Chapter Text
Steve Rogers first met Tony Stark when he was twenty one and Tony was just about to turn thirty, although in reality, he felt like he’d known the billionaire celebrity all his life. Everyone did, that was just how it went with celebrities, and Tony Stark was nothing if not famous. The son of an old-school American industrialist and inventor, Howard Stark, and an old-money socialite, Maria Carbonell, Tony grew up in the public eye. His parents death in a car crash when Tony was twenty one and his ascension to the rank of CEO of Stark Enterprises made him tabloid fodder as well as business royalty, and it seemed like every other day there was a new story about Tony. He went out on the town every night, a new woman on his arm, then a little later there were the men, sometimes two or three people at once. Stories abounded – he drove an impossibly fast car and had orgies with people of all genders, everything in his house was made of gold, he had robotic servants and employees to do everything from brush his teeth to take out his trash. Tony drank bottles of antique champagne flown in especially from France, he was friends with every World leader and president – and all of their significant others. He wined and dined all of the Victoria’s Secret models on his yacht at the same time, he could spin gold out of iron and pick money off trees. He was unreachable, untouchable, the kind of rich that other people could only dream of, and always the most interesting person in the room.
There were other, uglier rumours too, that Tony was a freak, sexual appetite never slaked, always with an open bottle of whiskey at his elbow, a fierce temper which drove away all his friends and the majority of his management team, he was out of control and the Stark Industries Board of Directors had banned him from their boardroom after one too many explosive rows. Obadiah Stane, his fathers old business partner, had to step in and save a deal that Tony fucked up after being off his face on cocaine at ten in the morning. People said that there was nothing on earth that Tony Stark could not weaponise, that he could kill people with the touch of his hand, that he had a personal army of sex robots with the faces of major politicians, that he had actually made a deal with the worlds most notorious terrorists so that they only used Stark branded machinery. All in all, so the rumours said, Tony Stark was an ornery asshole with no concept of morality or conscience, too convinced of his own genius to listen to what anyone else wanted.
Steve Rogers stood in the lobby of the Stark Building in New York with his best friend Bucky Barnes by his side, sweating through his button-down shirt and feeling like he would take off through the roof at the merest hint of a sex robot anywhere near him.
“Relax, Stevie. Stark don’t bite and eve if he did, I’m sure we could convince him to share.” Bucky smirked and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Steve huffed. “You’re not helping, Buck.”
“Steve, Stark’s gonna love us, you’ll see. He’s gonna love us and he’s gonna hire us, we can make his birthday party secure as fuck because we know what we’re doing, and that’s gonna be our big break in this business. Just like we planned.”
“Yeah.” Steve allowed himself to be comforted by Bucky’s sheer confidence, just like always. God knew they needed this to work. Their event security business was still nascent, still run out of Bucky’s mum’s spare room, still built on optimism and tenuous contacts. This contract with Stark could change all that though, extra security for Tony Stark’s thirtieth birthday party would be just the sort of exposure that their business needed. Everything rode on this meeting, and Steve had been awake for most of the previous night, worrying and planning and perfecting the proposal.
They rode up in a glass elevator with a Ms. Potts, apparently Stark’s PA, who gave them an alarming list of rules to follow when they met Mr. Stark.
‘No handshakes, no selfies, no gang signs, no handing things over, no offers to get drinks or coffee, no small talk, no alcohol, absolutely no mention of his parents at all whatsoever, and most importantly of all, don’t be boring. Good luck gentlemen, Mr. Stark and Mr. Stane are waiting for you.’
Steve felt like he barely had time to take a breath that he definitely did not choke on, no matter how much Bucky side-eyed him, before they were ushered into the conference room, and Steve craned his head to catch his very first glimpse of… an old man sitting sideways in a comfortable chair and glancing anxiously at his expensive watch. The man rose to shake first Bucky’s hand, then his.
‘Good morning gentlemen, I am Obadiah Stone. I must apologise for Mr Stark, he is running a little late this morning. You can’t rush genius, that’s a fact, and he is a very busy man what with the company to run and his schedule – oh!’
During Mr Stane’s welcome, which had featured a slightly uncomfortable once-over and a very firm grip, there was a gathering ruckus outside the conference room, growing louder as closer, until the man was interrupted by the bursting open of a side door and the entry of a very disheveled, very handsome Tony Stark. Tony was wearing what looked to be a three-figure suit with a waistcoat underneath, charcoal grey and very well fitted. On his face were tinted yellow eye-glasses and his facial hair was styled into an almost annoyingly perfect goatee.
