(no subject)

[capsicle1919]

*post-battle (genetically-engineered pterodactyls, really?), Steve arrives via helicopter back at the Tower, hops out and gives a tired wave to Natasha and Clint as they power down, makes his way inside and down the elevator to the debriefing room, which is not, in fact, where they are debriefed - that happens at SHIELD - but rather where they shower and change, and so named because Tony decided it's where they are de-briefed, and Steve's never been able to think of it as anything else, goddammit*

Hey. *nods at Bruce, who is drinking a gallon of Gatorade, passes him by and heads straight for the showers, leaning his shield against the wall, starts stripping out of his damaged, blood-spattered uniform*

Comments

[capsicle1919]

*squawks when a towel hits him in the face, squawks again when he shuts off the water and Natasha is there, in the altogether* I hate today. *averts his eyes to the ceiling, holds Tony's towel in front of himself* Uh, no thanks, Natasha. Not today, anyway. I'll let you know, though.

[thestarkside]

THANKS FOR THE DRIVE-BY, NATASHA. *knows he'll pay for that later, doesn't even care, jumps up and looks at himself in the mirror, futzes with his hair* Steve, buddy, waiting on an answer.

[capsicle1919]

*sighs, uses the towel to dry his hair, giving up on any shred of dignity he might have left* I weigh 240 pounds, and I'm six-foot-two. *huffs a little* Man, I'll never get used to saying that. *laughs a little* I was five-foot-five and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, before. Really strange. *wraps the towel around his waist and goes to look in his locker for a spare set of clothes* Are you really going to alter your suit for this, Tony?

[thestarkside]

*looks over at him* Are you wearing my towel? You totally are, hah. It's mostly software alteration, and getting the suit to be able to compensate for various circumstances is only ever a good thing. Hardware'll be minimal, just needs an extra plate or two in the shoulder area, though you'll have to come by to test it out, hard to tell going off basic arm length measurements. PS, your body dysmorphia makes me want to hug you, just a heads up.

[capsicle1919]

*frowns* There's no sense being wasteful. *blinks* My body- what? Is that another innuendo? Are you just making up words for it, now?

[thestarkside]

It's a real thing! *protests* A mental disorder thing, don't worry about it, you don't really have it or if you do it'd be called something different, just meant your whole thing with feeling like your body isn't really yours, never mind, we can just say it's mine and call it even. *grins*

[capsicle1919]

*rolls his eyes* Only you'd find mental illness a turn-on, Tony. *flings his towel at Tony's face, covering that smirk for just long enough to pull on his underpants*

[thestarkside]

*pulls the towel off his face immediately, and -- stares a little* I could name tons of mental illnesses that are total turn-ons. You'd be shocked at how many there are these days, gumdrop, shocked. *looks away, drumming his fingers on his thigh, then glances back, because, well*

[capsicle1919]

*pulls on his jeans, gives Tony a look* If crazy is a turn-on, Tony, then that explains you're the best-looking guy of all of us. *reaches for a sleeveless shirt and shrugs it on, it's a little tight but it's really hard to find shirts that fit him well* By the way, if I'm ever killed in action, it's now your job to identify my body. You've got every inch of me memorized by now. *makes a face*

[thestarkside]

*leers* Not every inch -- hey. *blinks, and the leer turns into a genuine (if slightly pervy) grin* Hey, if I didn't know better, I'd think that was a compliment.

[capsicle1919]

Of course you would. *shuts his locker* What are you up to, now?

[thestarkside]

*shrugs* Nothing definite planned. Depends if you want to go along with my idea or not.

[capsicle1919]

Fine. Okay. I'm in - if you're really going to be my new taxi service, I'll help. *grins*

[thestarkside]

*scoffs, but can't hide how pleased he is* Taxi. *bounces up, points at him* I'll show you taxi, Rogers. I'm the sweetest ride you'll ever have.

[capsicle1919]

Sorry, but you ain't no Harley. *points back* Food, first. I'm starving.

[thestarkside]

*makes a face* You're always starving. What do you want? Do we have to go out? Dummy can make you something -- okay, no, that's a lie, You can make you something, he's gotten better at sandwiches.

[capsicle1919]

I'll make something, do you think the others will be hungry? *frets a bit, worries the team doesn't eat enough* You're eating. No arguments.

[thestarkside]

Last I checked, everyone here's an adult who can take care of their own eating habits. *mutters, but huffs a laugh at the worried look on Steve's face* C'mon, mother hen, let's get a move on.

[capsicle1919]

*snorts* Bucky used to call me that. *it's taken him a while, but he can now mention Bucky's name without the twisting, sinking chasm of grief opening in his chest, rather it's just a dull ache now* When he was the one always trying to feed me. *follows Tony to the elevator*

[thestarkside]

*leans against the elevator wall, distracted by Steve's arms in the sleeveless shirt, that is just unfair* Mhmm. You're really mean, you know.

[capsicle1919]

*blinks* What? Why? Because I'm making you eat something after a battle? *crosses his arms and glares*

[thestarkside]

Oh Jesus, no -- because of that. *gestures at his crossed arms* You wear shirts like that and go all, ooh my muscles, but then nope, Sandra Dee all over -- you, sir, are flaunting.

[capsicle1919]

*stares at Tony* I really think you're out of your mind. *but he drops his arms, his face hot, can't help what he looks like, hates that it's all Tony seems to care about, the incessant flirting is only ever just superficial, the downside of going through with the experiment, that no one would ever really care about the guy inside all the muscles and the uniform, looks away and wishes the elevator were faster*

[thestarkside]

*and Steve looks -- not flustered in an adorable way like earlier, but miserable, and he frowns, rubs at the arc reactor, looks up at the ceiling* I, uh. Have a great tailor, by the way. If you're having trouble with clothes. He's a good guy, let me know if you want his number. *the elevator dings open and he heads out, feeling like a dick*

[capsicle1919]

*scurries after him* You mean it? 'Cause, um. *scratches the back of his head* Y'know, the experiment made me kind of a mutant. *sheepish grin* They don't make shirts in size Science Freak. *opens the fridge and starts rummaging around*