The reviews have been so flippin' amazing that I've melted into goo, exploded into little pieces, and screamed "alsakskslajsksjak!" more times than is probably healthy. I love you. Love. You. So here is a Tony/Bruce fic to sate your smut thirst with. Like, literally, that's all this is. Humor and copious amounts of smut. This is dedicated to BlueRavenQuill, RavenGhost, and Comuto-sama. A HUGE shout to comuto for making me my first piece of fanart! :D You are awesome, luv! By the way, Paradise is an actual club in NY and those drinks are for real.

This was written to "Strut" by Adam Lambert. Listen. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own Avengers, etc. etc. Whatever, don't care, I just like playing with the characters and giving them back slightly damaged. ;)

The smell of alcohol permeated the air, twining around the inhabitants of the club like a long-time lover. The heat was nearly unbearable, the sweat-slicked bodies moving, grinding, rubbing—friction. Music pulsed through the collective mass, affecting both the group and the individual as an erotic beat was wont to do.

Tony was in his natural environment, and Bruce felt like he just stepped into an alternate reality.

"Kay, Bruce! Drinks are on me! Welcome…" Tony paused for effect. "To Paradise." Grinning, he mock-bowed, allowing the scientist to hesitantly walk past him into the heart of the club, where the inhabitants of Hell would have blushed at the forty-six debaucheries that Bruce could see going on with a hasty glance. His eyes quickly darted back down to the floor, which was virtually made of glitter, blushing up to his ears. He was not cut out for being friends with Tony—much less living with Tony. He'd evaded the club scene thus far (a miracle, really, with how often Tony went out), but all of his genius hadn't been able to save him from his doomed, miserable fate. Never let it be said Tony Stark couldn't persuade, guilt, blackmail, and puppy-eye anyone he wanted.

They were almost immediately spotted by the rest of their party that was already there. The Avengers group made their way over to their teammates. "This place is…wow. Fantastic. I have no words," Clint said in awe, looking around at the pulsing lights and half-dressed women while Natasha alternated between glaring at him and the women he was eying. Steve looked about as flustered as Bruce, his eyes trying to evade said scantily clad women. Thor just looked excited to be here, as he was with every new experience. Bruce sincerely hoped that the naivety kept up for a bit. It would help get them through the evening without incident.

"This…is not a 'dance club', Tony," Steve whined. "No one is dancing! They're just—they're…I don't even know what to call that, uh, rubbing motion." Bruce almost patted him on the back sympathetically. He knew the feeling. It was probably ten times worse for Steve, who hadn't even had a couple decades to get used to this non-dancing.

"That, my virgin friend, is called 'grinding', 'slam dancing', and 'booty popping'. And I think you'll find that if you don't question it, we can actually get rid of that pesky virginity at some point in the evening," Tony replied airily, waving a hand through the air. Steve sputtered and flushed, making a couple women turn to eye him hungrily. Bruce sent up a quick prayer to…whoever was in charge of these bizarre situations…that Steve wouldn't be scarred by the end of the evening. Or the next five minutes.

"Alright! Now, since this is several people's first time on the scene, we're gonna buddy up. And if you end up getting separated, well, who gives a shit right? It's a club, there's no rules. So, Nat, you'll be with Steve, and please try to get him laid tonight." Said woman sighed and just nodded, not in the mood to disagree when she was going to be spending all her patience listening to Steve rant. "Clint, you've got Thor—don't let him have more than fifteen drinks, you know how he gets." The archer grinned, clearly implying that the 'no rules' quip was probably going to bite Tony later. "Brucey-boy!" he turned a devilish smirk on the fidgeting doctor. "You're with me."

Bruce could only think one thought. I'm. Screwed.

"Hop to it!"

The pairs meandered off in different directions, some protesting and some resorting to dragging the other off excitedly. Bruce silently followed Tony towards the bar, trying desperately not to bump into anyone on the way. Tony seemed to just glide through the crowd, while Bruce felt himself jostled to and fro by the masses. I should have tried harder to say no. I can't do this! I hate sensory overload! Feeling himself getting panicked, he swallowed thickly a few times and took calming breaths until Tony stopped at the bar and sat down. He gestured at the bartender. "One Iron Maiden and one Flaming Green Jelly Bean," he yelled over the din of the area.

"Are those even real drink names?" Bruce mumbled, startled when Tony clapped him of the back.

"Sure are! And they work yeah? 'Cause I'm Iron Man, and you're the Hulk, who's green, so yeah, it works," he nodded to himself as his drink was placed in front of him. Bruce just shook his head and eyed his beverage warily.

