Chapter Text
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Anthony Edward Stark was not popular.
No, that was an understatement. He was so unpopular he was damn near hated. There we go. That was more like it.
‘But Anthony! You’re rich, intelligent, handsome, and charismatic! How could you be so unpopular?’
Well, glad you asked! Yes, he was rich. But once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to bend the hell backwards and start throwing cash at people to make them like him (superficial assholes), they called him stingy, spoiled, and self-absorbed. Yes, he was intelligent. But because of said intelligence, he was two years younger than everyone in his junior class. And it often manifested itself in a sort of sarcastic asshole-ry, so people thought he was a dick.
He was a bit of a dick when you thought about it.
So no, that didn’t help either.
He was above average as far as looks went, at least for his age, no acne or anything, but he was short and gangly, and he wore glasses because they were less time consuming than contacts. He’d rather sleep after an inventing binge than swear up and down at stupid, flimsy plastic lenses. He wore them for social events though, because Howard wanted him to look his best.
Dick. That’s probably who he inherited it from.
And his charisma only worked on stock-brokers and businessmen. High schoolers were superficial; they saw a short, skinny nerd with glasses, and no amount of personality would paint a better picture for them. But they could go straight down to hell. He was a proud nerd, and he would stick his tongue out in a fit of childish smugness as he passed them trudging to pre-calc. He did that shit at five.
So he wasn’t popular at all, to Howard and Maria’s dismay. The billionaire socialites had taken him out of his boarding school and into a public school to earn his diploma, and were shocked when he didn’t immediately grab the school population by the balls and drag it along behind him (they didn’t say that, but he just knew they were thinking it). Instead, he was dragged by the ear by either his two best friends Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts and James Rhodes for skipping class to tinker in the Engineering or Computer Science classes (“Pep, you don’t understand; I’m building an A.I, and it’ll be revolutionary, I don’t need art, come on Pep, that shit’s useless to me, why do I need to know how to draw fucking fruit?”), or by the Dean of Students Phil Coulson for blowing up a Chemistry lab again (“Owowowowowow-Sorry! It’s not my fault this time! My blowtorch was on the lowest setting, anyway! How was I supposed to know that someone hadn’t wiped down the counter of all Sodium Chloride? Why isn’t Bruce in trouble?”).
But it all went swell and fine, as far as he was concerned. His parents ignored him, and he got unlimited funds to build whatever shit he chose, in peace. He earned funding for the school through competitions? They let him tinker in peace unless it became a safety concern (like the his first time blowing up a Chemistry lab; that shit had gone so far south, but he met his Science Bro Bruce Banner in the process, so he counted it as a plus. What the hell was he even doing there to start with?). He earned a reputation as an eccentric, nerdy freak whom explosions followed daily? Well, most people left him in peace.
See the trend? Peace. He just wanted to invent in it.
Until the day came when his life went to shit by the hands of two incredibly hot young men.
Let’s take it from the top, shall we?
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Tony tightened his scarf, and cursed under his breath. He had promised Rhodey that he would watch him try out today, but the chill was starting to get to him. He swore that when he got older, he was going to move to Malibu or something to avoid this shitty weather. He waved to Rhodey, who gave a much less enthusiastic (ugh, rude) wave back. Whatever. The sport of football never appealed to him anyway. He wasn’t interested in watching the thick-as-bricks jocks knock what few brain cells they had left in what was essentially using your body as a battering ram.
But Rhodey was trying out for varsity, and so he would sit his ass on this cold bench and watch because he was nice like that. Seriously, they couldn’t invest in some cushions or something? He pulled out his phone, and became immersed in it. Whatever. They were only stretching anyway.
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Steve rolled his shoulder.
Try-outs had been brutal this year. It seemed like Coach was trying to break them slowly, running them until they were exhausted both physically and mentally. He smiled. But he couldn’t complain, because as a freshman, he couldn’t have even dreamed of being out there like that. But once he, as Bucky so eloquently put it, “came back from summer vacation built like a brick shit-house”, his social life had taken a turn for the better. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, and he emphasized that their interest was solely superficial.
Buck had just rolled his eyes and told him he needed to get laid.
Steve had punched him in his flesh arm, smirking when Bucky had yelped, and bit out that he wasn’t tiny anymore and “SHIT, Stevie! Lay off; that actually hurts now, damn it!”
So when he and Bucky left the locker room, and saw a short young man being enveloped by several larger ones, he immediately stepped forward to assist. But Bucky merely grabbed the back of his shirt, shushing him.
“The hell, Buck? We have to help him; he’s going to get pulverized!”
“That’s Stark. Trust me, you don’t have to.”
“But he’s obviously outmatched!”
“That’s hilarious, coming from you.”
“Buck-“
“Well, well, well.”
Both heads snapped up, and eyes narrowed at Michaels. He was the stereotypical bully, and Bucky always worked himself into a rage, saying that he was the one who gave football players a bad name.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, fag? Staring at us while we practice? That’s sick.”
