revivalproject | Mermay!!

Entry tags:

Mermay!!

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: all around
WHAT: MERMAY
WHEN: MERMAY
WARNINGS: ....MERMAY

darling it's better

Steve can be found on his now early-morning swim around town, zipping past anyone. He'll happily deliver anything to anyone within the confines of Temba, for any reason, in the early morning, since he makes a whole loop around. He's faster than a shark, but he's got a rather ostentatious blue tail, with red and white striped fins.

He seems to be in a decent mood, if only because he's having trouble with a lot of his memories of the past that don't reconcile with his ones of being a merman. Anytime he tries too hard to wonder why there's a lack of water if he thinks too hard, the memory disappears like seafoam.

He's having one of those such moments, paused mid-fin flip, eyes in concentration as he starts to sink, but then, he shakes his head, and keeps swimming. That was weird!

down where it's wetter

Sitting on a rock somewhere, Steve's drawing things into the sand. If you ask, he could make a whole series of drawings, each of them replacing the last, ephemeral in nature, washed away by the waves.

"I can try drawing you next," he offers. He's not sure how portraits will work out in the sand, but he'll give it a good college try.

take it from me!

[ cw: injury ]

Having swum through a whole nest of sea urchins in order to grab one, somehow Steve'd accidentally loosened a whole bunch of them, and they'd fallen, mostly on his tail.

He swims out of there quickly, but he has lots of barbs sticking out. He pauses to pull one out, only to manage to accidentally shatter a few of the ones in a cluster and leave them further embedded into his tail. Trying to violently flip it doesn't really help, either. He needs to swim somewhere he can sit down and address this as best as he can.

"Tell me you have tweezers on you," he requests of the nearest He-Row that he finds.

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Steve isn't really sure where they're headed, but he does trust Tony with his life. He's doing that thing again, probably, where he has a whole conversation in his head that Steve isn't invited to. But that's okay, because Steve has whole conversations in his head too, he just tries not to let Tony know about them.

He lifts up his hands to block the light, but then settles in, tail swinging back and forth. It hurts a little bit to do so, but he's also hoping that it either dislodges some more of the spines or cuts him a little more so that it will dislodge them.

This was doing the opposite of helping, which Tony said by clicking his tongue, then murmuring honeyed encouragement when Steve kept still long enough for him to examine his first chosen problem. He had to keep his own tail looped tightly around the leg of the table to stay grounded, so the tweezers he finally had on hand didn't scorch Steve when Tony started his careful extraction. As quick as he could be, for this one he was very deliberate, fingers all splayed to preserve Steve's scales and try to push the spine out. He cut a sidelong look Steve's way even as he continued to mutter at his work like he would talk to one of his devices on the table; with the intimate affection of whispering into a date's ear.

Steve just keeps his focus on Tony working - he'd always loved watching Tony work, whether it was on a machine or poring over text. Something about watching the gears whirr in his brain without knowing what sort of outcome he'd produce but always being amazed by it every time - good or bad, just amazed - was always something special.

There's nothing different about this, only, now he expressly has permission to do so. He'd think if he had done so a few days ago it might come off as a little creepy if he wasn't doodling in the tablet.

Maybe it's because Tony does other things, like whisper into his tools, making Steve feel like he's eavesdropping. It's quite ridiculous. If his ears weren't white fringed, they might color red. He clears his throat. "Thank you, for helping. I know this isn't... what you wanna do with your afternoon."

That discomfort was a little hard to read, but Steve wasn't hissing or wincing like he had been outside, so Tony took it as an invitation to work faster and less cautiously. He tossed his head with another click of his tongue like he had to discourage Steve again though he wasn't moving around so much, and answered, "Can't think of anything nicer to be getting my hands on right now." Maybe carefully nicking the thin, new skin open again wasn't ideal, but Tony didn't have a prettier project to put on the table.

Definitely not. Steve's tail glints underneath the light, underneath the shadows of movement. Up-close the scales aren't just blue, they're lightly iridescent. The blood that mars the water is red, but even the soft plumes make an interesting match against the rigid patterns of deep blue.

Steve, too, is sitting back, propped up on his arms, triceps flexed, entire torso essentially on display.

He just smirks. "Don't know about all that, your machines are pretty."

