Just a bit of a Stony two-shot :D

Disclaimer, I don't own anything.

Russian translations were done using GoogleChrome so please forgive me if they suck. (English translations are at the bottom). Any other errors are my fault, my knowledge comes from obsessively watching the movies and excessive use of Wikipedia and that MarvelWiki-thingy.

Calloused Fingers

Steve had a thing about what day it was.

Mondays were generally pretty shit. Both his and Bucky's moms had died on a Monday (different Mondays), the IED-thing that had cost Bucky his arm and both their careers had happened on a Monday. Wednesdays were even worse, they had been captured on a Wednesday. Saturdays were alright though, nothing bad had ever happened on a Saturday, but then again nothing spectacularly good had ever happened on a Saturday either.

Thursdays were the best, Steve had met Bucky on a Thursday. They had also escaped on a Thursday and had been rescued a week later, also on a Thursday. Thursdays were really awesome. Fridays were pretty alright, they had the tendency to go either way to be honest, so they were always a gamble for if it was going to be good or bad. Sundays were only beaten by Thursdays and were a lot like Saturdays and Fridays, only a bit better. Tuesdays were ordinary, nothing ever happened on a Tuesday.

Well, except that one Tuesday, but Steve was pretty sure that one day had been the exception to the rule.

Bucky thought he was nuts for judging how good the day would be because of previous events, but Steve knew he was onto something. The guys in their unit thought he was nuts too. Except Morita, but the others would claim he didn't count because he did the same thing, only with the months of the year instead of days of the week. (Thursdays in April and October were the best days of the year, whilst Mondays and Wednesdays in March were to be avoided at all cost).

The Tuesday in question had been before he and Bucky had joined the Marines. They had agreed to sign up together so Steve, who was older than Bucky by almost two years, had two years to do something until Bucky finished school. Taking his best friend's advice he had decided on doing a short, one year art program at the local art school.

He'd been walking home one evening, it was a Tuesday so he hadn't been expecting anything to happen, when a hand shot out of a fence and latched onto his arm. Steve had been in the nicer parts of the city so it had been a shock. Technically he was taking the long way home just so he could admire the old architecture, but he didn't really care, they were beautiful pieces of work.

After a moments scuffle he realised that his assailant was another teen, maybe a year younger than himself, but definitely older than Bucky. While the other teen gazed at him, lips bunched to a side and fingers twiddling with a pencil, Steve took the opportunity to examine him with an artist's eye.

His dark brown hair was long, but short enough to not be tied up, and was sticking up in all directions, his pale brown eyes were flecked with green and there was a smudge of grease or something on the base of his jaw, just under his ear. He was wearing black dress pants with a bright red button down shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows, showing off toned, slightly scarred arms.

"You," the teen said, and Steve was all too aware of the calloused hand still around his wrist. "Are going to be perfect."

"I'm sorry. What?" Steve blurted out.

"I'm Tony," the teen said, an absolutely gorgeous smile spreading on his face. "Want to pretend to be my boyfriend for the night?"

"Again, what?" Steve blinked, readjusting his bag of art stuff hanging from a shoulder at his side.

The teen, Tony, racked his eyes over him again, making Steve flush a bright red. Bucky tended to tease him for how he dressed but Steve could tell that Tony didn't find it completely ridiculous. He was in dark grey pinstripe pants that stopped just above his ankle (he could never find pants that fit, they were always either too short and didn't reach his ankles or they were too large at his waist), allowing anyone to see his rainbow striped socks and fire truck red converse. Over a white t-shirt, which he had painted a stylistic American flag, he was wearing an open cobalt blue button down shirt. He was also well aware of the fact that his arms were flecked with paint and his fingers smudged with charcoal.

"Boyfriend. You. Me. Please." Oh, god, Steve groaned in his head as Tony pouted, pouted, at him. No bloke should look that bloody hot while pouting.

"Boyfriend…" Steve repeated weakly.

The pout turned into a hesitant and encouraging smile. "That's you…"

"Steve," Steve said, sighing.

"Steve," Tony said, the name rolling slowly from his mouth as it turned up into a grin. "Right, well. You see I need a boyfriend for the night because my psycho-controlling parents are going to try marry me off to some business partner's daughter, so if I introduce you as my boyfriend then they can't do that because you are my amazingly attractive and ridiculously tall, completely gay boyfriend which means I'm hella fucking gay."

"Are you?" Steve blurted out, trying to make sense of the long rambling sentence.

