryan stated it rubbed T’Challa wrong, despite him knowing that these men and women had to cater to most anyone who asked for a personal show. Still, the thought of Bryan and anyone else laying a hand on the young man made T’Challa’s skin itch with displeasure. He was about to decline Bryan’s offer, but the man was already asking a waitress to bring the stripper T’Challa had been looking at over to their booth.
T’Challa felt frozen to his seat, watching as the young man’s attention was caught by the waitress motioning to him. He blew a kiss to the group of men sitting around his stage, then sauntered off the platform, hips still moving in time with the music blasting through the club.
As he approached, T’Challa realized that the man was wearing red stiletto platform shoes, and couldn’t help the wave of lust that went through him. Reaching their booth, the man cocked a hip to the side, asking in a husky voice, “Now who’s the lucky one tonight?”
T’Challa swallowed reflexively as Bryan pointed at him, mouth suddenly dessert dry as the dancer’s full attention was directed at him. A few more steps, and suddenly T’Challa had a lapful of his newest obsession. T’Challa could hardly breathe.
The young man – and with his up close and personal view, T’Challa could see that he was even younger than previously thought – smirked down at him. Laying warm hands on T’Challa’s shoulders, he bent closer to whisper into T’Challa’s ear, “Name’s Tony, hot stuff. Just sit back, and let me take care of you tonight.”
T’Challa shivered as Tony got situated, knees on either side of his thighs, hands gripping his shoulders as Tony started rolling his hips in time with the music. T’Challa already felt like he was going to explode, and Tony had barely begun. Teasing brushes across his lap made him yearn for more, Tony’s bare chest meeting his suited one every now and then, most probably leaving him covered with glitter. He could not help but raise his hands, meaning to lay them on Tony’s shapely thighs, when Tony caught them in his own.
T’Challa snapped out of his daze when Tony lowered his hands back down to the seat. Tony did not break rhythm for a second, only inclining his head to the right as he said, “You can’t touch me, or else security will come over and break your fingers.”
A quick glance where Tony had gestured, and T’Challa saw two muscular guards keeping a sharp eye for anyone disobeying the rules. Not that his Dora Milaje would allow anyone to harm him, but T’Challa certainly did not want to bring this evening to an end quite yet.
A sudden, harder press across his crotch brought T’Challa’s attention straight back to Tony. The young man was grinning at him, brown eyes sparkling with mischief, body still in constant motion, taut abs rippling with each movement.
And yet T’Challa couldn’t help but notice other details as well. Dark shadows underneath those same eyes, the beginnings of red tinging the whites encircling the brown. Slender hips, though looking delectable, moving upwards to a chest in which ribs were just barely starting to show. The smirk that was next thrown T’Challa’s way, was tinged with nerves as Tony’s eyes darted towards something behind him, before returning to meet T’Challa’s gaze.
Tony’s face softened for a moment, allowing himself a brief respite before bringing his movements back to the rhythm of the music in time for the song to finish. He brought himself down once more, his lips ghosting across T’Challa’s before pulling away to stand up once more. T’Challa found himself missing Tony’s warm presence instantly.
“I’m afraid that’s it for tonight hon, unless you’re willing to dish out some more money later.” Tony winked at T’Challa as he turned to walk away, saying in a stage-whisper, “I’m kind of hoping you do.”
T’Challa hadn’t blushed like this in years, and quickly turned his gaze away from Tony’s retreating figure. Only to meet the knowing gazes of the Dora Milaje, and with a huff, T’Challa looked back towards Tony.
Only to frown in concern as he saw Tony being dragged through a back door, the two guards from before gripping onto his arms as he clearly struggled to pull away. With a brisk nod at his own bodyguards, T’Challa stood. Turning towards Bryan, he said quickly, “I thank you for the invite, but I’m afraid I must cut this evening short.”
Ignoring Bryan’s half-hearted protests, T’Challa strode towards the door in which Tony had disappeared. It seemed the sight of him and the group of powerful women beside him was intimidating enough to keep anyone from obstructing their path, and they reached the door in an instant. Wrenching it open, T’Challa felt a wave of fury go through him at the sight that met them.
The door led to an alley beside the club, but there was enough light for T’Challa to clearly see Tony being held against the opposite wall by the two security guards. A bruise was already blossoming across his temple, and judging from the way Tony was gasping for air and the red mark on his stomach, he had just been punched a second time.
A new third man was there as well, supposedly the one who’d hit Tony, and he spun around as the door slammed shut. “What’s the meaning of this? Don’t you know this is private property?” He yelled, blond locks waving with the movement.
T’Challa straightened his back, preparing himself for action if needed, but first saying calmly, “Step away from Tony, and you will be allowed to walk away.”
The man scoffed, then pointed at Tony. “This brat owes me money, and you’re trespassing. Get the hell out of here before I call the police.”
“Fuck you Killian, I owe you shit!” Tony shouted angrily, wincing as the guards tightened their hold on his arms. Killian’s eyes flashed with anger, and he turned away from T’Challa to backhand Tony. The loud slap echoed throughout the alley, but by then T’Challa was already moving.
He personally took glee in bringing Killian down with a few strategically placed blows, and he turned away from the groaning man to see that his warriors had made short work of the other two as well.
