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Bruce drains his tea cup just in time for Tony to stroll by the breakfast bar and drop his spare change inside. Metal meets porcelain with a series of tell-tale pings and Bruce stares at half-full cup of change, then up at Tony’s shit-eating grin, foreboding creeping up his spine.
Stranger things have happened to him during the time he’s been acquainted with Tony Stark, but Bruce can honestly say he’s never had change dumped in his cup of tea before.
Reading the perplexed look on his face, Tony clears his throat to begin speaking and Bruce doesn’t like the way his eyes are dancing like the little boy who just put glue in his sister’s hair conditioner. He’s known Tony Stark long enough to recognise that that look can only mean bad things.
“You’re in the newspaper,” Tony announces, grin spreading wide and sleazy. “Front page news actually,” Tony continues and Bruce’s foreboding turns into genuine fear at the sight of the newspaper clenched between his fingers.
Bruce tries to protest like he does every time Tony insists on telling him when the Avengers are front page news since it usually means someone has gotten a picture of his naked ass, but Tony doesn’t let him. He unrolls the newspaper with a flourish and Bruce is left slightly confused, but mostly very relieved when the picture that headlines today’s paper is one of Iron Man—oddly enough--handing clothes to half-naked homeless man. Bruce raises an eyebrow at that and Tony keeps looking at him expectantly. Inwardly rolling his eyes at the man’s insane need for constant validation Bruce looks closer.
That’s when he sees it.
The Avengers had been called out not a week earlier to deal with another alien invasion of Manhattan. The invaders had been Skrulls this time, and Bruce vaguely remembers the Hulk had been very enthusiastic in reminding them why exactly Earth was not available for colonisation. The smashing had been intense and Bruce had woken up more beat-up and dirty than he ever had before. Realising he was almost completely naked, Bruce had slipped into the closest dark alleyway to preserve his dignity when the news vans rolled up and camera’s started flashing.
He remembers Tony seeing him from over in the crowd of reporters, excusing himself with his typical flair, and coming over to give him the emergency pants Clint carries with him for such times. There was a flash of white Bruce didn’t pay much attention to, so relieved was he to have something to protect his modesty, and the Avengers had left soon after.
Bruce stares at the half-naked homeless man noting how exceedingly dirty he looks, like he’s been living on the streets for years and feels completely, utterly mortified.
If not for the distinctive oval shaped mole on his hip Bruce wouldn’t have even recognised himself.
“Oh god,” Bruce whispers, numbly horrified when he sees the title of the article: ‘Iron Man Clothes Homeless Man In Aftermath Of Alien Invasion’.
No one even knows that it’s him Bruce realises. He wonders how the press could have missed that juicy nugget of information, before remembering that he didn’t even recognise himself.
Truthfully Bruce doesn’t know whether to be mortified that he looks so bad he’s unrecognisable or thankful that the title doesn’t read: ‘Iron Man Clothes Homeless Man Later Determined to Be Bruce Banner’.
The horror must read on his face because Tony holds his composure for all of two seconds before he cracks. He bursts out laughing, harsh guffaws that soon have him rolling on the floor wheezing “homeless!” and holding his stomach. Curling up like a pillbug, Tony beats the floor with his fists, almost howling with laughter.
Bruce stares at the cup of change on the counter. Suddenly it makes a horrible amount of sense.
--
A week later Tony’s mostly done teasing him and Bruce feels safe enough to go back to work with him in the lab. It’s a good thing too. He has several time-sensitive experiments he couldn’t have stayed away from much longer without damaging their integrity.
Nodding to Tony as he enters the lab, Bruce gets to work immediately tending to the birds of paradise he has set up in the gel-matrix to map their growth-rate. He notes several interesting changes in subject integrity and patterns of growth, as well as a very interesting variation in colour in subjects A and C. He’s just contemplating going to get lunch a few hours later when a muffled snort of laughter from the other side of the lab catches his attention.
Tony is hunched over his monitor screen with his hand slapped over his nose and mouth to stop himself hyperventilating. Bruce frowns over at him, wondering what the hell could be so funny. Reluctantly intrigued, Bruce puts down his notebook and wanders over.
“Wait Bruce!” Tony gets out, but Bruce is already there looking at the screen.
It’s a meme and for a moment Bruce doesn’t understand what the fuss is about. Philosoraptor’s pretty funny and Bruce has enjoyed his musings about life on more than one occasion, but it’s not exactly gut-busting stuff. Then he sees the meme underneath and his mind blanks in horror.
