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The music suddenly cut off, followed by a muffled cry from Steve's neighbor as the entire building was plunged into darkness. Steve wiped at the sweat that had gathered above his upper lip. He threw his book in the direction of his coffee table and padded over to a window. He pushed on the glass, letting in a burst of hot, windless air as he opened it. Almost immediately the sounds of sirens and laughter and screams rushed to fill the silence. Steve stared out into the darkness. In the distance he could see the city lights flicker, as though gasping for breath, before dying completely. One by one, the five boroughs were swallowed up by the night.
Steve could hear the far-off rumble of thunder, but not the screeching of machines or blasts of lasers that usually accompanied a battle. Steve reached for his suit anyway. Even if the blackout wasn't caused by any supervillain, there was going to be panic.
Steve slipped out the back of his apartment building, careful not to be seen. It wasn't hard, given the unnatural darkness. It didn't even look like his city anymore. Just a strange, shadow puppet version of it cast on the wall of the world. He thought about getting his bike, before deciding it'd probably be best to patrol on foot and turned up an alley, hitting Court Street, his boots crunching against the trash and debris left abandoned in the gutters from the garbage strike. People were pouring out of their buildings. They chatted and gathered around garbage fires, drawn like moths to the only light they could find. "It's Captain America!" One kid yelled from where he stood with his friend in front of Par Three, the local watering hole. He was a big guy, easily over 6 feet and built like a football player. "You're great!"
Steve gave him a small salute before his eyes fell on a group of men looting a jewelry store. Fifteen minutes without light and the people had already descended into chaos. The store's windows were broken, the half-ripped face of the Son of Sam stared back at him from his wanted poster, his other half lying somewhere among the broken shards of glass. "Gentlemen," Steve lazily called out, hefting his shield onto his arm so that they could see its familiar star.
"Oh, shit!" One of them yelled and like ants they scattered, leaping through what was left of the window. Steve sighed, his eyes hard and calculating as he stared down the line of shops. There had to be hundreds of people swarming the streets and now that one store had been broken into, the rest soon fell like dominoes. He could hear the glass shattering, saw the rushing of stampeding bodies rage against the iron gates. He watched a housewife push a shopping cart full of baby diapers and one brazen couple carry off a whole washing machine. There was no way he could stop all of this. To be honest the thought of trying just made him feel tired. It would be like fighting the sea.
Steve looked into the jewelry store, at the empty counters and broken necklaces that lined the carpet. He'd passed by here the other day. There was a ring he saw that he thought Sharon might like. An engagement ring. It didn't matter. He was getting ahead of himself anyway. He hadn't even asked the question yet.
Shouting tore him from his reverie, followed by Iron Man's familiar mechanical voice. Steve quickly took off toward the sound. He found Iron Man hovering above a violent crowd, the gold of his armor glimmering against a raging fire that poured from the windows of the building behind him. Pieces of concrete, sticks, anything the people could get their hands on rained up at him and Iron Man took it all. "You tell Stark I've got a wife and kids! What am I suppose to do!? What am I suppose to do!?" One man screamed, his voice choking with the sound of it.
"Setting fires isn't going to get your job back. You need to return to your homes. Power will be restored soon."
Whatever else was said was drowned out by the wail of sirens as a firetruck pushed its way through the throng of people. Iron Man took his chance to escape and quickly dropped down an alley a few blocks away. Steve followed, running at full speed only to find the other man half-slumped against a dirty wall, the tell-tale gleam of his armor catching what little light was left. "I need about five more drinks in me to deal with this," he said.
"What's the situation?"
"The whole city is in an uproar. Arson. Looting. People are angry and this is just the straw that broke the camel's back. With all the city police and fire department layoffs there isn't enough help to go around. I've just come from setting up generators at the hospitals and Thor is evacuating the people who are stuck in the subways."
"What happened exactly? When will the power be back on?"
Iron Man cocked his head to look at him and Steve could tell he was smiling from underneath that faceplate. "I don't know, I'm just a bodyguard. You'll have to ask Mr. Stark."
Steve smiled back, even if it felt tight and insincere. If Tony wanted to pretend to be someone else for a little while, he could do that. "All muscle and no brain, right Shellhead?"
"Got it in one, but I can tell you Mr. Stark will be glad when this recession is over and Stark International can finally stop treading water." Iron Man pushed himself off the wall. "There isn't much that we can do at the moment. I think I'll head back to the mansion before I cause a riot in this tin can."
