Chapter Text
This was it. This was the final straw. He was going to murder Obadiah Stane if it’s the last thing he did. Tony had worked himself to death in the few short years he had been C.E.O of ol’ daddy’s company, and the first vacation he’s taken yet was turning out to be crap.
“No worries, I already have a beautiful apartment ready for you,” Stane had said. “I got new furniture moved there and everything!”
What he meant to say was, “I scrounged out a dirty, grimy apartment from the depths of Brooklyn’s slums and had a FedEx dude dump boxes of unassembled furniture in the lobby. Get back to California as soon as you can and make more money.”
His private jet usage had been restricted since the incident with the sloths, so he had to take a commercial airplane and four taxis, to get to the the crumbling broken down building that was to be his get away apartment for the month. Graffiti covered every wall, broken windows were covered haphazardly with duct tape, and paint peeled off the walls like it too was fleeing from the building. The lobby carpet was worn to the nub and was suspiciously squishy at places, not to mention the stench of stale milk.
There wasn’t a soul in sight, not even behind the counter, his boxes (labeled “TOMY STAR”) were piled on top of each other in the far corner.
And he sighed. Sighed so deep he nearly ran out of air, as exhaustion seeped into his bones anger seeped out. All he wanted was a break. He had been through hell these last few years, with M.I.T, his parent’s car crash, alcohol, and now Stark Industries, each biting off a chunk of his sanity.
He ran a hand down his face with another sigh and dropped his luggage in front of the box pile. Tomorrow he was going to book a hotel in NYC, some big fancy building with a bar and jacuzzi. But currently, he was too tired to care.
Coffee. He needed coffee like he needed air in his lungs. Or he’d settle for vodka instead. Or both. Right now he needed to pass out, but first he had to unbox his mattress (who the hell boxes a mattress in the first place) and no way was he doing that before drowning himself in some sort of beverage.
Tony was fairly certain there was a cafe or something across the street from his so he planned to sit there for a while until he got his life together, not really caring if anyone stole his luggage or even some of the boxes. Hell someone could mug him and at most he’d offer a cheesy one liner. He slumped out of the lobby and practically absorbed the fresh air while eyeing the small cafe. Cursive script on it’s oval sign simply read “Roger’s Cafe", a brown canopy hanging below it.
He crossed over to it and was nearly plowed down by a group of laughing, whooping college students as he opened the door.
“Traitors!” called an equally amused voice from within the cafe. Tony walked in, and briefly considered walking out again. The source of the voice wasn’t just a hot blond worker, it was a six-foot, all-american, beefcake of a hot blond worker, who was staring right at Tony. Tony in all of his ratty, funky-smelling, unshaven, and sleep deprived glory.
He groaned internally, 'Why can’t the hot ones ever catch me after photo op or something?'
Blondie didn't seem to mind that a literal trash can just walked into his store, bafflingly he seemed a little embarrassed himself.
“Oh shoot, I’m really sorry about my friends. They’re uh… I’m sorry I really don’t have an excuse for that. I’m sorry.” He gave a tentative smile, unaware that Tony was counting his blessings. From what he could tell, Hot Guy wasn't disgusted by him (the fact that, with all the news coverage he’s been getting, the whole goddamn world and a few little green men knew he was a billionaire might have helped). If he played his cards right, his night could be very fun. Though, it’d have to happen at Muscle Mountain’s place.
Exhaustion forgotten, he sauntered over to the counter, taking note of how the shining beige walls and hardwood floors contradicted the mucky outside of the neighborhood. “Don’t worry about it, my friends are worse. Ever had a one night stand walk out on you because your friend burst in with two assault rifles, a handgun, and a grenade?”
He was met with a laugh so warm he felt himself blush. Oh what he wouldn't do to hear that one more time.
“No I’m afraid not. But, I did have a friend accidentally toss a bowling ball at an ex’s dick.”
It was Tony’s turn to laugh now. Plus, he had half a mind to sing hallelujah after he heard the words ‘ex’s dick’. The chance that Mr Sexy was attracted to dicks made bedding him a lot easier.
“So what can I get you?”
“Hm? Damn. Sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be checking out the menu, not you. But both are looking pretty delicious.”
Tall Blond and Handsome raised his eyebrows. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
“Oh it might, but right now you’re holding up my line.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to finish this later, right now I’ll have a large pineapple smoothie, and your name.” Tony winked, while Cutie rolled his eyes with an amused smile.
“That’ll be three forty-six, and only if I get yours.”
Tony blanked for a second, the dude had no idea who Tony was. He was depending on his fame to impress Hottie and he had no idea who Tony was. Hottie was letting himself be wooed by a trash can. Before Tony could muse over this thought for long, some dude behind him cleared his throat. Loudly.
“Yeah of course, you’ll need something to scream later. It’s Tony.”
“Well Tony, I’m Steve, here’s your receipt, and your order number the only thing I’m screaming tonight. ”
“We’ll see about that.” Tony took the receipt with a little more contact that necessary. This month might not turn out to be such a bummer after all if he had Steve to keep him company.
It was only when he got back to the table and his blood rushed back into his brain that several things hit him.
One. He was still wearing the worn out hole-ridden T-shirt and jeans he had put on two days earlier.
Two. Steve was utterly completely out of his league.
Three. He kinda wanted to ask Steve out. A one night stand seemed great, but it being preceded with a few hours of getting to know Steve seemed even better.
Four. He probably overstepped his boundaries and took Steve’s mandatory workplace politeness as Steve returning his gestures.
Five. He just sacrificed his coffee for the sake of an innuendo.
He groaned and rested his head on the table.