Hey everybody! Like I said, here's the next bit in the series that has taken over my life! Woo. Hopefully Felina Fullstop, who is a brilliantly sexy beast, will not mind my title.

I realize this first chapter is ridiculously short, but it is kind of necessary for the pacing.

I do not own Iron Man or anything.

Warning, I guess: This story will contain slash (DUH), angst, and mentions of lesbianing. If any of those offend you... uhhh, read something else?

~...~

Ivan Vanko is standing in the expansive kitchen of Tony Stark's mansion, attempting to figure out the stupid high-tech stove and grumbling to himself. It's been a month and a half since the billionaire got the villain off attempted murder charges, and Ivan is going a little stir-crazy waiting for his injuries to heal. The stitches came out a week ago, and his arm is only sore when he bends it the wrong way, but when he tried to leave the house to help Iron Man with a hostage situation, the hero, as Pepper puts it, "flipped a shit". The fact that Vanko managed to get himself thrown off a roof in the process led Stark to put him on official lockdown until his injuries are completely healed.

The door to the garage opens and the metallic clank of armored footsteps echoes up the stairs. "Honey, I'm ho-ome!"

Whiplash rolls his eyes and shakes his head as the still-suited superhero enters the kitchen, his mask retracting. "What's cookin', good lookin'?" Tony asks, in high spirits as he always is when he gets back from saving people. He sidles up behind the Russian and plants a quick peck on the back of his neck.

Ivan rolls the toothpick in his mouth in annoyance- Stark knows full well that such displays of affection piss Vanko off. He swats at the plated fingers that creep around his middle. "Pierogi," he replies, turning back to the stove and cursing when he sees that the dumplings resemble charcoal briquettes.

The American chuckles. "You know you can just ask Jarvis to whip something up, right? You don't have to mess around with the stove..."

The ex-con shrugs. "Having machine do everything for you makes you lazy."

"What? I'm not lazy!"

"Spoiled Amerikanski," Ivan says over his shoulder.

"Russian lunatic," Tony shoots back, sticking his tongue out like a petulant child.

The evil genius grins, dumps what's left of the pierogis into the garbage disposal and turns. Immediately, the cool metal of the suit is pressed against him as Iron Man leans in. Their mouths are inches away when Stark yelps and pulls back.

"Stabbed myself on the toothpick," he says sheepishly when the villain looks concerned.

Vanko snorts.

"Shut up," Tony says, laughing in spite of himself.

Ivan spits the toothpick into the garbage and leans forward, kissing the armored man properly. They remain like that for a long moment, enjoying each other's warmth, until the Russian breaks away and glances down at the suit, scanning it.

"Any damage?"

"Nah, the suit's fine. But I'm sweating like a pig in this thing; gotta install a new cooling system." Stark grins. "I think I need a shower. You want one?"

Whiplash shrugs again. "Had one yesterday."

"Uh, I think you must have misheard me. You want. A shower." Tony is already heading to the lab to have the armor removed. "Bathroom in five minutes?"

Vanko grudgingly nods, and allows himself a small chuckle once the hero is out of range. Knowing that the rest of his afternoon will most likely be spent in the bathroom (whether in the shower, on the floor, or against the wall), he grabs a bag of bird seed from the counter and makes for the garage where the Bird sleeps. (Tony is convinced that the Bird chose the garage as its roost just to poop on his cars and piss him off.)

Said avian is still asleep on its perch, head tucked under one wing. As quietly as possible, Ivan refills the food bowl, checks the water dish, and turns to head back upstairs.

He pauses. Something in the corner of his vision catches his attention and he turns, trying to will it to be a hallucination. He takes a few slow steps toward Tony's parked Audi R8, hand coming up involuntarily to grab the cloth hanging from the side mirror. He stands there for what could be a few seconds or an hour, staring down at the black silk panties in his palm.