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“Some people claim that there’s a whooaaaaaamonn to blaaaame...and I know! Oh, yeah, I know, baby!”
Clearly drunk and out of his gourd, the singer of this rollicking karaoke version of “Margaritaville” -- the fifteenth such rendition delivered so far at Fury’s Cinco de Mayo celebration--punctuated the song’s bridge with an awkward shake of his skinny ass. So lost was he in the rhythm that he missed his cue for the final line.
“Shit!” The ad-libbed expletive shot piercing feedback through all speakers, causing a collective wince through the crowd. “ It’s my own da-yumn fault!”
Nick Fury, bar owner and quasi-celebrity host of the bar’s annual “Eyepatch Idol” contest, didn’t wait for the song to finish before relieving the blue Hawaiian-shirted contestant of his microphone. “It most certainly is.” To the crowd, “Let’s give it up for Clint ‘Margaritaville’ Barton. Let’s give him a hand!”
A smattering of applause followed, low enough for Bruce Banner to hear the muttered aside to his right.
“Clint sounds like he should give it up and go back to his day job or whatever.”
Bruce lightly snickered into his own margarita at that, careful not to suck any of the tart liquid down the wrong pipe. After another sip, he leaned to the side and replied, “I wouldn’t worry. You heard the crowd reaction, and I doubt the needle on the Applause-O-Meter moved an inch.”
“If there is one. This whole thing is fixed, I’ll bet. You know Fury’s gonna give it to the girl with the huge tits.”
“Yeah, and maybe he’ll give her the prize money, too,” Bruce let the alcohol talk for him. This earned an equally riotous response, and when his barstool neighbor’s drink moved into his line of vision, Bruce realized the guy wanted to toast to his lame joke.
That’s when he turned and locked eyes with a beautiful, dark-haired man. Really, beauti-- no, handsom-- fuck, no, sexy was the only word to describe him. The way the jagged tips of his hair dusted his collar, sharp brown eyes that looked as though they could ripple like puddles if touched, and his full lips smirked over at him. Bruce took in his strong, bare arms and flawless skin and hesitated before speaking. Whoever this man was, he’d thrown Banner off of his guard.
“Cheers,” he mumbled, clinking his fruity glass against the proffered longneck Kahlua.
“Vive Mexico.” The man took a long pull from his bottle and slammed it on a damp coaster. “Tony Stark,” he said, his voice crisp as he extended his hand.
Bruce accepted his warm, strong grip. His pulse quickened a beat and he suddenly felt a flush rising on his cheeks. “Bruce Banner. You local? I’ve never seen you before.” Indeed. as the owner of the city’s premier OB/GYN, he knew practically everybody.
Tony shook his head. “Passing through,” he said. “I heard about the karaoke contest and thought I’d take my chances.” A mischievous smile curled those tempting lips. “You sing?”
“Oh, n-no.” Bruce fidgeted in his stool. The rising heat of Tony’s appraisal sparked a self-consciousness he wanted to overcome. Every day since he and his girlfriend Betty had decided to open their relationship to accommodate new lovers--largely because the woman was terrified to all hell of him-- Bruce wondered if each look, each perceived blink equaled fear or lust.
The shrieking coda of an off-key redhead in a bikini top and shorts--shining strands of red, white, and green beads hanging from her neck--interrupted Bruce’s woes. The pale, tilting beauty had just asked the audience, “Which way do I steer?” as the final strains of “Cheeseburger in Paradise” faded. Fury took her mic and escorted her off-stage.
“Which way to steer? How about towards rehab, or voice lessons?” He joked, though Bruce figured there was some degree of stern truth in the remark. But the crowd laughed anyway and light applause signaled a dismal effort for the contestant.
Clearly the host tired of the event. Fury’s voice reflected his weariness. “Okay, last but not least...” he consulted an index card, “here to sing--oh, thank God it’s something we haven’t done yet.”