"Am I what?"

"Gay."

"Does it actually matter? No." Tony said, immediately answering his own question. "All that really matters is that you play your part and I don't end up engaged at the end of the night."

When Steve just continued to blink at him Tony pulled out a wad of money. "I'll even pay you," he offered somewhat desperately.

"Ho…how do have that much money?" Steve asked, there had to be at least half a grand there. He was totally not considering going along with this completely crazy idea with a guy he didn't even know.

"Oh, my dad's Howard Stark."

Steve nodded once, but not out of actually understanding. "Is that meant to mean something to me?"

"Fuck, could you get any more perfect."

It was Tuesday, Steve thought. Nothing this insane should be happening. Tuesdays were safe and calm and normal and… oh, sweet Jesus he's pouting again.

"Do we have a deal?"

Tuesdays are normal. Tuesdays are unordinary. Tuesdays are… Steve chanted in his head. He wasn't seriously considering doing this. But he and Bucky could really use the money and he looked so sincere and he needed Steve's help and Steve wasn't one to deny anyone help and he had never met such an utterly gorgeous person before and those lips…

Okay, maybe those last couple reasons weren't completely valid.

"YA dolzhen idti psikhicheskogo," he muttered under his breath before saying louder, and in English. "Yeah, why not. We have a deal."

Tony's jaw was hanging open.

"Hey," Steve said, concerned, snapping his fingers in Tony's face.

"You speak Russian," Tony stated.

"Neyt der'mo, Sherlok," Steve muttered in response and Tony's eyes lit up.

"Okay, new idea. You don't speak English, you just speak Russian. Talk a lot in Russian, swear too. I might kiss you, is that all right? Also they will try to split us up and deny our relationship so just stick as close to me as you can."

"It's fine," Steve said, his voice going high on the last syllable, making is sound like a question. "And I do spea…"

"No you don't, not tonight, believe me this will be much better. Come on."

Steve was half dragged along the street as Tony threw his arm around Steve's shoulders. "You're an artist aren't you?" he asked, his lips brushing against Steve's ear.

"Yeah," Steve said for some reason. "It's only a casual thing until Bucky finishes school."

"Bucky?" Tony asked, his face falling. "Oh shit, you don't actually have a boyfriend do you?" His voice became slightly panicked.

"Best friend," Steve answer, repressing a shudder at the thought. "Practically my brother and disgustingly straight."

"What's happening when best friend, practically brother Bucky finishes school?"

Steve flushed slightly as Tony's arm dropped from around his shoulders so he could intertwine their fingers. "We're ummmm, we're enlisting together. Marines."

The flush got darker when Tony planted a quick kiss on his cheek, burrowing his head in Steve's shoulder. "Fuck, you got more perfect," he moaned into Steve's neck. "Long line of NAVY on my mom's side."

"I'll try not to hold that against you, then," Steve said with a small smile.

Stopping in front of one of the more extravagant house Tony placed both his hands on Steve's shoulders. "Alright, remember. You are my so very, very gay, artist boyfriend who doesn't speak English. Got it?"

Steve gave him a flat look. "I'm an artist, not stupid."

Tony laughed, carefree, throwing his head back. "Yes, you are," he grinned, running his hands through Steve's blonde hair, messing it all up and leaving small spots of grease and grime in it.

"Let's do this," Tony paled as he said the words, but the grin remained on his face.

Tony led Steve up the stone stairs and threw open the front door, guiding Steve through a crowd of fancily dressed people until they reached a large kitchen. Grabbing a tall flute off a tray, Tony downed it in one before grabbing another two and handing one to Steve, who took a small sip.

When none of the kitchen staff did anything about it Steve figured that this was normal Tony behaviour.

"Master Anthony," said a very British voice behind them.

Tony spun them around. "Jarvis," he drawled. "This is Steve, my boyfriend."

Jarvis gave them both a tight smile. "Of course, welcome, Mr Steve."

Steve gave a smile but remained silent.

Tony shrugged with mock apologeticness. "Steve's Russian," he explained. "He doesn't speak English."

"Seriously, Tony?" three men, probably in their late twenties, came up to them the middle one wearing a sneer as he looked down on them. "A boyfriend? What the hell are you trying to pull this time?"

"Obie, always a delight to see your ugly face," Tony spat. "And you've brought your minions with you I see. Ivy, Hammy, how are we today?"

Tony moved to wrap an arm around Steve's waist.

"This is a new low for you, Tony? Are you trying to ruin SI? What the hell is your problem?"