It was difficult to look up at Steve's alluring lounge without being painfully aware of how his work kept Tony bent over with glasses slipping down his nose, and he couldn't remember the last time anyone had even acknowledged his work, or at least that was how Tony rationalized his own squirming then, feeling the metal practically hum in his fingers. He had to take a breath and consciously push his shoulders back to find some of that smirking self-assurance that sold cover stories, and still kept his focus intent on another spine as he said, "From my personal artist in residence, that means a lot. I'll figure out how to be as insufferable as possible about it the next time someone's vulnerable on my table."

"Think you're managing to do that just fine," Steve responds, entirely too casually. It's good, it means they're talking again, back to business as usual. He hadn't thought that it'd be that quick, but maybe it's because this Tony's got some sort of concerted effort to let Steve know he's not like the other one.

"Is it okay if I come down to your lab more?" he asks, gently. He just thinks that he oughta try a little, too. And maybe it'll be good for them, having company.

Directly asking like that was a little too vulnerable, more than the torn skin under Tony's fingers, and his jaw flexed with tension as he smoothed Steve's scales down over where he had pulled another spine, meaningfully careful in response to Steve's cadence. They were supposed to have skipped that conversation when Tony handed him the pen, and then Tony had screwed it up for himself by sparking at Steve. "If it'll stop you from coming up with these terrible excuses to get my attention," he accused, and before Steve could try to be sincere again where Tony had to look him in the eye, added, "Turn over."

Steve frowns, having taken this entirely the wrong way. "Well, if you don't want me there, you can just say so," he says. "I don't want to be in your space if you're just going to be annoyed at me the whole time." But he does as he's asked anyway, and turns over, tail where his quads would be flat against the table, propped up on his elbows. He looks over his shoulder. "Is it bad?"

"I'll just be working," Tony mumbled in answer, still reluctant to meet Steve's eye, leaving Steve to decide if that was an assurance that Tony had better things to do than be annoyed, or a warning that being in the shop wasn't going to be terribly fun. The hand Tony splayed on Steve's shoulder, ostensibly to keep him still, might have been more forthcoming in the way it soothed down his side then massaged into his hip, both impulsively as Tony tensed and to keep Steve from reacting as Tony had to tear open another scab. "Nothing to worry about, looks great," Tony said, hopefully brightly enough that his grimace at extracting a cluster of urchin spikes wasn't obvious.

He wonders offhandedly how many times Tony's done something similar for his Steve - bandaged his wounds or helped him out when he was otherwise incapacitated for some reason. It's not that he expected Tony to react with unease, but there's a certain comfort and familiarity here that he thinks might be a brick wall between him and Tony at home.

Steve thinks it's nice. Honestly, despite his words being prickly, he likes when they just fall into battle without many words, with no arguments. His tone says one thing, his hands say another.

He turns his head around, and then he lowers himself down, elbows crossed to pillow his head, which also helps when Tony touches a part of his tail where the serum's already caused an inflammation to start, and is making the skin very tender for the moment. He winces. "Keep going," he says, managing his breathing.

Reluctantly, Tony felt his way around that swelling, but was too aware of Steve's tension and the change in his breathing to try to brute force his way through the new complications it presented for him. Instead, after some rattling around on the bench, he left what felt like a careful weight on the area that got rapidly cool, and started to sting as Tony moved on to some easier spines to draw out, and more inflamed spots to try to manage the same way. When he did finally return to the first, it was with his tongue between his teeth as he gingerly tested if his aftershave had at least reduced the swelling enough for Tony to see better, and numbed the area enough to keep Steve from complaining. That measured breathing was already making Tony anxious enough. Just before he pressed down on the skin, he offered, "Should have guessed you were a masochist. Should we have established a safeword?" Hopefully, that would keep Steve occupied for long enough to hardly notice the sharp edge of the tweezers.

He's confused at first, but, he'd recognize the smell of Tony's aftershave anywhere, and of course, it stings on the area that's a little tender. But it also helps distract when Tony continues pulling out little spines, because it seems to dull that pain a little more. "A safeword?" he asks, clearly not as adventurous as his counterpart. But he gets the idea of the concept, given the context. Luckily, Tony can't see his face as he slowly realizes why it wouldn't just be 'stop'. "Don't think I could even if I wanted one; I need these out of my tail."

That seemed like it was an effective tactic to keep Steve from reacting too much, so hopefully he could maintain the momentum himself because Tony only mumbled, "That's what they all say." He was focused on getting this finished for Steve before anyone else could see a mark on him, fussily trying to smooth his scales where they had been too broken, or his skin was still too swollen to properly hide the damage.