“That is what she said!” roared a detached, drunk voice from the crowd.
Fury quickly rejoined with, “Thank you, sweetheart. You better head back to the balcony now. I hear Statler’s getting worried.”
Nobody laughed at that, not even Tony. Feeling it his duty, Bruce crooked his neck toward the stage. " The Muppet Show,” he said. “You know, those two old guys who heckled everybody...”
“Oh, right. Right.” Tony nodded and smiled, and Bruce realized that show must have aired when the other man was a teen, or before that. God, he was too old to start over. He should be home taking care of Betty.
Then again, that wouldn’t be fair to her. He couldn’t give her what she really wanted, and if the way he was reacting was any signal, she couldn’t return the favor.
Fury continued to ramble on with the final introduction. “Okay, kids. Three more minutes and it’s all over. Let’s bring out Anthony Stark. Tony!”
Tony slid his nearly empty bottle next to Bruce’s drink and pushed loudly from his stool. “Watch that, would you?” he asked with a brush to Bruce’s hand. The touch sparked an electric sensation that shocked the doctor’s senses.
“Tony?” But the man couldn't hear him. Bruce watched him swagger around bodies about to topple. That firm, delicious ass, encased in faded jeans, moved with the grace of a cat, and Bruce saw his shoulders flex and pull his t-shirt tighter across his back. He had a hard body--was it the same for the rest of---
Knock it off. Bruce knew nothing of a so-called “gaydar” or signals. For all he knew, Tony was just a horny vagrant who banged a different girl every night.
What couldn't be denied, though, was his incredible singing voice. Deep tones overpowered the twangy melody of a Jimmy Buffet song that Bruce couldn’t immediately place. Many of the karaoke contestants kept to the obvious hits about margaritas and cheeseburgers. Tony’s choice began slowly and teased the audience with its down-home raunchy exuberance. The words came naturally-when Tony sang for a barmaid to bring another round, Bruce half expected one of Fury’s shorts-clad ladies to join him on stage bearing a heavy tray.
It seemed as though Tony scanned the crowd for a glimpse of him. Bruce detected laser heat aimed directly at him as their gazes locked from across the bar. His hearing numbed at the suggestion sung directly at him.
Honey, why don’t we get drunk and screw?
Riotous whooping and cheers erupted in the pit near the stage. Shaking hands held aloft beer mugs and margarita glasses, sloshing alcohol everywhere. The tang of salt and yeast assaulted Bruce’s senses and he grasped the brass rail lining the bar for balance. Tony maintained control of his attentions, clearly knowing what Bruce himself had yet to admit.
The man knew about Bruce Banner, knew he was interested. A subtle wink provided Bruce’s answer of his own desires. His palms sweat against the railing and he slid a few inches before catching himself. Feet tucked around the posts of the stool, he turned back to the bar, breaking eye contact so he could finish his drink and plan his next move.
Out the door? Bodies thickened the easiest pathway there. Tony would surely catch him, but Bruce knew that he wanted that to happen.
Before he realized it, the song ended to a high-decibel reception, more cacophonous than any other contestant had received. “That’s it, I’m calling it. The rest of you didn’t come close,” Fury bellowed. “This year’s winner of Eyepatch Idol is Tony Stark!”
The crowd didn’t seem to mind. The cheers continued long after the stage lights dimmed and canned music rose to fill the air. Bruce did his best to keep it all behind him but a forceful slap to his back brought the party crashing into his consciousness.
“Check it out,” Tony drawled, flipping open his prize envelope to reveal a check and a thick packet of gift certificates to Taco Bell.
“Congratulations, you earned it,” Bruce admitted. “You were better than anybody else, that’s for damn sure.”
“You got that right.” Tony signaled the bartender over and tossed a bill on the counter. “I got his, “ he tapped Bruce’s shoulder, “and gimme a bottle of Cuervo Gold for the road.”