Steve struggled to keep quiet, he hated bullies like these assholes. Regardless of the fact that he knew nothing of the situation of who any of these people were, Steve did know that he really didn't like these three guys.

"Really," Tony asked, as if he really cared what they thought. "And I wasn't even trying very hard."

"You are the future of Stark Industries, Tony. When are you going to learn to act your age?"

"The future of SI?" Tony spat, his hand grasping Steve's so tight it hurt. "They call my father the Merchant of Death, do you really think I want any part of that legacy," he spat the words out like they tasted foul in his mouth.

"Does Uncle Howard know about this?" Obie, obviously the leader of the three, asked.

"You honestly think I give a fuck what dear old daddy thinks. The man is barely my father and only through genetics."

Hammy or Ivy, Steve didn't actually know which was which spoke up. "What about your boyfriend, what does he think of this?" he asked, and Steve could practically feel the quotation marks.

Tony shrugged, leaning into Steve. "I doubt he has an opinion on it either way. Apart from the fact that he doesn't speak English, he's going to enlist in the Marines. Special Forces, the guys that help people, not blow them up."

"Christ, are trying to get flogged. Why the hell would you bring a Marine here, you don't even fucking speak Russian."

Tony smirked and Steve just knew it was going to be good. "Well, I think our mouths would be a little too busy sucking each other's dicks to get much talking in, if I'm being honest."

Steve struggled to not choke on the sip of the golden yet slightly tinged pink translucent liquid Tony had handed him when a door behind the three opened.

"Dolzhny li my poyti i vypit' goryachego, gey seks lyubov' moya?" Tony asked Steve casually.

"Pokhozhe, ideya," Steve replied, setting his almost empty flute down straight onto a wooden table as Tony began to tug him out of the room.

Ivy or Hammy, whichever one hadn't spoken earlier flinched and grimaced. "You should be disgusted," he spat in a thickly accented voice.

"Are you sure it's alright if I kiss you?" Tony whispered into his ear.

"Da," Steve replied casually.

"Oh for God's sake, have some respect, would you." Obie spat. It seemed one of the minions had informed Obie of what they had said.

"For what? A murderer?" Tony snorted. "No thanks. I think I'll pass. Try again next millennium, maybe. I wouldn't recommend it though because no matter when you xask, you'll most likely be shit outta luck, assho…"

"Will. you. shut up." Obie hissed. "Happy and Harley here."

"They could use the education, probably be good for them. Might teach them to not become small-minded, judgemental dicks when they grow up."

"Aunty Maria's looking for you, Tony." One of the young boys piped up. "She heard about your Marine."

Tony smirked at Steve's apparent new title. Grinning cheekily he rested a hand on the back of Steve's neck and pulled him down to press their lips together. After running his tongue along Steve's bottom lip for a second, Tony drew back. "Tell mom she can shove it up her a…"

"Tony!" Obie yelled at their backs because they were already out of the kitchen.

Weaving through men in expensive suits and ladies in floor length gowns they ran up a flight of stairs, still connected by their laced fingers, and into a large bedroom.

Laughing almost hysterically Tony flopped into the bed, lying on his back with his arms flung above his head, causing his shirt to ride up, exposing a strip of the pale white flesh of his stomach.

Steve slumped against the wall, a couple tears leaking from his eyes at the absurdity of it all. "You do this often then?" he asked, swallowing his laughter.

Tony gazed at him. "Never."

"God," Steve breathed out as he straightened up, looking around the room.

There was stuff everywhere. The walls were plastered with plans and blueprints and, along one was a large table overflowing with equipment and there were inventions and contraptions taking up every inch of free space.

The only light in the room was coming from a small glowing blue… thing. Steve wasn't actually sure what it was and moved closer to look at it. He was bent over at the waist, head fully tilted on its side and his nose barely an inch from the device when something bumped into his elbow.

Jumping in shock, Steve scrunched up his nose when Tony started laughing at him. "Steve met Dum-E, he's my first attempt at an AI. Dum-E this is Steve, he's agreed to be my boyfriend for the night."

Steve looked between Tony and Dum-E in wonder. "Artificial Intelligence," he said softly. "That's brilliant."

Tony shrugged and stretched, making his shirt ride up even more.

Steve nodded at Dummy. "Hello Dum-E, nice to meet you."

Dum-E gave a happy whirl and nudged Steve again until the blonde patted the robot. Shaking his head in wonder Steve picked his way across the room and sat down on the bed next to Tony.

