"But why can't I just wear one of my own suits?" Bruce asks with a frown on his face, gesturing his hands towards his wardrobe.

"Because, Bruce, firstly, none of your suits even fit you properly." Bruce tries to protest but Tony holds up a hand to silence him. "Secondly, it's a charity event. Don't be so selfish. Thirdly, you know Natasha will show up in something see-through and tight enough to see the gun strapped to her thigh, and Thor in his traditional Asgardian ceremonial robes and Rogers probably wearing something straight out of the 1940's US Army issue… Everyone is going to be out to impress, and we don't want you to be known as the fashionably incompetent Avenger, do we? And finally, we are going out as a couple for the first time publically, and I have a reputation to uphold." Tony lists, a grin spreading across his face as he goes on.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "So, you don't want me to be an embarrassment from your sterling public image? Then why don't we just go as friends like we usually do to these kinds of things?"

"Bruce, I was kidding. Besides, we're not just friends any more, and I'm not ashamed by it." Tony says firmly, and Bruce knows that Tony has won.

"Fine, I'll get a new bloody suit, if it makes you happy." Bruce concedes eventually, a smile tugging at his lips. "But I draw the line at garish colours. No powder blue, no crimson… Nothing outlandish."

"Oh, God, no. Not on you. Definitely not." Tony agrees. "You don't have the persona to pull off plaid, or pink and blue stripes or something more interesting. I think your best bet would be something classical. Black. Three piece. I'll get one of my people on it."

Bruce smiles fondly, but decides not to question who exactly Tony's 'people' could be. Tony leaves the room, murmuring something about fittings and measurements and phoning his people, and Bruce stands, bemused, wondering how it all came to this. One minute he is moping, sure he'd never have a chance with Stark and coming too close to drowning his sorrows in an expensive bottle of Tony's booze, and the next, he has the very same man writhing under his less than expert ministrations. Now, Tony is buying him suits and taking him to his obligatory social functions as his date.

All Bruce can think is that life moves pretty fast when you spend too much time hanging around superheroes, demigods and international superspies.

"Someone's coming up to do your measurements in a half hour." Tony steps back into the room, and grins. "I said I knew them from memory, but I was told that penis length wasn't required information."

"You did not." Bruce groans, and Tony just shrugs. "Well, that's… flattering, I suppose. Not that I want to think about exactly when you measured my dick."

"It goes hand in hand with inventing things, Brucey. The ability to accurately measure just by looking. And touching. Touching helps. A lot." Tony reaches down and palms Bruce gently through the material of his pants, and Bruce arches into the touch helplessly. "I mean, I probably could get a pretty accurate reading on the relevant dimensions, but hey, there is nothing sexier than a well fitted suit, so I figure I'll leave this one to the professionals."

"And speaking of- ah, fuck- professionals, do you not think we should leave this for l-later?" Bruce groans, as Tony speeds up his pace and leans in to bite in the spot just under Bruce's ear which drives him wild. "Tony, stop it, I'm not going- shit- anywhere with you with a massive hickey on my neck."

He is rock hard by now, and really didn't want to suggest leaving this until after he has been fitted, since Tony has a habit of doing this sort of thing very seriously, and therefore, it was likely to take hours, but the thought of New York's most prestigious designers walking in on him being fucked long and hard by his boyfriend is a sobering thought.

"They aren't due for another-" Tony checks his watch quickly. "Twenty three minutes." He smirks, his hands dancing around Bruce's flies, teasing him. Bruce shakes himself mentally, and tries to think straight, despite the distraction of painfully hard dick and eager boyfriend. "And so what if they did walk in? I'm sure you'd give them quite a show." Tony murmurs, his voice dropping to a level that is barely audible. "You, eager and begging for my cock as I slam you against the wall?"

Bruce inhales sharply. "Tony, I…" His mouth is ashamedly dry and he struggles to find sufficient words to reply to that mental image.