Taking big strides, T’Challa crossed the distance between him and Tony, helping him to his feet from where he had been tossed down in the fight. With a grimace, Tony held onto T’Challa’s shoulder, wrenching his heels off before releasing a sigh. He grinned up at T’Challa, when a moment ago he had been at eye-level with the man. “I love those shoes, but man, they kill my feet on bad days.”
T’Challa couldn’t help but smile back, before becoming serious again. “Are you all right Anthony? Do you require medical attention?”
Tony pouted at him. “Don’t you go all mother hen on me, because that’s definitely not sexy. Not like how you looked at me in the club, all dark, smooth and mysterious. Although I have to admit that I’m a fan of how you said my name just now, and usually it’s a no-go on the full name business. Which reminds me, I don’t even know your name!” Tony paused, then batted his eyelashes dramatically, saying, “Or should I just call you my knight in shining armor?”
T’Challa had to take a second or two to process all that had left Tony’s mouth, and by then he wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or to blush again. It seemed he took a moment too long to respond, for Tony’s face fell ever so slightly, before he let go of T’Challa’s shoulder.
“Never mind, you don’t owe me anything. Um, thanks for saving me and all, but don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You can, uh, go back to your friend in the club.” Tony bent to pick up his shoes then started to turn away, and T’Challa just knew that he could not let Tony take another step.
Catching Tony’s hand in his, T’Challa tugged Tony back to his side ever so slightly. Smiling down at Tony’s surprised expression, he said softly, “I did not mean to distress you, but I have something to admit as well. I have been captivated by you from the moment I laid eyes on you on that stage. I simply got lost in your presence just now, and I hope you’ll forgive me for the hesitation.”
A truly endearing blush crossed Tony’s face, and T’Challa couldn’t help but brush a thumb over his cheek. Then he realized that Tony was still only wearing his shorts, and quickly took off his suit jacket to drape over Tony’s shoulders. “Oh my god, gorgeous, protective and a romantic? How could I be so lucky?” Tony teased, tucking himself into T’Challa’s side to hide his darkening blush.
Chuckling, T’Challa gestured to the Dora Milaje to follow him, carefully leading Tony around the still unconscious men. “Come, let me at least dress your wounds. I have a hotel room not far from here.”
A brief moment of hesitation, then Tony sighed, sinking further into T’Challa’s side. “All right.”
*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****
“And Howard hasn’t contacted you since?” T’Challa frowned, placing a tea bag into the mugs of hot water he’d prepared. Taking a firm hold on them, he walked back to the living room where Tony was sitting.
“Only once, to make sure I was still completing my SI projects. Which, duh, I’m not going to neglect since I actually like working on them. It’s Howard’s weapons that I could care less about.” Tony burrowed further into the burgundy sweater T’Challa had lent him, legs warming up in the too-big pajama pants he was also borrowing. He accepted the mug of tea from T’Challa gladly, and took a sip. Sighing happily, he closed his eyes as he relaxed back into the sofa cushion.
T’Challa smiled fondly at the sight, his mind still in a whirl after all that had happened tonight. This young man that he had become so enamored with, was none other than Anthony Stark, heir to Stark Industries. He was due to inherit the company in a year, when he turned 21, but until then had been practically abandoned as he finished up his studies.
The thought brought another frown to T’Challa’s face. After hearing Tony’s story, T’Challa had promised Tony that he could help him, money-wise. T’Challa could still remember how skinny Tony was in the club, and he knew that he couldn’t let that go on any longer. And he would be having words with the elder Stark at the next possible time.
He had actually been in contact with Howard Stark a few weeks ago, when the man had attempted to arrange a meeting. T’Challa had not been interested, and did not take kindly to Howard’s attitude either. Tony’s astounded expression when he heard that his “savior” was none other than the heir to the Wakandan throne still made T’Challa chuckle. But Tony’s laughter at how Howard had been dismissed like a child after his and T’Challa’s phone call was priceless.
“Your face is going all sappy again,” Tony muttered, his cheeks rosy once again, eyelids heavy as he looked over at T’Challa.
T’Challa leaned in closer, putting an arm around Tony when he snuggled up against T’Challa. “They are thoughts of you that make me do so,” he whispered, huffing out a laugh when Tony buried his burning face into T’Challa’s chest.
Combing his fingers through Tony’s shower-damp curls, T’Challa said softly, “I would like to ask you on a date, if it does not make you uncomfortable.” Sighing, he continued, “I know the circumstances of our meeting were not ideal, but that is why I’d like the chance to make things right.”
T’Challa tucked two fingers under Tony’s chin when he did not move, and lifted his head to meet those wide brown eyes with his own. “Allow me at least one date, and I’ll leave it up to you whether you’d like to continue building this or not.”
Tony blinked, eyes still wide and somewhat teary as he peered up at T’Challa. Swallowing, he managed a hoarse, “All right. Yeah, I’d love to go on a date with you.”
T’Challa smiled brightly at Tony, who had used up all his courage it seemed, once again tucking his face into T’Challa’s neck. Feeling an overwhelming fondness for this man, T’Challa couldn’t help but hold him close, placing a soft kiss on the top of Tony’s head.