"I don't think I should. When I drink, the Other Guy takes that as permission to have a field day." He glanced over at Tony, who looked like he was going to pour the drink down his throat.

"Uh, no! I did not finally get you out here for you to be a wet towel and not drink anything. Now, a toast, to stupidity and recklessness and Nick Fury's missing eyeball, because God knows his glare is scary enough with one." Bruce snorted and held up his glass when Tony did. The metal avenger downed it in one go, and Bruce handed his back to the bartender. "The fuuuuck, man? You can't seriously intend to be sober the entire night!" Tony whined.

"Someone's got to get your sorry ass home when you pass out," Bruce replied, shrugging. He glanced back out to the dance floor before quickly averting his eyes and blushing again. Focus on that cracked glass over there. Ohgod, I will never be able to look Steve in the eye again without feeling guilty. Poor guy.

Beside him, Tony was laughing. His deep timbres vibrated through Bruce's chest easier than the pounding bass. He shook his head. Not the time for this. It was going to be bad enough when Tony went into the touchy-feely mood he got when he was drunk. "Steve is going to either be in a rage or too totally sexually blissed out to care in the morning. I really, really hope it's the latter." Bruce chuckled, nodding, and Tony downed his second glass. After a few moments of staring at his glass, Tony abruptly said, "You know what? Fuck it: I'm not getting drunk if you're not." Bruce turned and stared at him in shock. "That would make me a bad friend." Bruce raised an eyebrow. Since when did Tony care what kind of friend he was? He was a great friend to Bruce, but he did that without trying. They'd only been roommates for a few months, and he already felt safer and more appreciated by Tony than he had been with anyone else. So much so that other feelings besides friendship and appreciation had managed to crawl their way under his skin. But Tony didn't usually—"And I also don't want to give Natasha any more blackmail material." Ah, the truth will out. "I'll get sloshed next time. Hey! Let's go dance!"

Before Bruce could so much as process that rapid change in events, Tony had hauled him to his feet and was dragging him through the crowd. The over-stimulus was back in a heartbeat, and he tried to pry his hand from Tony's grip. "No, Tony, I don't want to dance. Let go please," he tried to object calmly as his heart hammered in his chest. Tony just laughed and shot him a grin over his shoulder. "Tony! Seriously, I don't want to dance with some random girl!" He knew what Tony was doing. Tony was all about humor and pranking and joking. And he was not leading Bruce onto the dance floor to push him into some woman. That scared the living daylights out of him.

"Who said anything about girls?" Tony was suddenly at his ear, hands hovering over his waist, breathing the words into his ear and there was absolutely no way to suppress the shiver that went up Bruce's spine. "I know I sure didn't. Don't play dumb, Bruce. We both know your genius probably out-sciences mine. I know. Those little heated looks you send me when we're in the lab, thinking I don't notice? The banter that you show only in front of me?" He leaned back, and now there was only a hint of teasing. "The all-nighters you pull to sit next to me while I drink away my troubles so that I actually make it to bed in one piece? The way you still tiptoe around me, because heaven forbid you inconvenience me or displease me? I see it, Bruce." A finger traced Bruce's collarbone and he bit his lip. "And I seriously don't know what you're so worried about. Like there was any way I could resist your perfectly geeky, awkward, fucking sexy, amazing self."

Bruce thought he was going to pass out, right there, when Tony leaned in exceptionally close, invading every layer of his personal bubble but one, and grinned that devious, promising smile. Promising heat and want and pleasure and more. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You need to stop tip-toing and strut."

Bruce would never know if Tony planned that, or had somehow developed psychic powers, or was just lucky because he was Tony Stark, but at that exact moment a particular song came on.

I want to start a revolution
A type of personal solution
We all have got our own pollution
It's all about the execution

A gaping Bruce suddenly found himself spun and pulled into strong arms, his back settled against Tony's front. It was the most intimate position Bruce had ever been in, and he was glad he wasn't wearing his heart monitor or the wild beeping would have drowned out the music. "T-Tony! The hell—" Words were suddenly rendered completely useless when Tony began to move them.

You got something to say
Your hands are tied
Open your mouth, open it wide
Let the freedom begin
Get on the floor, just let it drop
Don't it feel good, don't it feel hot?
Feel the fire within

The beat was steady, sensual, and almost as hypnotic as the feel of Tony against his back. The taller man swayed them in an almost innocent fashion. But Bruce knew that innocence would be dispensed with in seconds if he gave the go-ahead. He bit his lip again, hard enough to draw blood when Tony whispered in his ear.