"You'll be trying to touch yourself, but I'll pin your hands above your head. Helpless, that's what you'll be." Tony smirks, taking another step towards Bruce, his tongue flicking out and moistening his lips. "Free for me to worship every inch of your body in exactly the way it deserves."

He trails off, and Bruce whimpers. They are almost pressed against each other now, and Bruce closes the gap and grinds his hips firmly down onto Tony's thigh. Tony grabs his ass and squeezes it hard, and Bruce sinks against Tony's warm body, still getting off by humping his leg like a horny dog, but Bruce is too turned on to be embarrassed. Tony makes a low moan in his ear, and Bruce swears quietly in response.

"Tony, I- I'm gonna…" Bruce warns, and Tony manages to unbutton the pants awkwardly, his hand stuck between them, and shoves his hand into Bruce's underwear.

"Let me help you with that." He whispers smoothly, and Bruce gasps, and comes, hard, his head buried in Tony's shoulder as he pants. He looks up when he has regained his composure to see Tony smirking down at him. "You have all the self-control of a twelve year old who just discovered masturbation, Dr. Banner."

Bruce bites his shoulder, firmly, but not too hard, in retaliation. "You should just take it as a compliment." He says, wincing as he stands to feel the rapidly cooling stickiness in his underwear. "How long do I have?"

Tony glances at his watch once more. "Twelve and a half minutes. Although the fashion industry in this town is notorious for its over-punctuality, so six, maybe. Seven, if you are very lucky."

Bruce sighs. "Right. Well, I'll be quick."

Even with the humiliation of the disapproving looks of New York's top designers when he eventually emerged, the fitting did go okay, and Tony approved of the resulting suit, and that was all that mattered.

Bruce stands awkwardly in the foyer of a fancy hotel that he's never been important or rich enough to even walk past before as he watches Tony schmooze with other wealthy business people, completely in his element. He is just considering taking an unnecessary bathroom trip just to get out of the situation when someone taps him on the back. He turns around to see Pepper grinning at him, wearing a tight fitting black dress and drawing looks from all directions.

"Fancy seeing you here." She smiles, and Bruce sighs in relief.

"Pepper, I swear, I have no idea what I'm doing here." He confesses, and Pepper chuckles. "I mean, it's not like I actually have any money to donate, and I highly doubt my presence is going to provoke any sort of charitable nature in people. I'm just... Tony's arm candy. I'm really not comfortable with this whole thing."

"It's all part of the job, I'm afraid. Tony is expected to show up at things like this, and he's expected to bring someone with him. I saw Steve by the bar earlier, though; you can hide with him and I'll tell Tony where you've gone, if you want." She offers.

"Pepper, you are a live saver!" He gushes, and darts away as fast as possible. Bruce prefers quiet places and minimal fuss, and not just because of the Other Guy. He doesn't possess the communication skills that Tony has, and being put into a room full of strangers and expected to make small talk is just about his worst nightmare, even before you factor in that these people live in a completely different world.

He finds Steve quickly and sinks down into a chair next to him. Tony had predicted correctly, and the soldier is dressed in his best military attire, all neatly pressed, and Bruce is exceedingly glad that Tony had forced him into getting a new suit; otherwise, he'd only feel more out of place than he already does. "Captain."

"Dr. Banner." He returns, a grin tugging on his lips. "Not your kind of scene either, then?"

Bruce chuckles. "I must say, I prefer a laboratory to a party, but Tony wanted me to come and who am I to refuse him?" Bruce explained, reaching for the drink that Steve had all but pressed into his hand. "And who knows? Maybe I can scare some people into donating or something. Ten million bucks on the table right now or the Other Guy will come out and knock your head against the wall. That kind of thing."

Steve snorts. "I'm going to hope that won't be necessary, Doctor."