It’s that picture again—that goddam picture—and somehow the internet trolls have made it into a meme that glorifies Tony Stark.
They’re calling it Iron Gentlemen.
At the top of the picture they have: Gives a naked dude some clothes, and at the bottom, directly under Bruce’s naked ass: Doesn’t try for a grope.
Then the next one: Finds a hot naked homeless man—doesn’t drag him into the alley to take advantage of the fact.
And again: Carries pants around with him to give to homeless people—Acts like it’s not even a thing.
Bruce takes a deep breath through his nose when he sees that these have over thirty thousand re-blogs each and there are at least fifteen more pages of meme’s.
Tony puts a hand on his shoulder. “It could be worse,” he says not quite able to keep the mirth out of his voice.
“How,” Bruce asks blankly. “How could it possibly be worse?”
“They could be calling it Iron Playa,”
Bruce doesn’t bother excusing himself to go to lunch, just walks away very fast like he can outrun his humiliation.
Tony’s laughter follows him.
--
The next week is horrible. News outlets fawn over the story of notorious playboy Tony Stark’s random act of kindness. Gossip rags talk about him turning over a new leaf and send their hounds out into the street to find the mysterious recipient of such kindness for an exclusive interview.
If only they knew they didn’t need to look further than Avengers tower.
Bruce meanwhile spends his time looking over his shoulder and checking every dark corner he passes. He hasn’t felt this paranoid since Ross was chasing him across the globe. It’s a nightmare.
And this is all before Tony sends him a picture of him-as-homeless-john-doe crouching down like Gollum at the feet of Elijah Wood, edited so well Bruce is almost fooled for a second into thinking he was actually in the movie.
Natasha stops to look at the picture over his shoulder. “It’s well done,” she says—like that makes it any better.
The second photo is worse, for all that it’s just the original picture edited a little—if edited a little was Tony moved into the shadows behind Bruce so it looks like he’s fucking him.
Natasha gives him a sympathetic smile when she sees that one and squeezes his shoulder.
Bruce puts his head in his hands.
--
Bruce is sitting with the team eating breakfast a couple of days later when Pepper strides in from the elevator wearing a black pencil skirt and a white blouse that fit her like a glove. There’s a tablet under her arm and a business-like smile on her face. She stops by Tony’s chair and watches him hoe into his scrambled eggs for a minute before clearing her throat to announce her presence.
“Pepper!” Tony greets, “my favourite redhead—no offence Nikita,” Tony says aside to Natasha who rolls her eyes and keeps eating her raisin-bran. Tony turns his blinding smile on Pepper who looks less than impressed and continues, “What can I do you for? Raisin toast, french toast, eggs, waffles, pancakes? You name it and it’s yours.”
“Stop stalling,” Pepper says blandly and hands him the tablet—or tries to.
Tony stares at it. “I don’t like to be handed things.”
Without missing a beat Pepper drops the tablet and Tony yelps, reaching out to catch it before it hits the ground. Tony breathes a sigh of relief and cradles it with two hands while Pepper leans over to activate the file program, sweeping across the screen and pulling up a virtual piece of card decorated with stylish gold’s and silvers.
“You have to go,” Pepper pre-empts him.
“I really really don’t.”
“You donated over a million dollars to their foundation this year alone, not to mention you’ll be getting their humanitarian award.” Here Pepper glances at Bruce apologetically and Bruce blinks in surprise at the left-of-field acknowledgement. “You have to go.”
Bruce looks around the table and is met with three confused expressions identical to his own. He clears his throat. “Ah Pepper? If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is this about?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Now it’s Pepper’s turn to sound surprised and Tony studies the painting of the flowers over the wall light so he doesn’t have to meet any of their eyes.
Clint snorts. “Stark missing an opportunity to gloat about having his ego stroked by a bunch of suits rungs lower than him on the rich-douche social ladder? Not a chance,” Clint says, smirking, and Tony flips him off.
“Fuck off Barton.”
“Tony,” Pepper interrupts, almost a growl, and Tony swallows audibly. “You didn’t tell them? You didn’t tell Bruce? ”
“Tell Bruce what?” Bruce asks suspiciously and Pepper glares Tony into submission so that he finally turns to look at him, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to stall. If Bruce had to categorise the look on his face he’d say it was halfway between chastised, tentative and amused.