"You did amazing by the way," Tony commented.

Steve hummed noncommittally. "This is all very … strange."

"Nah, not really. Mom and dad just love to play happy families but shit's always going down around here. Can't wait till I can leave." Tony let his head flop to the side so he could look at Steve. "Suppose it would be a bit crazy, for you anyway."

"I don't like bullies much," Steve said. "They like this a lot?"

Tony snorted. "That was all pretty tame, actually."

"Huh," Steve's eyebrows rose. "So what now?"

Tony shrugged and poked Steve's knee. "So what's with you?" he asked. "You must be good at judging a person's character if you don't like the three morons, but what sort of guy pretends to be the boyfriend of a guy who grabbed him off the street?"

Steve cocked his head in amusement. "Like I said, not a big fan of bullies and you looked like you needed the help. Besides what sort of guy grabs someone of the street and offers money for them to pretend to be their boyfriend? I could be serial killer or something. Maybe I want to use you in some sacrificial ritual you in your own home?"

"Eh. Depends, if it's a sex thing, cool." Tony muttered. "Not like anyone would care if you did," he added after a moment

Steve's chest hurt at that and he was so glad he'd decided to go along with this mad guy who pulled him off the street.

Pulling a pencil from his bag he began doodling on a piece of paper.

"Mummy dearest is probably going to bust in here in a minute or two, Steve. I'll kiss you and then you get the hell out of here."

"That's it?" Steve asked. "Sure I shouldn't stay?"

Tony propped himself up on an elbow. "You want to stay?"

"Hardly seems fair to leave you to deal with this on your own," Steve said, not looking away from the doodle, red creeping up his neck.

Tony didn't answer, instead his hand flicked out and he latched into Steve's right arm, stilling it. Turning it so Steve's wrist was turned up, Tony traced thumb over the small black letters. '& you take it like a whore', it said in cursive. Tony's eyes flickered up to Steve's face, who smiled almost bitterly; he twisted his left wrist so Tony could read the words there too; 'they slap you like a bitch'.

"They slap you like a bitch and you take it like a whore," Tony murmured, reading them in the correct order. "Sounds like some good advice."

Steve hummed, a small noise in the back of his throat, and went back to the doodle as Tony let go of him.

Tony laughed bitterly. "No," he said lowly, answering Steve's question. "It's better you didn't. Wouldn't want to corrupt you."

"Corrupt. Me." Steve repeated slowly.

"Yeah, I mean, you're this 'All American' pretty boy, next door neighbour, goody-goody two-shoes," Tony said in a tone that wasn't exactly mocking but it stuck a painful chord in Steve's chest.

Steve laughed loudly at that. "God, Bucky would love that," he commented. "I get into fights almost daily, I am not the good boy you think I am."

"Fights," Tony raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Probably so you could … save a kitten or something."

"Actually it was a three-legged puppy," Steve said flatly and Tony screwed up his eyes as he grinned.

"Christ," he breathed. Standing up he dug around in his pocket before pulling Steve to his feet by the lapels of his open shirt. The scrap of paper falling from Steve's fingers.

"No, no," Tony said softly, their faces inches from each other. "You should leave. I'll be fine, I always am."

Steve's breath hitched as Tony stuck his hand in the front pocket of his pants, pushing the wad of bills down there, his strong fingers pressing up against the inside of Steve's thigh as he slid his hand out.

"You're too good for this shit, Steve," Tony breathed. "It would ruin you."

Steve wanted to do something, anything to get that look of Tony's face. And, god, he wanted to kiss him, stop him saying those things and keep the light in his eyes. "Bucky says I'm too stupid to know when to run from a fight."

Fuck. Bucky was never hearing about this. Not ever.

"Not this time." There was a soft banging, slowly getting louder, from outside the room and Tony put his hands on Steve's waist. "Ready?" he asked.

"You're mental."

"I prefer eccentric," Tony corrected. "The whole eccentric scientist persona fits me so much better."

"I guess," Steve answered, tilting his head down slightly. "Does that make me the poor artist who makes a killing from his collection inspired by the mad… sorry eccentric scientist that dragged him off the street and paid him to be his boyfriend so he could piss off his parents."

Tony was silent for a moment, a thumb tracing back and forth over Steve's hipbone absentmindedly, before…

"Depends, are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?"

Steve snorted in laughter and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against Tony's.

The thumping outside got louder, the sounds of multiple footsteps out of sync making Steve wince.