"I'm with you there, Rogers." A voice comes from behind them, and Bruce looks around to see Tony holding a champagne flute and wearing his very recognisable 'Brand Tony Stark' expression. "I think the idea was for us to do some press and some photos, and see if the general populous of Wealthy America would be persuaded into throwing some money in the pot at the sight of the unlikely saviours of Earth or whatever. And speaking of, Rogers, Fury wants you out mingling. Apparently patriotism is a great money spinner, and there are some old, rich fuckers who still remember you from back in the day."

Bruce sees Steve's face contort into a grimace, and pats his arm reassuringly. "I know it's kind of, well, shit, but it's all for a good cause." He says in an attempt to make the captain feel more comfortable. Steve sighs and rubs his eyes with unnecessary force, before proceeding to drain his drink and plaster on his own 'Oh wow it's so good to meet you' smile. Once Steve has left, Tony takes his seat. "This sort of thing must be hard for him." Bruce comments, his eyes flicking across the room to where the soldier has attached himself to some eighty something year old bazillionaire and his twenty six year old girlfriend, who was clearly gushing over the reality of his childhood hero. Bruce swears he sees a check book emerge from his pocket.

Tony just shrugs. "It's hard for all of us. Except Thor, of course. He's just strolling around, as oblivious as ever in his fucking cape."

"Did he at least leave Mjolnir at home?"

"Nope. And I know for a fact Natasha has stashed four guns and a knife on her person."

"Where's Barton?" Tony indicates upwards silently, and sure enough, Clint has managed to find a conveniently sized hole near the ceiling to hide in, his bow in his hand and ready to fire. "Well, that's comforting." Bruce says drily. "Now when exactly did you say we could leave?"

Bruce manages to hold himself together until the formal dinner, mainly with the help of Tony and the other Avengers, but when they sit to eat, he isn't placed anywhere near anyone he knows. And to add insult to injury, the people surrounding him keep sending him odd glances, like he is about to turn green and kill them all. Bruce sighs, staring at his watch. He makes a mental note to get Tony to take a look at it, because he swears the second hand is going slower than it should be. Every moment drags painfully as he eats his ridiculously expensive and extravagant meal in awkward silence.

The waiting staff starts to clear away the dishes and Bruce can't take it anymore. He quietly excuses himself from the table, but no-one really looks up anyway. Hurrying slightly, he navigates the building to find the nearest bathroom in which to shut himself. Splashing a little water on his face, he tries to regain his composure when the door swings open, and Tony slips inside.

"I saw you get up from the table. Are you okay?" He asks, concerned.

Bruce nods. "I just… I don't do great when it comes to big crowds. Especially when the crowds in question are just as eager to get as far away from me as possible as I am to get away from them."

Tony's eyes flash dangerously as he looks at Bruce, his lips pressed into a hard line. "Did someone say something?" He asks aggressively, looking ready to storm out there and break some faces if needs be.

Bruce shakes his head quickly, smiling softly. "No, Tony, it's okay. I think they're just… A little uncomfortable around me. People find it hard to look past the Other Guy. I'm used to it. The little glances just get to you when you have to face them repeatedly for extended periods of time."

"Bruce, if you want to leave, we can. Everyone would understand." Tony says sincerely, but Bruce shakes his head. Grabbing a towel from the pile next to the sinks, he dries the water from his face before replying.

"They wouldn't understand. They'd spin all sorts of shit. If anyone is ever going to take us seriously as a couple, we're going to have to sit this one through." He says sadly. "But if one more person looks at me from the corner of their eye like I'm about to explode, the Other Guy is probably going to make an appearance."

Tony laughs, despite the seriousness of the comment, and Bruce scowls at him. "Well…" Tony grins, his words rolling from his mouth as smooth as ever. "You have been looking pretty tense recently. Maybe you just need to, ahem, blow off some steam, so to speak?"

"Seriously? You're really encouraging this here?" Bruce says sceptically. "I really don't think so, Tony." As he speaks, he steadfastly ignores the growing hardness in his well-fitted suit pants. Tony, however, doesn't, and eyes the evidence pointedly until Bruce is forced to concede. He sighs exhaustedly, and Tony beams, tugging him into the cubicle.