Bruce eyes narrow suspiciously and Tony begins, waving his hands to better articulate his points.
“Well, ah, let’s say—hypothetically—that a man who donates money to many many charities wakes up one day and finds himself unselfishly-”
“-unknowingly,” Pepper corrects.
“- fine, unknowingly going beyond the call of duty to give back to the people he protects daily-”
“-monthly,” Natasha interrupts this time followed by an obnoxiously loud crunch of cereal and Tony glares at her.
“-I will accept weekly and no less,” Tony barters and Natasha rolls her eyes at him, sharing a commiserating look with Clint. “I saw that!” Tony says.
“The people he protects…” Bruce prompts wearily and Tony clicks his fingers, picking up the thread of his old train of thought like he had never dropped it.
“Right! He finds himself selflessly giving back to the people he protects and let’s say this man—hypothetically—has a picture snapped of him doing this selfless deed and –hypothetically!-- the Foundation for the Protection of Homeless People, Manhattan branch, saw said picture and wanted to give him an award for his efforts…”
Bruce’s eye twitches, just once, and Tony finishes, “…and throw a teensy tiny party in his honour.”
“Hypothetically,” Tony adds when Bruce’s face starts turning red.
“Tony,” Bruce finally says, strangled. “Tell me you’re not getting a humanitarian aid award for bringing me pants! ”
Tony stays silent and Bruce makes a strangled sound.
“Wait,” Captain American pipes up. “That was you?”
--
“Wow,” Clint says with an infuriating smirk plastered to his face. “They really got a great shot of your ass doc.”
“Very tasteful,” Natasha agrees.
Steve pokes his head over the top of where they’re bent together to look at the photo and says brightly, “Gosh Bruce I had no idea that was you. You really do look surprisingly homeless after the transformation.”
“Gee thanks,” Bruce says dryly, flopped back on the sofa and generally feeling horrible about everything.
“It’s not an insult,” Steve says a little bashfully. “It’s just amazing how different you look. From an artist’s perspective,” he explains.
“Next time I’ll be sure to stay naked long enough for you to get your sketchpad out Steve,” Bruce says wryly and Clint snorts.
“Like one of his French girls,” he says grinning.
Bruce glares at Clint, but Steve mostly looks resigned. “That’s another reference I won’t understand isn’t it?”
Natasha looks at Bruce and Clint. “It doesn’t have to be,” she offers.
So they watch Titanic.
When Jack flips open his sketchbook on deck, Steve leans forward, looking fascinated. “He’s really good,” Steve says and Natasha smirks to herself, sharing a conspiratorial look with Clint.
Bruce watches Steve go red when the drawing scene comes on with no small amount of pleasure and laughs along with Natasha and Clint when he mutters a mortified, “I’m so sorry Bruce,” with his beat-red face peeking through his fingers.
They’re still awake watching shark week when Tony comes back from the party in his honour around one carrying a heavy silver statue with his name emblazoned in bold letters at the base.
He swans into the room with his ruby-tinted glasses perched on his nose, grinning ear-to-ear. “Hello and what do we have here?” Tony asks, stumbling slightly and catching himself on the wall.
“You’re drunk,” Bruce notes blandly and Tony taps his nose at him.
“Very astute Doctor Banner,” he grins and Bruce rolls his eyes.
“So how was the party Stark?” Clint asks, “You get fucked up?”
Tony grins like a shark. “Got fucked.”
“Sweet,” Clint grins back.
Bruce stares at Tony. “Well I’m glad you had a great time. I think I’ll go to bed now.”
Bruce goes to do just that, but Tony catches his arm as he walks past. “You should’ve been there Bruce. Your naked ass—and me of course—were up there above the podium the whole night. I even blew you a kiss after I got my award,” Tony says and winks at him.
Bruce walks out.
--
“I feel like maybe I should apologise,” Tony says the next morning and Bruce looks up from his tea.
“Do you?”
Tony clears his throat. “Ah, well. I was told I should.”
Bruce already knows that. He saw Natasha cuff him over the head last night while Clint snickered to himself in the background.
“And why is that?” Bruce asks cooly.
“Because I’m an asshole,” he says and his voice goes up at the end like he’s really not sure that’s the response Bruce is looking for.
“Is that a question?”
“Ah no. I’m an asshole. A very sorry asshole who promises not to profit any longer from your misery.”
