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Fic: You said it loud and I heard you
sitr ot3
First off: People who know me in real life, please do me the courtesy of not reading this.

Everyone else:

Pairing: Tony Stark/Bruce Banner
Fandom: The Avengers 2012
Rating: Explicit

Tony is an omega. Bruce is an alpha. Pr0n happens.

Tony requests your presence in the workshop, JARVIS says, startling Bruce.

"Um. Okay." Bruce scrubs a hand over his face, shaking his head over the wall clock that tells him he's missed lunch again. Tony usually has food stashed in his various workshops, he'll just eat while they work on whatever Tony's asking him down for.

But it's an entirely different kind of hunger that hits him, like a physical wave, as soon as the door slides open - and then closes behind him with the unmistakable sound of locks.

He's a trained biologist. His brain, his nose, his cock is telling him exactly what this is. Tony is slumped over on a platform, barely holding himself up on a CNC machine, pale and sweating all over the chrome finish. Bruce doesn't move from the door. "You're an omega," Bruce says flatly.

"I sure am," Tony says with a weak grin. "And I don't have to tell you what's going on right now, you manly doctor you. Get over here. You're gonna love what happens next."

"How did-- the whole world thinks you're the biggest alpha dick there is."

"Because it's so much fun being rich, successful, and a known omega," Tony says, sarcasm dripping through his hoarse throat. "Don't blame me for not wanting to get raped or pregnant every year."

"Does Pepper know?"

"Fuck you." Tony isn't so far into heat that he can't muster up a glare. "Of course she knows, not that it's any of your business, but she's on the other side of the city--"

"Why don't you call her?"

"Because this is a bad one and I am going to die if you don't get over here and fuck me into the floor right now."

"Heats aren't fatal," Bruce says, but his feet are already carrying him across the workshop.

Tony's eyes are red-rimmed. "Fine, Mr. Science Guy, I've wanted you for the last six weeks and this is all just an elaborate practical joke to get in your pants. Happy now?"

Heats aren't usually fatal, but judging from visible symptoms Tony isn't exactly lying about the aggravated degree of this particular heat. So Bruce's training tells him. On the other hand, his hormones are telling him to climb over Tony and carry out the evolutionary imperative post-haste. Bruce clenches his hands into fists and stops himself at the edge of the platform.

"You don't want me," he starts.

"Yes yes, you're a monster, you could lose control, you don't deserve to ever be happy, nobody could ever want poor little Dr. Banner," Tony grinds out. "Been there, got the spiel, already wearing the fucking t-shirt, okay? I don't fucking care--I need--"

"Tony." Bruce shudders, opens his eyes, somehow finds himself on the platform already kneeling down and cradling Tony's face between his hands, the craving pouring out of the other man and making Bruce's skin crawl with want. Tony turns his head and licks Bruce's hand and it burns.

For a person whose entire life and sanity are structured around total control, he's running dangerously out of it. "I'm not just some random alpha you can get relief from," he forces through, grappling for calm.

Tony inhales shamelessly. "So it's not just anger, is it? Lust get you too, big guy?" His voice drags through the word lust, whisky-rough.

"Look at me, Tony-- look at my eyes."

Tony stares at him, manic glitter in his gaze. "Not even a hint of green, Banner, so get me over to that couch like the blushing bride I am and stop talking already."

Bruce doesn't believe him. Arousal and heat race through him, getting the other guy's attention, making his heart thunder, his limbs shake--

Tony's hand closes around his wrist. Every point of skin-to-skin contact heightens the effects of pheromone-loaded sweat or resonant electric pulses or whatever modern science wants to theorize concerning the extraordinary alpha-omega connection - the upshot of it all being that Bruce is pinned by a single hand as sure as if Tony had sprawled over him.

"Goddammit, Bruce. You're the biologist," Tony says, every exhale skating across Bruce's skin, "you know exactly what this is doing to me. I can't--" His voice breaks. Bruce looks down to see his own hand slide down to Tony's neck, grip tight, savor the feel of the fragile clavicle under his thumb, he'd be so easy to bend and take and break…

"…Oh, fuck. Yes," Tony groans, and his sweat-slick fingers scrabble at Bruce's arm.