"Get out of here as soon as you can, Steve. Please…" the last word came out as barely a whisper. Tony making it clear how much he didn't want Steve to hang around by tightening his grip of Steve's hips.

Steve nodded and would have, wanted to deny it, assure this stranger that he had just met that he would stay, but Tony's hands had left his hips and then there were fingers on his chin pulling his tall fame down so they were at the same level and then Tony's lips were on his again.

Chapped but impossibly soft from being chewed, he tasted like old spice and grease and the stuff they had been drinking before. Tony had his arms around Steve's neck, one hand threaded through his blonde locks, the other tracing designs on the back of his neck with those calloused fingers of his, sending shivers down Steve's spine.

"Fuck," Steve mumbled into Tony's mouth, forgetting why they were doing what they were doing and tugging Tony closer until neither had any idea where they ended and the other began.

Steve had an arm wrapped around Tony's waist, hand resting splayed on the small of the shorter teen's back. His other hand was cupping Tony's neck, charcoal stained fingers tilting Tony's head up to meet his, as he rubbed a thumb along Tony's defined jaw bone. He could feel Tony's racing pulse against the palm of his hand.

Dum-E nudged him and Tony until Steve was pressing Tony up against the table, grease and charcoal transferring between them and it was all teeth and tongue and…

The door slammed open behind them but Steve barely noticed as Tony's tongue licked across the roof of his mouth.

"Anthony Edward Stark!" a furious voice yelled. It was a man's, but not one Steve had already heard. He repressed a shudder, it sounded all too like his own father's. Steve and Bucky had celebrated the day the man had died (it had been a Sunday).

Both Tony and Steve were breathing heavily as they parted, lips swollen and red.

"What the fuck do you want?" Tony spat at the man standing in front of the crowd that spilled out of the room.

The man, who looked terribly like Tony, only older, colder and harsher, tightened his grip on the tumbler in his hand. "This is pathetic, Anthony, even for you."

Steve was hard pressed not to punch the man there and then, but he wasn't supposed to know what was going on because he didn't speak English.

"What exactly were you trying to accomplish with your little show, Anthony. Everybody saw that."

"Well, that was kind of the whole point, you know." Tony smirked, but it was twisted and cold, nowhere near the impish one Steve had seen before. "Are we done here? Because the way I see there's no point in you trying to get me of with some chick just so you get a better deal or whatever anymore. Doubt any of your lovely buddies want their precious little baby girls marrying a fucking flaming faggot like me."

The man made a low growl and the tumbler shattered in his grip. "You were warned what would happen if you pulled another of your stunts, Anthony. Tell your friend to leave. Now."

Steve glanced at Tony, worry evident in his eyes.

Tony leaned into him. "You should go," he whispered. "Don't change, Steve. Promise me you'll stay perfect."

Steve nodded and drew away. Crouching down next to the bed he picked up the piece of paper he had been doodling on earlier and pressed it into Tony's hand. "You're a good person, Tony. I know you are. Don't let them destroy you," he pleaded quietly, his swollen lips brushing against Tony's ear, making the shorter teen shiver.

Pressing one last quick but firm kiss to Tony's lips Steve walked out of the room. "Udachi c lokhi," he called as he left, pressing through the crowd of fancily dressed people.

It was dark by the time he got back to the flat he shared with Bucky. And it was several months and a lot of alcohol later before Bucky finally got the story out if Steve and even then Bucky was pretty sceptical about it all, despite what he told Steve. (The fact that he had returned to the flat that night looking absolutely dishevelled and more than a little stunned probably had something to do with Bucky's reluctant acceptance… probably). (In any case, Steve was almost positive that Bucky was just humouring him and didn't actually believe him… be he didn't call him in on it).

YAY...the first half done :)

Translations:

Steve - YA dolzhen idti psikhicheskogo. = I must be going mental.

Steve - Neyt der'mo, Sherlok. = No shit, Sherlock.

Tony - Poydem goryachey gey seks, lyubov' moya? = Shall we go have hot gay sex, my love?
Steve - Pokhozhe, ideya = Seems like an idea.

Steve - Da. = Yes.

Steve - Udachi c lokhi. = Good luck with the fuckers.

Also, Steve's tattoos are lyrics from the amazingly wonderful song Shake Tramp by Mariana's Trench so obviously I don't own that either. I may have been listening to them a lot when I wrote this.

I've got an exam and a bunch of other things on tomorrow so I'll probably have the next half of this fic up on Wednesday.

-Nita