Bruce lets him stew in it while he pretends to consider his apology, enjoying his nervous fidgeting, and then smiles. “Good,” he says simply and Tony relaxes against the bar.
“Oh thank god. I miss my lab buddy,” he says and grins at Bruce. “Scotch?”
“It’s eight in the morning Tony.”
“And?”
--
A month passes and things get back to normal in the Avengers tower. Bruce goes back to his life. He works in the lab with Tony, goes running with Steve in the mornings and does Yoga with Natasha in the afternoons. Clint even starts teaching him how to shoot in his spare time and Bruce find he enjoys spending more time with the flighty archer outside of listening to his and Tony’s snarky banter over breakfast.
Bruce is flicking through channels on the TV in the penthouse when a loud thunk from outside makes him look out the window.
“Greetings friend!” Thor booms, the volume of his voice catching Bruce off-guard after four months of separation. The sliding door opens to admit Thor and closes just short of trapping his trailing red cape.
A large hand comes down on Bruce’s shoulder and he smiles at Thor as he sits down beside him on the couch. “How have you fared in our time apart?”
“I’ve been good Thor. How’s Asgard?”
“Good my friend. Good. Things are much the same as they always have been, though the death of my mother, and my brother to some extent, has been hard on our people—on my father most of all.”
Bruce nods sympathetically. He doesn’t have any siblings and his relationship with Loki when he was alive… wasn’t the best, but he knows how it feels to lose a mother. “I’m sorry.”
Thor gives him a steady smile, the only hint of his grief the melancholy in his eyes, and suggests they have lunch together. Bruce agrees and recommends a little café just outside the tower that Steve likes to draw at and does great sandwiches. Thor readily agrees.
Bruce waits for Thor to get changed into his civvies, having suggested that perhaps the cape and armour were a bit conspicuous for a late lunch—even in New York. When Thor’s changed into some jeans and top that can’t help but strain across the shoulders they get going.
They eat together and talk amicably about everything Thor has missed in his time away; from Natasha moving in to the tower finally, to Steve’s paintings that now hang all around the building after Tony found them in storage and bullied him into putting them up. It’s his fault really that the photo comes up at all, in the end.
“Ah yes!” Thor says, a wide grin splitting his face. “Tony has sent me this picture many times with different and most humorous phrases attached. I admit I was confused at first, but after he explained the Midgardian humour to me I was most entertained.”
“Tony…” Bruce’s voice trails off before he closes his eyes, breathing slowly. “Of course.”
He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He shouldn’t be really. So what if Tony had said he’d stop taunting him? Maybe this all happened before he promised anything.
“How long ago was this?” Bruce asks, praying for any answer over a month.
“Not yet a week has passed, I believe,” Thor answers, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
“Right,” Bruce says faintly and he’s so caught up imagining all the ways he could murder Tony without leaving a shred of evidence he almost misses Thor’s next words.
“- the stories of the wealthy benevolent hero and the poor street wretch are most compelling, though some are rather poorly written.”
“Wait what?” Bruce interrupts, voice pitching higher than he’s proud of.
“Yes. It is a shame that some of your storytellers do not take the time to develop their tales as they deserve to be told, but still some are very good.” Thor smiles pleasantly and then notes the horrified look on Bruce’s face. “What is wrong my friend?”
“Eat your sandwich Thor,” Bruce says faintly and focuses on not hulking out.
--
“You sent Thor links to fanfiction of us!” Bruce bellows as he stalks into the penthouse lounge room. Natasha and Clint fall silent where they’re talking on the couch and Tony almost drops the crystal decanter he’s fiddling with by the bar.
Tony raises a finger. “Technically it was fanfiction of me and my mysterious homeless lover. I feel I should point that out.”
Bruce gives a wordless cut-off cry of anger and he’s sure his eyes flash green because Steve jumps out from where he was eavesdropping around the corner and says, “Doctor Banner,” in his most serious Captain America voice.
Bruce snaps. “Shove it Steve,” he growls.
Steve takes a startled step back.
Tony gives a low whistle. “That’s it big guy let it out.”
Bruce stalks towards him and gets right in his face. “What exactly do you want me to let out Tony?” he asks, low and angry.
Tony blinks at him. “Ah…”
“Yeah. Ah!” Bruce mocks. “Is this fun for you Tony? Is my humiliation amusing to you? Because if it is I hope you’re very fucking entertained by the idea of me shoving my foot so far up your ass you taste my peppermint foot cream, because that’s what’s going to happen next if you don’t stop fucking with me,” he hisses and watches Tony’s eyes grow to what looks like twice their normal size.