"Say yes."

He knew it was pointless to fight. He had wanted this—craved this—for the months he had spent getting to know Tony. And Tony was offering. If it didn't last beyond the night, Bruce would cope when the time came. For now, his mind was saying 'Fuck it!' and his body was saying something along similar lines, so he relaxed his rigid posture and melded to Tony's chest. He felt a sigh and a grin against his hair, and the touch that could nearly be described as platonic was quite suddenly not.

I wanna see you strut (strut, strut)
C'mon walk for me
Strut (strut, strut)
How you wanna be

Their hips moved in sync with each other, the beat of the music only fueling the eroticism of the friction and the heat of the room. Tony's hands rested on Bruce's waist possessively, and was grinding into him as the lights flickered and flashed and the speakers shuddered. They weren't the only things that shuddered when Tony leaned in to press an open-mouth kiss to Bruce's neck. The shorter male rolled his hips in response, earning a low growl of need from Tony. The kiss became a bite, a wicked tongue darting out to soothe the mark, and the scientist moaned when Tony continued with the bruises that screamed mine. He'd have to return the favor later.

Everybody's looking for some love
But they don't know
How to let it all hang out
And that's why they're solo (solo, solo)
Don't wanna be solo (solo, solo)
Don't wanna be solo

Bruce suddenly turned in Tony's arms, pressing them front to front, and god Tony's eyes. They were almost black with desire and wanting and they were entirely focused on him. He fought the urge to blush, replacing it with a light smirk when he rolled their hips together again. Seeing how clearly affected Tony was…it was a heady experience. Enough to keep the fear at bay, that he would lose it any moment, and enough to make him want more, always more, consequences and potential heartbreak be damned. The wish was granted almost immediately when Tony's hand snuck between them and palmed him through the overly-expensive pants Tony had insisted on him wearing. "Oh god," he moaned, his head falling back. Tony took complete advantage and immediately waged another assault on his neck.

We're a complicated nation
And now we're in a situation
Let's take a make-believe vacation
And get yourself some validation

"Anything, Bruce. I will do absolutely anything. Tell me what you want," Tony murmured against his collarbone. Bruce jolted and moaned again at the next stroke. He suddenly couldn't remember where he was, and the movement of their hips was just too much, too good, too—

"You. I want you." He didn't realize he said it for a moment, because that half-strangled, pleading voice didn't sound like his, but it was. "Need—ah!" he suddenly felt a wall at his back, and how the hell did Tony manage to get us out of the crowd? His mouth was being devoured, their lips drinking and exploring instantly. He could feel the buttons of his shirt being undone, and it gave him momentary clarity. He broke the kiss—an entirely too cursory taste of Tony—to say, "Wait, wait, wait! Not here, Tony! The others—"

"Are too busy to give a fuck. Like everyone else." Tony continued on the shirt until it hung open and his mouth descended on Bruce's chest. The yelp he gave was undignified, but Bruce was already lost again. There was no argument worth missing this. Hands slid down his sides and a knee slid between his legs, and there was no coherent thought but more. When Tony came back up to nip at his lower lip and slide his tongue into Bruce's mouth, Bruce thought nothing could be better than feeling Tony's lips on his. In a way, he was right, because kissing Tony was quickly becoming his favorite pastime. And in others, he was entirely, laughably wrong.

You got something to say
Your hands are tied
Open your mouth, open it wide
Let the freedom begin
Get on the floor, just let it drive
Don't it feel good, don't it feel hot?
Feel the fire within

No one, absolutely no one, had ever had Tony Stark on his knees before. If anyone had been watching, they might have had to do a double take, just to make sure they weren't hallucinating from a laced drink. But Bruce, Tony had long decided, was special. He'd meant it when he'd said anything. Bruce was not a one-night stand, or a fuck toy, or someone disposable. Bruce was the exact opposite of those things. Tony Stark, playboy extraordinaire, was ready for matrimony, if that's what Bruce wanted. And as soon as this was over, Tony was taking Bruce home and worshipping him. He was going to prove with every touch and movement that Bruce was it. Tony was done. He wasn't looking anymore. Taken, whipped, they could call it whatever they wanted, but Tony had never solved such an easy equation in his life. Tony plus Bruce equals everything. But at that moment, Bruce was entirely too sexy. He was writhing and moaning and on the brink of ecstasy as Tony hummed in the back of his throat and took him deeper. Just the sound of the debauched noises coming from the normally soft-spoken scientist was enough to make Tony ache more than he ever had before. One of his hands stroked himself while the other reached up to grasp one of Bruce's hands, giving him something to cling to because Bruce was clearly doing his damnedest not to thread them in Tony's hair and just take what he wanted, and Tony wouldn't really mind that, but it was just more proof of how much Bruce cared. He knows that if Bruce were actually coherent at the moment, he'd be blushing and trying to reciprocate because Bruce always had been too selfless for his own good. Hence, rendering the good doctor incapable of doing anything but accepting the love and attention he deserves.