"Wouldn't know about that," Steve answers, as Tony fusses with his tail. It's at least looking in better shape than before, though, he assumes that it will get a little infected, which will pass quickly, hopefully. The scales will regrow, the skin will heal.

"If only I had a tail like yours," he says. "Bet the quills would've just slipped out of your tail."

All of the spines that Tony had spotted in his thorough assessment seemed to be accounted for, and he finally convinced himself to take his hands away and float back for some assessing distance, pushing the glasses up into his hair. He might have stayed there, too, as he immediately forgot what he had intended to do, and that he still needed oxygen, as he stared at Steve spread out on his workbench, and only shook out of calculating the line made by the dip of his spine with a chuckle at Steve's lament. When he drew closer again, it was to crowd against Steve's hip, forcing him to rapidly accommodate Tony sitting alongside him on the increasingly narrow table, the warm sparks he threw back to crawling along Steve's skin as Tony let his tail drift again without the grounding. "Yeah, I get that all the time on dates. A gal goes crazy for how easy it is to stab me. Some of us are just born lucky," he said.

Steve doesn't move from the bench as Tony looks him up and down. He feels the heat of a gaze, but he ignores it since he knows this is for medical reasons, and he really ought to get checked out. He assumes when Tony comes to sit by him that he approves of the diagnosis.

"Well, then it's a good thing you're taken now. No more blind dates with stab-happy ladies." He sits up then, shaking off a few of the sparks. "Thanks for taking all the spines out," he says, gently bumping shoulders with Tony.

He wasn't quite allowed to bump, as Tony pressed back to maintain the contact long enough to both accept the thanks and discourage him from being so embarrassing out loud again. He owed Steve more than that, after all, there was nothing to thank. "I'll send 'em to you. Maybe some of them will appreciate the challenge," he said. "They won't even be able to tell that a bunch of urchins got one over on you. Look at that." He flicked a gesture down Steve's tail, which looked magnificent as ever, his scales dazzling enough that Tony had to search for where he knew some marks lingered. "I am going to tell people, though," Tony reported solemnly, like this was his honourable duty. "You know, because it's funny."

Well, hopefully they won't be able to tell. Aside from the swelling, his tail seems to be healing up well. Thanks to Tony, anyway. But then he frowns. "Fine," he says, resigned. "You can tell people about how the sea urchins ripped up my tail." It's not like Tony really had people to send his way and it's not like Steve really wanted to impress any of them. "Guess I can consider that payment."

"Down payment," Tony corrected with a wry smile, letting the delicate end of his tail coil around Steve's with a crackle, like he might take it for himself to make up the difference. "You can't afford me, big man. You'll be paying this one back for the rest of your life. You can start by cleaning up some of those urchins, I'm starving, I've been living off the paste in this place and, honestly, taking a nap is more satisfying."

Steve lightly taps Tony's tail as it comes around, his fins gently curved around it. "Well, I was gonna give some of those to you anyway," he says, as he swims over to retrieve the bag so he can cut the urchins open.

He's much more careful about them now, so that Tony won't have to pause dinner to clean up his hands.

"I'm thinking oysters on the half-shell tomorrow," he adds. "As long as I can find something to shuck them with."

While Tony readily produced a wide screwdriver to toss to Steve and solve his shucking problem, he was watching him curiously. He had never seen Steve cook once, but here he was personally foraging at his own personal risk, and hadn't been discouraged at all. "Is this your thing, at home?" Tony had to ask. "You feed people?" He had mentioned making sure Tony ate when Tony was encouraging him to draw, too. "Jarvis kind of takes care of that for us..."

"No," Steve says, laughing. "No, actually, I've been told more than once that I shouldn't cook. I just figured... someone shouldn't let these urchins go to waste." They don't often eat them, which is strange. They're in abundance. That and the lobsters, but it's hard to poach lobsters underwater. "Our JARVIS was an AI. So, not really a good cook. Great at ordering pizza."

Hearing Steve's laugh unbound a knot in Tony's chest that he hadn't even realized was there, letting him lean forward with both hands around the edge of the table and tapping idly underneath it. "More than once is no coincidence," he smiled. That was much less surprising than the Steve that was planning their meals a day in advance. "Is that what happened to Jarvis? You burned down his kitchen, he quit?"

Steve shakes his head. He doesn't want to give Tony this news, but he supposes he's the only one who can. "I've never met Jarvis - the man the AI's named after. I think maybe he passed before I got out of the ice." Things really were different. "Think I would've liked to meet him. Must've meant a lot to you."

darling it's better

down where it's wetter

take it from me!

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