“You use peppermint foot cream?” Tony asks, seemingly dumbfounded, and Clint smothers a hysterical laugh.
“That’s really not the point Stark,” Natasha comments dryly.
“Yes!” Bruce throws his hands up. “Yes I use peppermint foot cream. How does that have anything to do with you being an asshole,” Bruce yells.
Tony’s mouth flaps open and closed a few times. “Because maybe I’d like it,” Tony says, rushed, like it’s forced out of him.
Everyone freezes.
“Excuse me?” Bruce says, because he can’t be hearing him right. There’s no way Tony Stark would ever…
“Anything really,” Tony blurts out, pouring himself a drink with a shaking hand in an attempt to look nonchalant. “I mean if all I could get was your foot that would be fine, but I’m, you know, open to other options. Like fingers, and preferably your dick at some point.”
Bruce puts his hand over Tony’s, stopping the poor of amber liquid before it overflows. Tony looks down at his hand over his and ever so slowly goes the barest shade of red from the neck up. Somewhere Steve chokes audibly.
Bruce stares at Tony incredulously.
“Do you mean to say that all this time you’ve been poking fun at my humiliation…because you like me? ” Bruce asks in a much higher register than he meant to.
Tony looks at him like a deer in headlights. “Uh, maybe?”
"No fucking way," Clint breathes from where he's hanging over the back of the couch, eyes riveted on the two of them
Tony grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and shrugs.
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Bruce breathes, mostly to himself.
“Didn’t see that coming,” Clint says and Natasha arches an eyebrow at him.
“Really?” she asks like she’s surprised.
Steve makes another sound in the back of his throat, looking between Bruce and Tony like he has no idea what to do about any of this.
“Really?,” Bruce asks, because if this is all one big joke Bruce is actually going to kill him.
“Cross my heart,” Tony says and his hesitant look is slowly being replaced by a growing grin. This is when Bruce realises he isn’t as angry as he was before. Actually, he’s not angry at all.
Bruce shakes his head at Tony, a wry smile pulling at his mouth. “Only you,” he says and it comes out fond.
Tony perks up like an energetic puppy. “Does that mean you forgive me?” Tony asks, his eyes wide and beseeching.
And damn—Bruce could never say no to those eyes.
“I’ll do you one better,” he says and kisses him. Tony’s hand comes up to tangle in his hair and Bruce can feel him smile against his mouth. Bruce wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, running a hand down his back. He can feel Tony’s hand beginning to wander under his shirt when there’s a pointed throat clear from somewhere beside them.
They pull away from each other and Steve looks at them, beet red, but determined. He clears his throat. “I just want to say that even though I come from a time where this kind of thing wasn’t really… talked about, I completely support your decision to be together like, uh, like that.”
Tony smirks. “Took a bit of dredging to find the courage to spit that one out eh Cap?”
Bruce gives Tony a stern look and turns to Steve, smiling genuinely. “Thanks Steve. It means a lot.”
Steve smiles back at him and sends Tony a slightly annoyed look. Tony just rolls his eyes and walks over to sling his arm around Steve. “Come on. You can beat me up in the gym for a while. It’ll make you feel better I promise.”
Steve delivers the obligatory protest which Tony silences with another witty remark. Tony winks at him on the way out and Bruce thinks, ah that’s what it means, thinking back on all the times he thought Tony was just being an asshole and finding himself pleasantly surprised when he realises maybe he was just flirting in the only way Tony Stark knows how—by being an asshole.
Tony and Steve walk out and Bruce turns to look at the duo on the couch. “Not a word,” he warns.
Clint mimes zipping his lips with that infuriating smirk on his face and Natasha just smiles at him, dark and knowing.
Bruce shakes his head to himself on the way out, ears pink, and resigns himself to feeling mortified for a long long time to come.
--
Shield has given him a speech to read-- Bruce has chosen to ignore it.
He slips the palm-cards into the pocket of his suit jacket and holds his head high.
No more being afraid.
Bruce steps up to the podium and looks out at the sea of flashing cameras and reporters who all wait in baited silence for him to begin. Tony gives him a thumbs up from the edge of the crowd.
Bruce takes a deep breath.
“I am the homeless man from the photo,” he says.
The crowd erupts.
--