"I can't hulk out here. Not with you, not like this," Bruce tells him. He can barely hear himself through the buzzing in his ears. "I can't risk it. You don't know--"

"Get over yourself," Tony snarls. "I'm dying here and you won't even--"

"--possibly kill you--"

"--wanted you for weeks and now--"

"--the other guy is right here, you're making me--"

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." Tony lurches to his feet, half falls off the platform and drags Bruce with him. "I told you I'm dying--"

"Everything doesn't revolve around you, Tony!" Bruce roars and tears himself free, stumbles backwards.

"Yeah? Apparently it does revolve around you and your little green emo problem," Tony flings back, then launches himself at Bruce. They land hard on the floor. Tony seals their lips together. Everything goes white for a second-- Bruce throws Tony across the room.

The scene freezes.

Tony laughs and wipes blood from his mouth, sits up slowly from where he'd crashed into the couch. "Still not green, Banner. Maybe alpha heat bypasses the gamma radiation or something…Guess it's all you, baby."

"Oh god," Bruce says. "I'm--"

"Say you're sorry and I will personally kick you out of Stark Tower." Tony is crawling across the floor to Bruce.

"I don't get it," Bruce says, his head in his hands. "I should be-- the other guy should be--"

"'Cause you got the lid on tight," Tony says. "C'mon, Bruce. I trust you. Help me out here," and there's a begging quality to his voice that Bruce has never heard before. Of course it goes straight to the primitive lizard part of his brain. TONY, MINE it threatens in a voice that sounds disturbingly like the other guy.

He takes a deep breath, shudders on the exhale. "You're kind of pushy for an omega in heat," Bruce says, gripping Tony's hips, still trying to telegraph some kind of calm into him.

"And you're kind of timid for an alpha." Tony squirms out of Bruce's grasp and attacks his pants. "Pepper's way more dominant than you are, Christ."

Well, there's the anger again. Timid, hell - this time the fury comes out smooth and subtle. "How does she keep from impregnating you during heat?"

"Birth control, of course. Keep up with the," Tony trails off into a hiss. Bruce grins around patch of skin he's savaging on Tony's neck. Tony resumes unsteadily, "with the times. Okay. Less talk, more fucking."

"As you wish," Bruce says, knowing his voice has dropped into the bass registers and enjoying the stunned look Tony gives him when he gets up and all but tosses Tony onto the couch. "Turn over. On your stomach."

"Yes, sir," Tony says and scrambles to obey.

His pants and boxer briefs are soaked when Bruce yanks them off an unprotesting Tony. A moment of shame breaks through - an alpha shouldn't keep an omega waiting so long through a heat, it borders on cruelty - but it's soon subsumed into the fury, makes his movements quick, savage, precise. Tony is wet and open already. It's no effort to slip two fingers in, to find the crucial knot of glands and keep Tony occupied while Bruce gets his own pants off one-handed.

He smiles suddenly at a thought. "JARVIS, can you record this?"

Would you like me to, Dr. Banner?

"Please," Bruce says over Tony's cursing. "Full privacy encryption, locked to my voice print." He looks down at the shuddering mess on the couch. "And Tony's."

"Knew you were a kinky bastard," Tony gets out.

"Some people consider me a compassionate man, actually," Bruce says and twists his fingers. Tony flings his head back with a moan. Bruce kicks his pants and boxers away, considers for a moment how to get his shirt off - fuck it. Tony would get off on the sign of dominance anyway. "Sit up. Take your shirt off."

"Yes sir right away sir except I seem to be a little-- a little!" Tony's voice goes high, Bruce grins and adds a third finger. "A little pinned at the moment, fuck--"

"You're the genius. Figure it out," Bruce says, but helps Tony sit up just enough to wrestle out of his t-shirt. The position makes it easy for Bruce to slide his hand down and wrap a hand around Tony's cock right when the other man has his arms and head tangled in his shirt. Bruce bears down hard on Tony's prostate at the same time.

The yelp is like catnip to Bruce's brain.