Bruce’s heart thumped at the additional contact. He turned slightly to feel Tony’s hand still splayed across his back. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“You deserve something too, friend.” Tony leaned over the bar and snatched a whole lime from the drink well. Grabbing a nearby salt shaker, he nudged Bruce to stand. “C’mon.”
“Where are we going?” Bruce would have followed him over a cliff at this point, he realized. The man was just too damn alluring for his own good.
Tony grinned two rows of perfect white teeth. “It’s Independence day for the locals, amigo. What’s a holiday without some fireworks?”
~*~*~*~*~*~
As a resident for quite some time, Bruce knew damn well that the town had planned no such display for Cinco de Mayo. Townsfolk considered themselves lucky to see a show on the Fourth, given the council’s reluctance to explode things within town limits. Bruce liked to believe, too, that he possessed enough intelligence to know that he could expect a different type of “bang” in Tony’s room at the Sunrise Inn.
The drive, following Tony’s sporty red car, proved mercifully short and devoid of many side streets to allow a timid escape. Bruce held his breath as they silently made their way to a second floor room. Blood pounded in his ears as numerous questions jarred his mind. What if Tony turned out to be some kind of hustler, and mugged him? Should he have called somebody to let them know where he was? Who to call, Betty? Maybe he should have let Fury in on his plans.
No, not Fury. Nobody was to know about this.
Besides, people talk, and Bruce -really- didn’t need the publicity.
Tony casually tossed a ring of keys on the nearest table by the door and strolled to a desk on the opposite wall. He unloaded his booty on the paper blotter and reached for the mini-fridge. “Have a seat,” he said. “Get comfy.”
Seeing as Tony had obviously rented the inn’s economy suite, Bruce had no choice but to get “comfy” on the edge of the queen-sized bed. The mattress yielded easily to his weight, forcing Bruce to jostle for balance as he sank into the softness.
Tony chuckled. “You’re a funny guy, Bruce. You know that?”
“Unintentionally,” Bruce countered. “That’s not always a good thing.”
“It’s cute. I like that about you. Hell, I all-around like you.” Tony poured two shots of tequila, then sliced the lime into wedges with a jackknife from his back pocket. “You could use something strong, too, I can tell.”
Like an elephant tranquilizer? Bruce kept silent. He didn’t want to come across as a comedian. True, humor often proved a strong shield during times of anxiety, but one false wrong might send the night into a disappointing tailspin.
And what did he expect to happen anyway? Sex? Teenaged style necking at the most? The amorous electric charge filled the room. Bruce could feel the affect of Tony’s musk on his own skin. His cock stirred slowly to life, his nipples ached under his shirt. . .but he held fast to the bed comforter. Whatever was destined to happen tonight, he decided that Tony would have to take the lead. The man oozed confidence, a casual nonchalance that Bruce envied. He needed to learn that.
Tony grabbed the salt shaker and turned. “Hold out your hand,” he ordered in a gentle voice. “No, like this.” Tony demonstrated a loose fist, thumb curled upward. Bruce obeyed.
He sprinkled some salt along the rim of Bruce’s fist. “You have to have done this at least once in your life.”
As opposed to what? Bruce had to admit, though, Tony could read him well. Truly, he must look the part of the shy virgin unsure if he was being seduced. Not to say that wasn’t true, of course. He and Betty enjoyed a fine relationship made of hand-holding and awkward kisses.
With Bruce’s knuckles now properly seasoned, Tony took one of the hotel glasses, a fourth of the way filled with Cuervo. “Lick it.” He bent down to tongue away the salt. Bruce thought his heart might burst.
Finishing with an exaggerated smack, Tony said, “Slam it,” and downed the shot.
Bruce understood what came next. No mistaking Tony’s grin, either.
“Suck it.”
And Tony drew Bruce closer for a searing kiss. Bruce loosened his jaw on a gasp and Tony easily plundered the open cavern, probing deep and moving his lips over the other man’s. Bruce could only melt into the kiss, thinking how similar the sensation felt to kissing a woman. . .yet the facial abrasion and scent of raw masculinity clearly defined this experience.