“Please. I wouldn’t stare at you if your ass knew how to cure cancer-“
Both Bucky and Steve cringed when the inevitable punch connected with Stark’s jaw, knocking the glasses off of his face. He stayed in that position for a second, but slowly rose upwards.
“You did hit me, correct?”
“Damn right I did-“
“You understand I can sue you for assault and battery, right?”
“There’s no proof-“
Stark laughed, a dry, brittle thing.
“Proof? Who the flying fuck needs proof? I have a bruise on my face, and I say that you hit me. I’ll let the rest of the Stark’s family lawyers do the rest. Even if I can’t get any money out of you, I’ll make sure they drag this shit out as long as possible. Lose-lose for you, asshole. You can fight us and lose, and we get everything you own, or you can fight us and win, but still lose a shit-ton of money in legal fees. So touch me again. Any of you. I dare you.”
All of the bullies seemed to back away almost instantaneously at the unflinching glare he shot them, bruise already blossoming on his cheek. Michaels looked torn between punching him again and fleeing, but Tony held his gaze the longest, slow smirk spreading that just screamed ‘I win, you lose, haha motherfucker~’. His own cheeks warmed without his consent, and Steve couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of a crush develop. Damn it. He couldn’t help it, alright? Strong, sure, brave, quick-witted, and sharp-tongued people were his type. Just ask Sharon or Peggy.
And then Tony snapped a foot across Michaels face, and Bucky felt himself warm. As one, the others swarmed on him, and while he wasn’t going to win any competitions any time soon, his form was decent and his strikes were swift. The little asshole didn’t seem to be scared at all, looking more disgruntled than anything. And Natasha would testify that he liked his lovers a little bit dangerous, a little bit bitchy, and more than anything competent and tough. All of his true desires wrapped up into a mussed, adorable yet somehow still sexy package. Check, check, and double-check, requirements met.
They both let out matching sighs/groans of pure desire and ‘wow’.
And then they turned to the other.
See, they had been friends since they were in diapers. They grew up playing together, and got along like a house on fire. They helped each other through their rough patches. Bucky helped Steve out of fights when he was a scrawny runt filled to the brim with justice, and Steve dragged Bucky to class and made sure he didn’t fail. They liked the same things, accepted the others flaws, etc. And normally, their taste in lovers were pretty different, luckily removing conflict in that area (Natasha had been an…odd occurrence, but they didn’t talk about Natasha where she might hear them, which was everywhere).They never had any true problems, to be honest.
But this would be a problem, it seemed.
“I saw him first, jerk.”
“I don’t think so, punk. I call dibs.”
“The hell you do! You can’t call dibs on a person.”
“I can, and I just did.”
“…No.”
“What?”
“I said no.”
“Steve. Stevie. I called dibs. It is against the Bro Code to deny me that, you are breaking the Bro Code-“
“Well, what does the Bro Code say about when two best friends like the same guy?”
“…Neither gets them but still-“
“Point. You’re breaking the Bro Code. So I’m breaking it too.”
“When did you become such a little shit-“
“I was born a little shit, according to you, and I’m taller than you now-“
“Still a shit-“
“I like him more!”
“No, you don’t!”
“You got Natasha!”
“First of all, no I didn’t, that was weird and pretty deadly and we were both stupid as shit, don’t bring that up, we don’t talk about that; and secondly, that is so not the same and you know it-“
Tony continued on, unaware of his arguing audience. He was a billionaire’s son, after all. So that meant training in case of emergencies, such as kidnappings (he’d had six, four of which he’d escaped on his own), hostage situations (highest was for ten million, he was insulted that they thought that was all he was worth), swarming paparazzi (kicking a camera out of someone’s hand felt extremely gratifying), overenthusiastic fans/stalkers (most common, least threatening), the works. He didn’t really like to use it often, because that started a lot of shit that he didn’t want to deal with. But that asshole looked so smug and he was so tall and it was cold and he was tired and he had been on an inventing binge and hadn’t had his coffee in a while so it all added up to him kicking him in the face.
Thank you, gymnastics for that wonderful flexibility.
Sure, he was covered in bruises and he’d probably have to have Jarvis check over one of his ribs, but he was satisfied with the outcome. So he dusted his hands, and took notice of the two guys arguing by the doorway.
Holy shit they were gorgeous.
What even is his life?
They were both tall, they were both muscular, and they were both Tony’s wet dreams made a reality. The blonde one had the whole clean-cut All-American look about him, from the neatly combed hair to the sparkling blue eyes. The brunette was almost the opposite, long hair in a haphazard ponytail and eyes dark with mischief. He felt like fanning himself, when they both looked at him.
Shit.
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Shit.
His eyes were pretty. And his face was pretty. And everything about him was perfect. This merely solidified the fact that neither were going to back down on this one. One of them was going to end up bitter and lonely and jealous, and they both thought the same thing.
“It damn sure’s not going to be me.”
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