"I wonder how much you can take before the heat drives you psychologically insane," he says conversationally while the t-shirt gets flung clear across the room. "I could keep you elevated like this for days. Maybe weeks, if I wanted to. Even extreme omegas aren't mentally or physiologically evolved to withstand heats that long."

"Jesus Christ-- motherfucker-- goddammit--" Tony's cursing starts to melt into wordless noise, and Bruce feels his lips draw back in an involuntary snarl. It's a reminder. He can channel his anger into useful places, make it work for him, but only for so long. He'll run out of time or control eventually.

"Down, Tony."

Tony drops back down to his hands and knees, somewhere beyond snark, gorgeous and pliant - and it really shouldn't feel that fucking good for Bruce to sink balls-deep into Tony, ridiculously easy. Taking it like he was made for this.

Tony's first orgasm will only take the edge off - he needs an alpha's come for the heat to truly end - so Bruce leans down to fist his cock at the same brutal rhythm he's fucking Tony with. It doesn't take long for the groans to start, for Tony to pulse hard into Bruce's hand and call him obscene names. When it's over…well. Bruce is still hard enough to pound nails, but he breathes deep, in three seconds out three seconds, and pulls himself out.

"Turn over," he says to Tony. Barely recognizes his own voice.

"Really?" Tony says.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Call me a romantic, all right? Turn over."

Tony turns over and his eyes are-- Bruce avoids his gaze and pulls Tony's legs around his hips. He thrusts back in without warning (Tony goes "Hey!" but they both know he's more than ready) and rolls his hips at a somewhat gentler pace, now that the other man isn't so deep in the grip of heat.

"Oh, come on." Naturally, Tony is having none of it. "Give it to me, Banner, I can take it."

Bruce finally looks up and into his eyes. Tony goes silent - Bruce wonders what he must look like. The roar is rising in his ears again.

"Have it your way," he says, and slams his hips forward.


"God fucking damn," Tony breathes.

Bruce, from his position draped limply over Tony's prone body, just nods.

"Knew you'd keep control. 'Cause you're the man, no worries. No worries at all, mate."

Bruce prods tentatively at his mind. The other guy barely stirs - not enough adrenaline or fury left after more than one mind-blowing orgasm. It's pretty damn unfair, he thinks, how bright-eyed Tony is when Bruce feels almost as worn out as he does post-hulking out, from the strain of pushing at his rigid control for so long.

"I'm…I'm going to have to talk to Pepper," he creaks out. "Apologize for mating with her om-- with you."

Tony groans. "Can we put this conversation off for when I'm less blissed out on fantastic sex?"

"You won't be able to hide that you mated with another alpha," Bruce insists.

"Oh, she'll probably be angry." Tony flaps a hand with unconcern, catches Bruce's look, grins infuriatingly. "Angry that she didn't get to watch. She's been eyeing you almost as long as I have, big guy."

The statement makes no sense. "You and her…you're fine with this?"

"I've told you like three times already." Tony yawns widely, stretches shamelessly. "You feeling the post-mating munchies as much as I am? JARVIS needs kick us out to clean this mess up anyway. Meet you in the café on the 34th floor in fifteen, they do a killer croissant and boy do I need carbs."

"You want to eat with me in public."

"Better than you eating me in public," Tony says, already swaying across the workshop. Bruce catches himself watching rivulets of come sliding down Tony's bare legs, snatches his eyes away.

"You're practically broadcasting post-coital pheromones. And you're covered in…" Bruce gestures vaguely, looking off into a corner. "Markings."

"Check out your own neck sometime, it's practically a work of art if I say so myself. Got to show off my new mate, right?" Bruce hears, rather than sees, the sleazy leer that accompanies the remark. He rolls his eyes.

"If it weren't for all the toys you give me to play with, Stark…" he starts, and Tony laughs.

"You know it, Banner. Oh, and by the way," Tony turns back at the door. "Your eyes were bright green. The whole time." The door whooshes shut before Bruce can so much as think of moving.

Shall I start your shower for you, Dr. Banner? JARVIS says.

He really has to stop letting Tony get the last word in. Bruce has to laugh. "Sure, why not." He heaves himself to his feet, grimacing when his skin peels away from the couch - a shower sounds really good. And so do croissants.



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