Bruce hoped it would last. But, just as his arms rose to bring Tony closer, the young man broke away with a satisfied smirk. The taste of tequila and salt lingered on Bruce’s lips and he pursed tight to preserve the memory. He watched Tony’s gaze drop to Bruce’s left hand, shocked when Tony lifted it higher. Another grin.
“So. You’re funny and naughty,” Tony teased. “What secrets are you hiding?” The charge confused Bruce until he realized that Tony had noticed the obvious band on his wrist. Betty had advised him to wear it in case of ‘emergency’. He supposed now it didn’t make a difference.
“There are no secrets to reveal, to the people who matter,” he said, his voice a strong whisper.
Tony’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Bruce. . .”
“You’re not, I’m just naturally so.” Bruce smiled, relieved to see Tony respond in kind. “And as you can tell, my inexperience in all manners of seduction is plainly obvious.”
“I think you just need to relax.” Tony handed him the other shot, but before Bruce could down the tequila, Tony tsked. “No, gotta do it the right way.”
He sprinkled some salt on his own curled thumb, then held it up to Bruce’s mouth. “You remember what to do?”
Yep.
Lick it. Tony’s skin felt slick and cool under his thickening tongue.
Slam it. The Cuervo ignited a line of fire down his throat, but Bruce did his best not to cough away the flames.
Suck it. The alcohol amplified Tony’s delicious taste. The kiss lasted longer this time, with Bruce surprising himself by taking the lead. He pinned a hand to the back of Tony’s head to prolong their bond, breathing deeply in time with his partner’s beating heart.
Their bodies melded easily into each other’s. Arms snaked around waists. Legs and thighs twined, and jockeyed slightly for balance. Not that Bruce minded--if they ended up a bruised heap on the hotel rug he still wouldn’t stop his exploration of Tony’s form. The longer they kissed, the more natural his reactions appeared. His fingers fanned over the back of Tony’s jeans, noting the curves and softness.
He touched a man’s ass, and enjoyed it. Huh. Filing that one away for later.
Tony broke the kiss and nibbled down Bruce’s neck. “I’m ready for another shot,” he whispered, his breath hot in Bruce’s ear. “How about you?”
He would have preferred to remain in place, but Tony gave him no opportunity to protest. Tony slipped free of his hold and poured two more shots of Cuervo.
But when Bruce held out his fist for the salt, the other man shook his head. “No, let’s try something else.” Rather than reach for the glasses, Tony turned toward him and deftly unbuckled Bruce’s belt.
Bruce swallowed. He knew to expect this eventually, and the thought of seeing Tony in similar stages of undress caused him to harden underneath his partner’s gentle touch. By the time Tony had the pants and boxers off, Bruce sported a full erection.
Tony took the shaker in hand and tapped a few granules into his cupped palm. With a wink, he sank to his knees and slid the salted hand over Bruce’s cock. Bruce sucked in air, his legs quaking at the contact--but Tony eased his anxiety with a whispered rebuke.
“Relax, Bruce.” Slowly, he bent down and kissed the purpling head. Bruce thought he might come right there, and thanked what restraint he possessed when Tony came up without a coated face.
Tony grinned. “Lick it.” The flat of his tongue pressed against the base of Bruce’s cock, then drew painfully upward to collect the tiny salt crystals stuck to his skin.
“God,” Bruce cried, and cuffed the edge of the mattress for support.
“Slam it.” Still kneeling, Tony reached behind them for a glass. He downed the golden liquid in one swallow without so much a grimace for the sharp, fiery agave.
“Suck it.”