"I've always wanted to do this." Tony confesses gleefully, as he pulls a condom out of his breast pocket.

Bruce gives him a look. "Tony, put that away right now. I don't care how much you've fantasised about it- you are not fucking me, in a bathroom, when a thousand people are just beyond that door eating god knows what, and the whole place is swamped with paparazzi." Tony's face falls visibly and Bruce groans. "I said, no. At least, not this time."

"Can I suck you off?" Tony bargains unashamedly, his hands playing with the button of Bruce's pants. Bruce's breathing hitches, and he nods shakily. Tony drops them to Bruce's ankles with no bother, followed by his underwear. And then Tony pauses, as if he is eventually actually considering the mechanics of giving someone a blowjob in a compact toilet cubicle. "Er…"

"Kneel." Bruce says, more forcefully than he originally intended, and Tony blinks, surprised, before sinking to his knees. Bruce makes a mental note of Tony's expression right now, smirking slightly. He weaves his hands into Tony's hair, encouraging him as he takes Bruce into his mouth, sinking all the way down, and then he swallows. Bruce gasps loudly. "Shit, Tony…" He mumbles, consciously trying to control his volume. He can feel Tony's throat tight around his head, and the pressure feels amazing. Tony was right- this was a great idea. Tony bobs his head- swirling his tongue artfully over ever sensitive point. Bruce's moans are getting loud and he knows it.

"Brother Stark! Brother Banner! Commander Fury would like me to alert you to the fact that some of the guests would be encouraged to be more generous if they could get some images of us as a team!"

Bruce groans, but from exasperation, not arousal. "Uh, we'll be, um- three minutes!" He manages to spit out, Tony still working strong on his cock.

The door opens again, and Bruce hopes desperately that it's just another Avenger- preferably Steve, because then, they could just scar him for life and send him running. They had, however, no such luck. "Is that Stark on his knees in a public bathroom?" Clint sniggers, and Tony pulls off of Bruce, who is, incidentally, about ten seconds from orgasm.

"Fuck you, Barton!" He yells, his voice sounding suitably hoarse from sticking cock down his throat, which doesn't really help matters; the men outside the door snigger even more. "Get out so I can finish giving Bruce a mind-numbingly good orgasm, and then we will do photos and whatever Fury wants."

Tony waits for the sound of the door swinging shut before he looks back up at Bruce, who is aware that his cheeks are flushed bright red. "You liked that, didn't you?" Tony says quietly, and Bruce nods furiously, too embarrassed to speak. "You liked Thor and Barton knowing what we were doing in here." He punctuates every few words with a firm lick from base to head, and Bruce has to resist the urge to grab Tony's head and bury his cock in his mouth. One last flick of the tongue to his sensitive head and Bruce moans a warning, just in time for Tony to take him into his mouth fully and swallow down every drop of come.

Tony smacks his lips after, and Bruce laughs. "You've got a bit of- here, let me get it for you." He says, licking a thin line from the corner of Tony's mouth.

"All clean?" Brue nods. "Good. Photos, then?" Tony asks, reaching to unlock the cubicle door.

"What about you?" Bruce says, pulling his own pants back up as he glances down at Tony's.

The other man shrugs. "It'll be an interesting talking point, I'm sure. Fuel the gossip magazines for a few weeks."

"Idiot." Bruce grins, pulling the two of them out of the cubicle to see- "Clint, what the hell?" Bruce yells upon seeing the Avenger leaning casually against a sink.

"You're a pervert." Tony says flatly, pushing him out the way in order to wash his hands.

"Says the one giving out blowjobs in public toilets." Clint counters. "Come on, let's go get these fucking photographs taken so we can all go home."

Bruce, who, by this point, is just exhausted from the evening's events, can't help but agree that home is starting to sound really good by now.

And besides, he still needs to repay the favour.