stargraven | Ficlet: 2022 SteveTony Games Fill (Team Kill) -- Pretend to Be His Darling

[FICLET] Pretend to Be His Darling
Team Kill fill for the 2022 SteveTony Games ( stevetonygames )
Work Type: Fic (301 words)
Universe: Ultimates
Bingo Square: Touch-Starved
Challenge: Fairy Godmother (wish granted for Jaz - "Ults!SteveTony: Tony who keeps calling Steve "Darling," and Steve who's convinced he can not stand Tony")
Content Warning: Steve's Internalized Homophobia and use in his thoughts of homophobic slurs (albeit relatively mild ones)

Well, we needed the Touch-Starved square for the current blackout-in-progress again, and my brain supplies fodder for this all too easily. This one's a little internal monologue for Ults Steve, as a granted wish for Jaz. I pretty much live in Ults vol 1, where Steve's still not long out of the ice and has A Lot to figure out, about himself, the world now around him, and definitely his feelings about Tony. He's got some major denial going on here, including his internalized homophobia, and thinks of Tony in derogatory terms for being gay or at least bi (not specified). For this small ficlet, I kept that to fairly mild words, not that it makes the sentiment itself any less ugly.

Stark was vile. Callow, coarse, loose. Bent. Everything Steve couldn't stand and would never be.

And Stark just wouldn't stop touching him. He hated it. Hated it. A hand in the small of his back while they walked. Or cupping his shoulder, with that stifling extra squeeze. A slap to Steve's chest to punctuate Stark's latest vulgar joke, when he'd made himself laugh and wanted Steve to join in. One to Steve's ass, once. Once. Steve had rounded on him in a heartbeat, teeth bared and fists at the ready, and Stark had faded back across the room, deceptively fast on his feet.

He hated that Stark's hands were warm. He hated every time it made him remember how cold he felt. It was fine. Easy enough to fix: work up a healthy sweat on another long run, or power-lift another hefty round of weights in the gym. No such thing as training too hard, or being too fit.

He didn't want Stark to do it again. The ass slap or any of the rest. He did not. He didn't need the excuse if he wanted to punch the guy. Feel his knuckles make contact with the brittle jaw under that sissy-looking line of facial hair. Man should grow a goddamned beard if he was going to.

...a way to touch him back, the voice in his head whispered. No, he did not want to do that. That was the voice on the wrong shoulder. The voice he would turn from, without fail.

He might despise Stark, but they were teammates. He didn't have to like the man. He could tolerate him. Put up with all his patronizing, proprietary ways. Every unwanted finger laid on him. Every shoulder bumped against him. Every hated arm around him.

Pretend to be his darling.