No pretense necessary. Tony grabbed the base firmly, letting one finger trail down his scrotum to tease a sensitive spot near his thigh. Bruce shifted his legs apart for better balance, and to allow Tony more room as he guided the organ into his mouth. Bruce hissed at the gentle, wet suction trapping him, and twitched with every rogue movement of Tony’s tongue across his shaft. He arched his head back and closed his eyes to let the sensation enhance, but after a few seconds, he had to look down and see, indeed, that this wasn’t just a dream.
Because he had never done anything like this before, Tony possessed a talent that would now serve as the standard by which all others would be judged.
This thought cast a shadow on the pleasure of the moment, and Bruce looked around the room. Hotels offered temporary housing, and this time with Tony signaled just that. Bruce would come, perhaps they’d kiss and do other things, and then he would go home. What next? Assuming Tony went on his merry way, and Betty ran off with some guy who didn’t scare her to death, what was left for him?
When a hand snaked around his hip to cup his bare buttocks, any misgivings about this moment dissolved. Bruce directed all concentration on the gorgeous man before him, sucking him to imminent orgasm.
A finger burrowed into his ass, tracing the puckered hole before breaching. “Yes,” Bruce whispered on a sigh. The buildup in his core proved too much to bear. The tingling in his groin increased--he couldn’t hold on.
Tony released Bruce’s cock long enough to encourage him, then resumed a gentle suction, guiding Bruce over the edge. He exploded in short bursts, moaning with the added sensual pressure applied when Tony closed tightly around him to swallow every last drop.
As the high faded, Bruce collapsed back on the bed, panting and pressing his heart to control its wild beat. “Holy shit,” he sighed, more from disbelief with the situation than the actual act. He’d come to a strange man’s hotel room for sex, not something he’d ordinarily do. He wasn’t drunk, yet never had he felt so intoxicated in his life. Were he not feeling so weak in the afterglow, he’d muster the courage to drag Tony up next to him.
Yet, for all the euphoria he savored now, his thoughts still wandered to his girlfriend. Though she knew that he was going out tonight, Bruce realized they could not stay together and lead separate love-lives. She needed comfort and companionship full time, and he needed. . . this? Well, something similar to it. The occasional dinner out or walk in the park would not satisfy either of them.
He watched Tony down another shot, then creep beside him on the bed. Tony draped an arm across Bruce’s chest, and they both basked in the alcohol-induced haze.
“That was awesome,” he said.
“Yes,” Bruce agreed, then, “What’s next for you?”
Tony smiled and rolled onto his back. “Another town, another contest. This check will only get me so far.”
“You ought to audition for a steadier job with that voice. You could do very well.”
Tony chuckled. “Nah, I don’t like to be pinned down. I’m having too much fun. And when I’m too old to do this I’ll at least have the memories.”
“I hear you.” Bruce counted pockmarks on the ceiling. “I envy your freedom.”
The mattress sagged and shifted. Tony had eased farther away to grab a pillow. “I have to admit, too. I see people happy in their homes, surrounded by friends, and I feel a longing. But I know if I stay I’ll itch to leave again.”
“Yes.” Bruce had ties here. Betty, his friends, his career. Would he be able to sustain it all in a new life? He worried about Betty, but she was strong and capable, and beautiful. She would have no trouble finding a new man to share her life.
Would he?
A nudge to his shoulder broke his thoughts, and he turned to see Tony smiling broadly at him. The man leaned in for a kiss, and Bruce obliged. Slowly, lips moved over skin and tongues danced a lazy waltz until Tony pursed his mouth and broke free.
Bruce sighed. “I can’t stay.”
“I know,” Tony said. “Neither can I.” After a pause, he added, “If I came back, would you be here?”
Bruce nodded. He certainly didn’t expect an invite to run away with Tony, and in the slim chance it came he’d have to say no. “I just realized I didn’t return the favor.” Bruce trailed a cautious hand down Tony’s chest, ghosting over his belt buckle to the crotch of his jeans, where a once pronounced erection had softened.
Tony grasped the hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed the fingers. “Don’t worry about it. Now I have a reason to come back to town.”
Bruce smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”