Work Text:
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Tony peered into the gym.
The constant *thump* caused by fists against punching bags were absent, as well as the *clang* of exercise equipment. He figured as much, since Bucky, Steve, and Natasha were off in some undisclosed country (that he would hack into SHIELD's servers and find out later), doing badass spy stuff and toppling governments or whatever. Clint usually stuck to the archery range at SHIELD if Natasha was absent, because she was his main sparring partner. And Thor was off-planet saving space alongside the Warrior's Three (who really knew how to fight/party, and he didn't know which they were better at). And Bruce? Well, Bruce didn't really hit the gym anyway. Convinced that the vast gym was empty, Tony made his way over to the sparring mats. He had to admit, they weren't as ideal as his specialty mats back at his Malibu gym, but he never really went there anymore. It felt too...empty. And he couldn't exactly uproot the current mats in Avengers Tower without people raising some questions.
He didn't want anyone asking questions.
Because what he did? It wasn't a skill. It was more of a...hobby. That was close. He had done it briefly as a child, before his father had so eloquently stated that he thought the sport was for weaklings and that the future inheritor of Stark Industries wouldn't be caught dead doing something so effeminate. Now, he didn't think it was effeminate. He knew that it took raw power and strength combined with agility and flexibility, and that it was a challenge for either gender. That wasn't why he kept it a secret.
He kept it a secret because he didn't want it to become a tool.
He enjoyed it. Loved it, even. Whenever he was down or stressed, he could clear his mind and just focus on the feeling of it. It was like flying, but flying had become a tool; something he couldn't just enjoy anymore. There was always an undercurrent of somewhere to go or something to do. So he kept it a secret.
Tony Stark enjoyed gymnastics.
He really did love it. And he had to admit, it made balancing the suit, pulling off aerial acrobatics, and performing the miniscule adjustments needed to keep his flight path straight easier. People assumed that if a regular person, especially the 'soft, squishy, entitled human' that was Tony Stark could do it, it must be easy. And it wasn't. Even Rhodey, an accomplished airman, had looked at him in shock after his first few flights and admitted that flying was really, really damn hard. No one really thought it through. If pilots have to be on their top game while they flew an airplane, imagine having all of those controls and more in front of your face, and using your whole body instead of just your hands. And having the time and money to build an army of suits, because you needed to fit the suit to their height and weight; there was no one size fits all.
Yeah. Hammer missed a few variables when he thought up that plan.
But anyway. He always started rambling whenever he thought of that idiotic asshole Justin Hammer.
So he cleared his head, snapped his fingers at JARVIS, and let 'Thunderstruck' play as he stretched.
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Clint Barton was asleep in the vent near the gym when music started up in the gym. It snatched him from his slumber, and he glared. He knew that half of his team was gone, and that the only buttmunch that played that shit was Stark. But he avoided the gym like the plague, laughing about how he didn't need to build up muscle mass, because his most important muscle weighed five to ten pounds and was above his neck. So besides the occasional spar that his boyfriends yanked him into, Stark didn't frequent the gym. Curiosity peaked, he maneuvered his way to the vent by the gym, peering down through various grates until he found Stark. What he found left him amazed and extremely amused.
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Tony stretched and pulled, enjoying the pleasant burn. He had been hunched over his workshop table for hours, and it left him stiff. A warm shower afterwards would do him well. He always began with his regular reps first: sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, etc. He was grateful for the lack of a hunk of metal (no matter how advanced) in his sternum, but there was nothing they could really do about the lung capacity and such. So he had to rely on old-fashioned exercise to help with that. He didn't want to become too bulky, because that would mean readjusting the measurements of all of his suits. Not that he couldn't do that, but still.
That would take a lot of time.
So he didn't aim to earn a Steve and/or Bucky-level build (if that was even possible). He just wanted to be trim enough to be considered muscular and healthy. Afterwards, humming absently to the music (he couldn't play it when he worked out with others in the Tower; it would draw attention), he began to actually stretch. Bucky always commented on how flexible he was in bed, and he would brush it off as a joke, but he really did work to maintain it. As a matter of fact, he often frequented a yoga class in disguise under the impression that he was leaving on business. He kept his gear in the trunk of his least conspicuous but still kind of conspicuous car to avoid 'white girl' jokes that would get Clint punched by both him and Natasha.
But, yes. Whenever it was convenient, he worked on it. He had a mini-heart attack when he was sparring with Natasha once and he ducked under the leg she had swept.
Backwards.
He had to deal with her narrowed-eyed glances for a week, which was very intimidating. And Bucky and Steve looked a little suspicious as well. But through evasion and more than a little whining to cover his tracks, it had gone unnoticed. Mostly. So he was much more careful about the moves he pulled when sparring with others.
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Tony was away in Tokyo on business when Clint finally disclosed what he'd witnessed.
"Clint. Clint, calm down."
"I cannot calm down! Stark? A gymnast?"
"Look, Barton. I take pride in knowing my boyfriend. And a gymnast? I don't think so."
"He's sort of right, Clint. Tony's not the...athletic...type."
Clint narrowed his eyes.
"Look. I didn't believe it either. But JARVIS probably recorded it. JARVIS?"
"Sirs. I do not believe intruding on sir's privacy is the best option."
"Look, JARVIS. We really aren't going to cause him any harm. Besides, it'll put our minds at ease a little knowing that he's healthy."
"Yeah. And Barton here is probably over-reacting anyways."
JARVIS was silent for a moment, before the TV in the Common Area flickered to life. They all sat down, Steve wearing an unsure face, Clint an excited one, and Bucky and Natasha wearing straight up skeptical expressions.
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They all sat there with disbelieving faces on. It almost didn't compute. Tony had bent, and tumbled, and jumped; with a skill that reeked of confidence and knowledge of what he was doing. Clint was gesturing wildly towards the screen, obviously emphasizing the truth of his claims. Natasha just blinked.
"I didn't teach him that."
"Well, damn, who did?"
"I had a hunch that he wasn't as out-of-shape as he wanted us to think. He pulled some maneuvers that you'd have to be pretty damn flexible for, probably unconsciously."
"And he's pulled some maneuvers that you'd have to be pretty flexible for consciously too."
Steve pushed Bucky off the couch; Bucky letting out an 'oof'.
"You know I'm right, punk."
"Shut the hell up, jerk."
Clint mimed gagging.
"As amazing as hearing about your sex life is, are we going to talk about how Tony is basically the grown man version of a fucking male cheerleader?"
"What's there to talk about? None of us had any solid idea about this. Tony probably wanted it to stay that way."
"Why? We wouldn't have made fun of him for it."
"Well, I might have-OW! Shit, Barnes!"
"Don't mock my fella."
Clint rubbed his arm up and down, pouting. Natasha rolled her eyes at the three.
"Look. We'll just pretend we don't know about it for now. If he wants to tell us about it, he will. But now we know not to feel guilty about bending him out of shape."
"Are you still pissed off about the dodging your kick thing-OW! Fuck!"
"Looks like you need to practice dodging kicks, Barton."
Steve looked downwards, where Bucky was still laying.
"You alright, Buck?"
"Yeah. I wonder if I could convince Tony to do a routine in a cheerleading outfit."
Steve rolled his eyes. But he was sort of wondering that too, now.
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