"Come back to my apartment. No sense in you sitting alone in the dark."
"The mansion's got a full liquor cabinet, what've you got?"
"Cherry coke and milk."
"Well, I'm convinced."
Iron Man held out his hand for Steve to take hold, but an itch had started to crawl up his legs. Something wild was worming its way through his chest, sending his heart hammering as he stared at Iron Man across the dirty alley. "No... no, I want to run."
Iron Man lifted himself into the air. "Beat you there."
And like a rubber band finally snapping, Steve took off. He felt like a child running through the night. The heat and the darkness had taken hold of him, and the city no longer felt real, not a place where businessmen got up to go to work in the morning and buses took kids to school. New York had transformed into a ruin, a ruin that knew the world was about to end and raged against it.
As soon as the door shut behind him he felt a hand grasp his, surprised at the feeling of bare skin, at the rough callouses that caught his instead of the cool press of metal. "You better have worn something under your armor this time," Steve said. He was a child and Tony was a child, and this was all just pretend.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" And then Tony pulled him up the stairs and into his apartment, laughing about locks and lasers.
With nowhere else to run, that wild feeling coiled in his gut. He sprung forward, his hands feeling their way up Tony's neck to grasp his face. He pushed, his lips grazing his chin before finding his lips. "We should light some candles or some-" Steve snaked his arm around Tony's head, pushing his tongue into his mouth to swallow whatever words were trying to escape. He didn't want candles. He didn't want the light. Just Tony and the darkness.
Tony stumbled backward into the single bedroom, one hand grasping behind him, searching until his knees hit the back of Steve's bed. Steve slid between his open thighs as Tony crawled up onto it, tugging at his uniform until he could pull out his cock. He leaned down, soaking in the feeling of Tony's naked body pressing against his and laughed. The genius hadn't even bothered to put on underwear before suiting up and Steve wanted to tease him but there were fingers pulling at the strands of his blond hair and that wild feeling lunged. He flipped Tony over, dragging him over the covers by the tops of his thighs, pushing his legs where he wanted them while Tony laughed and moaned and taunted.
Steve licked his palm and grasped his cock, groaning at the sudden pressure as he squeezed. He ran his hand up Tony's ass, his thumb dipping into the cleft as he stroked himself to full hardness. Tony squeezed his thighs together and Steve sank between his legs, his cock brushing against the back of his balls. There were other nights, slower nights, where Steve would swallow him whole, take his time to finger him open, and push and push until there was nothing but slick heat and soft breaths against his ear. Tony gasped into the pillow as Steve thrust down, driving hard and fast between slippery thighs. He ground Tony into the bed, his fingers digging into the flesh of his ass until a ring of bruises bloomed. Tony rubbed himself against the covers, unable to lift up high enough to get a hand on himself.
Steve chased his orgasm, let it crash into him until he came across the back of Tony's legs. That wild thing still clawed at him, pushed him, and he grabbed the other man, smearing his seed across his thighs as he tossed him onto his back. Tony was already snaking a hand down, but Steve snatched it up, grabbing the other with the same hand to hold them above his head. He could feel Tony strain against, testing his strength just because his could, and Steve straddled his legs to keep him from squirming. He took hold of Tony's cock, twisting and squeezing until Tony was shouting his name and finally the wildness that had taken hold loosened inside him and he slumped against Tony's chest, burying his face into his neck to breathe in that familiar, comforting scent.
Steve woke in the morning with Tony tangled in his arms, his suit still half-on and clinging unpleasantly to his skin. The day was already hot without even a breeze to provide some relief. Outside his window, he could see his neighbors walking in a daze as they swept up the trash and broken glass. New York City was real again and now they'd have to deal with the consequences.
He looked down at Tony, still asleep and breathing softly against his arm, and no longer did he seem young. Wrinkles were beginning to form in the corners of his eyes, and that little furrow between his brows had been there for years. There were bruises and tiny scrapes from where Steve's mail had rubbed against his bare skin. A mass of scars winding down his chest had replaced the mechanical breastplate. Already thirty-seven years old; God, the tantrum Tony will throw when he finally turns forty. Distantly, Steve thought about calling Sharon.
And then, suddenly, the lights returned and the music filtered in from next door.
--leave me this way. Baby! My heart is full of love and desire for you! So come on now and do what you got to do! You started this fire down in my soul! Now can't you see it's burning out of control! So come on now, satisfy the need in me.