I'll be your mirror
Darling, let your hair down
Show me what you're working with and let me see you
Strut (strut, strut), strut (strut, strut)
How you wanna be

The next sound—almost a scream, but not quite there yet—almost makes him lose it. Bruce is just Too. Fucking. Sexy. And the bastard doesn't even know it! If Tony has anything to say about it (and really, since when has Tony Stark not had a say) he's going to spend every day proving just how much Bruce turns him on with his over-analyzing brain, incredible personality, and delicious body.

He has a feeling he's going to enjoy proving that particular theory.

Everybody's lookin' for some love
But they don't know
How to let it all hang out
And that's why they're solo (solo, solo)
Don't wanna be solo (solo, solo)
Don't wanna be solo

He redoubled his efforts, only now realizing just how much control Bruce has over himself, even when he doesn't have control over himself. 'Cause that makes sense. He thought snidely. Finally, with a flick of his tongue and a squeeze from his hand to Bruce's, the frantic tension broke, and Bruce came with a cry of his name and goddamn, if that wasn't the most erotic his name had ever sounded.

He was thrown over the edge only seconds after, the release better than any he'd had before. And he knows, even as he's borne up on the waves of ecstasy and slammed back onto the shore, that it's only going to get better from here. And he only has one thought. I'm. Screwed. It's a very pleasant thought.

Strut for me and show me what you're working with
Strut for me and show me what you're working with

Mornings after have always been awkward for Tony, because well, he usually just let JARVIS or Pepper take out the trash. Today there is no trash to take out. Yet this one isn't awkward in the slightest. That could have something to do with the fact that they technically haven't stopped, so this is really just a continuation of the night before. But it could also have to do with the fact that Bruce is just amazing like that, and Tony's not nursing a hangover for once, and the little chuckle Bruce gives when they wake up sometime in the late afternoon is just too damn adorable to feel awkward.

"Your hair looks like a cockatoo hairdresser gave you his signature cut," Bruce says sleepily and grins by way of a good morning-afternoon. Tony smirks and sidles closer. Not that there's much room between them in the first place.

"And yours looks like it always does—sex hair."

Bruce snorts. "You'd be the first to call it that. Usually I just get 'messy' or, if I'm lucky, 'perpetually tousled'."

"Glad no one else beat me to it. I'd have to kill them," he rejoins, and for a few minutes, they just lay there in silence that doesn't have the slightest hint of awkwardness, and stare at each other. Their eyes don't see into their souls or anything like that. At least not yet, but they both know it's only a matter of time.

"Fuck, you're going to watch me grow old, aren't you." It's not really a question. "You're going to help me get over my drinking problem and I'm going to start doing incredibly mushy things like cooking dinner and remembering anniversaries, aren't I. I'm. Screwed."

Bruce looks down at their twined hands resting on the pillow and he smiles, amused. "Those are bad things?"

"Pfft, duh! Can you imagine what kinds of Hell are going to be let loose the first time Legolas or the Capsicle see me looking through wedding magazines, or Nat catches me on the couch because you've gotten pissy about something? Oh god, I don't even want to know what Thor would say! Probably an innuendo that I can't snark about because for one, he doesn't even know it's an innuendo, and second he wouldn't get my witty comment either—"

Bruce laughs; the sound warm and inviting. "Tony, we're falling in love, not losing our minds or dignity."

"Aren't those synonymous?"

The scientist hums and kisses Tony for a moment before he shrugs. "Perhaps a little. You got me to strut last night, didn't you?"

"I don't think either of us were really strutting. It was more like tripping and rolling around on the ground for a bit. To be fair though, that was a hell of a lot more fun than strutting. It will be happening again…soon. I'm thinking about buying my own night-club."

Bruce sighs. "I'm screwed aren't I?"

"That's an offer, right?"

A sexually blissed out Steve walked by their room a few minutes later, and couldn't hear a single noise over the pleasant humming of the now perfectly balanced universe. Life was good.

Read and Review! Ohgodohgod –runs and hides- I did not post this, nope, not me! o/o