‘Don’t start the party without me, boys!’ Tony slurred, raising the glass of amber liquid in his hand in a tipsy salute. Steve stared – this was not the Tony Stark he was expecting. Where was the genius in this drunken disaster currently pouring himself into the plush chair at the head of the conference table? Steve immediately took a dislike to the man. He glanced back at Mr Stane, trying to figure out the appropriate reaction, and for a second he thought he caught a smirk on the older man’s face before it was wiped away by a paternal frown.
‘Tony! Gentlemen, Mr Tony Stark – Tony, these are uh, Steven and uh, - James, was it?’
‘Call me Bucky.’ Wow, Bucky sure was making a lot of eye contact right now.
‘I most certainly will, Bucky.’ The way that Tony made his best friend’s name sound in his mouth made Steve shudder a little, caught between horror at the inappropriateness of his tone and wanting to hear Tony say his own name like that.
Next to Steve, Mr Stane stirred a little, gently frowning at Tony until he sat straighter in his chair and broke off the intense eye contact he and Bucky had going on. Steve relaxed a little – Mr Stane seemed like he had Tony under control.
‘Well, gentlemen, the floor is yours,’ Stane gestured to the head of the table and with a sickening thud in his stomach, Steve realized it was Go Time.
With a last glance at Bucky, who wasn’t even blushing, the fucker, Steve moved up to the top of the room and started their presentation. It was simple, clear, innovative… and obviously completely boring. Within thirty seconds of him starting to talk, Tony had pulled something small and metal out of his pocket, produced a screwdriver out of nowhere and begun to tinker. Steve felt the bright red flush of embarrassed anger flooding him as he tried to push through Tony’s rudeness and carry on despite the fact that he was clearly being ignored. Bucky, the godsend that he was, noticed the furious pink blush of Steve’s face and stepped in, smoothly taking over from Steve when he choked on his own words. It made no difference – Tony might have been all smiles and flirty glances before the presentation, but now he looked past Bucky as though he was no longer there. Was this what the super-rich were like? Fake smiles until they tired of you and then nothing but vacant stares and not even the semblance of politeness? Steve, fuming in silence next to a rapidly-flailing Bucky, thought back to all of the ugly rumours that he’d heard about Tony Stark. Now that he had met the man in person, he was inclined to think they were all true, and that Tony was a monster who used people up and threw them away – except he hadn’t even gotten the chance to be useful before being discarded. Story of his life, really – no-one expected skinny, frail Steve Rogers to be of any use to anyone, ever.
At the other end of the table, Tony used the corner of his expensive suit as a rag to wipe oil off whatever he was tinkering with, and set it down on the table with a loud thunk. The sound startled Bucky out of his speech and Tony, seemingly grateful for the interruption, opened his mouth and started talking in the peculiar dense, rapid-fire staccato of slurred words that Steve was coming to realize was meant to be conversation.
‘Ok, guys, that’s great and all, loved the presentation and you, tall dark and stacked, those suits are really working for you, you should give me the name of your tailor except if it’s your mum, in which case – yeesh. Trouble is, though, that what you’re selling is distinctly a lemon, a few bricks short of a mansion if you catch my drift which you do because who doesn’t? Anyway, point is – I’m not picking up what you’re putting down, and as a gesture of apology I’d like to invite you both to jump out of my giant, delicious birthday cake at my party where you will definitely not be working, but will in fact be spending the evening in something skimpy, possibly with lace –’
‘Tony that’s enough!’ Obie broke the awful spell of Tony’s words, glaring down the table at Tony, who seemed unperturbed by the interruption.
‘Oh come on, Obie, what’s the problem? They wanna come to my party, they get to come to my party! Party for all!’ Tony waved his screwdriver around wildly as he spoke, gesturing grandly like a circus ringmaster.
For one wild moment, Steve thought that Mr Stane was going to jump the table. Although his face didn’t move at all from its laconic grin, something in Stane’s eyes flashed with contempt. Steve turned away, not wanting to be caught having seen what was underneath that mask, and chanced a look at Bucky. Bucky was fairly easy-going when it came to his own feelings, but Steve knew that Bucky’s protective streak ran a mile wide when it came to Steve himself, and that Tony was definitely about to be on the wrong end of one of Bucky’s trademark murder-glares. To save the situation – Stane struggling to remain composed, Bucky two seconds away from exploding and Stark himself seemingly unconcerned – Steve balled his fists, puffed out his chest and did what he did best. He argued.
‘This is not about being at your party, Mr Stark. This is our job, our livelihood, and we are not all made of money. Clearly you are not interested in our business, and that’s fine, but there is no need for you to be so short with us. Now, I don’t know if you’re this rude to everyone who comes into this room, but if you think about it, I’m betting that you’ll come up with an apology. A sincere one. We’ll both be ready to hear it.’
Tony Stark gaped, actually gaped wide-open at him. Over the top of his odd yellow eye-glasses, hazel eyes peered at Steve, suddenly not seeming that hazy at all.
‘Sanctimonious little thing, aren’t you?’
‘Mr Stark-’
‘No. Don’t you “Mister Stark” me, Junior. The grown-ups are talking now.’ Steve’s eyebrows steamed upwards, taken aback at how suddenly sober Stark sounded. ‘This is my boardroom, in my building, and this is my party we are discussing. I act in my best interests, not that you can say the same, and I have the final judgement call on all matters relating to this company. I will not hire amateurs who can’t even cope with me on a good day – and believe me, today you’re seeing my kind and fluffy side – to work at a private event. How are you going to handle my guests when you can’t even handle a little criticism?’
This was one of those moments where Bucky’s extensive knowledge of Steve’s moods came in handy. Bucky could see, before Steve even moved, that he was going to argue back and possibly get in Stark’s face over this, because if there was one thing that Steve Rogers could not stand, it was jokes about his height. Before Steve could say something stupid that would no doubt get them banned from the building for life, Bucky grabbed his best friend’s arm and hauled him behind his own body, clamping his other hand over Steve’s shoulder to keep him there.
‘Well it’s clear this isn’t going to work out, Mr Stark, Mr Stane, thank you for your time this morning aaaaaaaand we’ll just be leaving now – Steve, I said we’ll just be leaving… now…’
Really, Bucky thought as he dragged a furious Steve out of the conference room, he deserved a sainthood for putting up with this.
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‘You look like shit, Tony, and you treated those boys like shit as well.’
‘They were amateurs,’ Tony replied, brain turning over the way that Steve Rogers had looked when he’d left, ‘wasn’t gonna give ‘em anything anyway.’
Obie crossed to the old-fashioned sideboard that had belonged to Tony’s father. God, but he hated that thing – it still squeaked when it opened even though he had personally and very liberally oiled every single moving part in it. Like that damn cabinet, Howard Stark had always had to make sure everyone heard him whenever he spoke, even in a crowded room. Howard had never shut up either, no matter how oily he got.
Obie opened the damn cabinet and pulled out the inevitable bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and handed one back to Tony, swirling the other one slowly. Obie’s eyes focused in on Tony’s hands as they raised his own glass, mockingly saluted Obie and drained it in one go. Obie took a tiny sip of his own drink in return.
‘I know you don’t have to pick the first people who walk into your office, but – I’m worried about you. You’re a security risk, Tony, and I want you to have the best protection money can buy.’
Obie was always worried, Tony thought blearily. Was it possible for thoughts to slur? If so, his thoughts were slurring.
‘Be easier not to have the party, if it’s that bad.’ Tony looked at the floor as he spoke – he and Obie had been over this before. While Tony wanted to celebrate, and celebrate hard, a large corporate function with all of his business associates and droves of Obie’s network of ‘contacts’ was not what he had in mind. Gorillas stuffed into cheap tuxedos masquerading as a security team was also not what he had in mind, although he couldn’t remember for sure what testing phase his own security bots were in just in that present moment. Damn it, why did Obie have to schedule this meeting so early? He wasn’t awake yet, needed more whiskey before he could function.
‘Don’t fight me on this, Stark. I’ve got your back as always, and I just think that a smaller, more… mature celebration would be appropriate. You need to keep some good company - for a change.’
Tony scoffed – he was *so* mature, thank you very much. When would Obie learn that telling him not to do something automatically made him want to do it more? Obie had his best interests at heart, obviously, just like he always did, but Tony… well, he was already busy planning the kickass after-party that would no doubt cause Obie to roll his eyes and scowl at the next morning’s headlines. He was just that sort of person, he thought to himself, dangerously wild and dashingly sexy too, the perfect playboy, untouchable by anyone, and why did that make him feel so cold all of a sudden? No, Obie was right, he’d have the boring, “appropriate” celebration and then follow Obie’s advice to the letter and get himself some great company, possibly in the form of a scantily clad, professional and downright eager young somebody. No, several somebodies. It would be awesome!
Tony stood, downed the rest of Obie’s nearly-untouched whiskey, and threw a sloppy, half-assed salute.
‘Here’s to good company, old man!’ Tony was totally sashaying right now, he knew he was, he just had to be, and it was a pity that there was nobody here to appreciate how good his ass looked. Maybe he should look into getting a personal booty appreciator? Someone who followed him around and clapped when he sashayed like this? It might be nice, to have someone with him more often – whoa, where did that thought come from? Tony shook his head at his own stupid neediness as he sashayed out of the conference room to find Pepper.
Left behind, Obie collected the two empty glasses with a smirk and a sigh.
Tony was so predictable.