A/N: Hey, so now I'm back with the end of this thing I started! Sorry this took so long to finish off, but it's been a wacky few weeks. I know most of you understand. I've been getting a lot of great feedback from this story, and I know a lot of you out there are following it. I've really loved putting this together, and I've loved more having you all read this. Thanks, guys, really.

That said, Avengers is completely the property of the Marvel people, and probably mostly Stan Lee. I didn't invent them, I'm not making any money, and it would be great if nobody sued.

I've called Tony a lot of things since I met him. I try to hold on to that thought as the scruff of his days old stubble scrapes across my chin, sending little sparks all down my spine. I've called him many things, both outside my head and in. The man is brash, fearless, oddly beautiful, selfish, arrogant, rash, brave, cocksure, immature, irritating, really one of the most frustrating men I think I've ever me it my life….

I'm sure I had a point, but something about the way Tony's fingers trace the line of my jaw steals it from me for a moment. The one thing it never occurred to me that I might one day call the man is graceful. Until now, anyway.

Tony seems almost boneless, his movement unnaturally fluid as he settles into place on top of me, one knee to either side of my hips, his mouth never leaving mine for a moment, but to suck in the odd breath and growl my name in a way that has me wanting more, every second just a little more.

I can feel the soft warmth coming from the glow in Tony's chest, or at least I imagine I can. I've never been too sure of the science behind the little light bulb that protects his heart, keeping the world and, if I remember right, shards of metal at bay. But it pulses all the same, throbbing in time with a different warmth I'm sure Tony can feel coming from me. I move my hands hesitantly down his sides, until my fingers lightly brush the soft fabric of his waistband.

My blood runs cold as Tony stops moving, and all I can think is that I've done something wrong. I wait a long, awful moment before I find the courage to open my eyes, his tongue a still, dead weight in my mouth. When I finally get the nerve to look up at him, though, Tony's eyes are full, not of the anger or revulsion I had feared (and, honestly, half-expected), but amusement. It takes a longer moment than I would admit for me to realize that Tony isn't even looking at me at all anymore. Tony is gazing behind me, apparently barely holding back a laugh I can feel spilling into my own mouth.

After a beat to consider, I shimmy out from under Tony just slightly, and in a way that makes us both lose focus for a moment. Tony is still moaning as I push up against the couch, draping my head over the back to find the inverted version of what the man above me seems to find so very distracting. And, my tongue free and my mouth clear, I have to laugh as well.

Bruce stands at the top of the stairs he had descended what seems like hours ago, redder than I thought a human being could get. He's so flustered, it looks like his head might pop. I'll have to remember to ask Tony if that's actually possible. My instant of guilt is lost in the sight of Bruce's mouth, opening and closing without finding the words. He looks a little like a big red balloon that someone's tried to let the gas out of, the release valve flapping in the escaping air.

The doctor finally manages "I…" in a higher voice than the man who houses the big green boogeyman should be capable of, raising a finger and wagging it in our direction. Then he turns, racing down the steps of the spiral staircase. I'm almost positive Tony, with his average man's hearing, doesn't hear his muttering about the money Clint owes him, but it is a considerable sum, and I'm almost more flattered than disturbed.

Before I even have a moment to consider mentioning it to Tony, though, I'm sliding back down the couch. Tony has one hand threaded around my back, and the other is pulling me down by front of my jeans, his fingers deftly undoing the button. I wait a long moment for the inevitable push, Tony Stark pushing always farther until he finds and, eventually, crosses some line.

I look up at him when I realize he's stopped, and for a moment, I can read his mind. 'Not too far,' his eyes say, an alien uncertainty written across his face, 'don't push too far.' I lean up, my chest meeting his, my lips brushing the bottom of his ear as I whisper, "I won't break."

Tony melts down into my lap for a breath-stealing, heart-pounding, vision-exploding moment, and the next thing I know, as my head clears, Tony has me by the wrists, and he's dragging me up, up, away from the couch and the warmth, and toward the stairs. And then we're going up still, up and up and up the stairs, tripping clumsily over one another as Tony walks backwards and I try not lose the connection I've finally found with him. And now I've tried too hard, my foot tangling in his legs, and we fall, laughing as become twisted up in one another.

I'd be happy to stay here, the corners of the stairs digging into my knees, listening to the thready sound of Tony's breathing, the thudding of his heart masked by the low, steady hum of his life line. But he starts to shift beneath me all too soon, stealing a swift kiss, broken before I even have the time to react, and he's pulling me up again. "We've got time," he tells me with an oddly knowing smile. "Come on." He's leading me now, by one hand, taking his time to watch where one step ends and the next begins.

It takes moments and years to get to the top of the stairs, passing two floors between. One seemed just to be one large room with thick padding, a whole story wide. I can only guess at what the room is used for, but something in my gut tells me it's a muscular green menace. The other seemed to be a hall of rooms, but it's only my guess that someone has been sleeping there. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen a hallway with less style, and, in Tony's home, it stands out in stark contrast.

But the top of the stairs is our destination, and it takes my breath away. The house I grew up in as a kid could fit in this man's bedroom, as wide and elaborate as it is, and it must have cost at least ten times as much, but it's only a passing thought as he pulls me in again, slamming the door behind us to keep the light out. The kiss is everything, for the space between heartbeats, and I feel like I could fall into it if I let myself, but I pull back to look in his eyes, dully lit by the glowing spark between us. I don't know what I'm looking for, but what I see is a man looking back, trying to find something in me. And he grins.

"What do you want from me?" Tony asks, and it isn't a demanding question, or an impatient one, but a serious question. All I can do is smile as I twist my fingers into his hair and finally take the lead, covering his mouth with my own and exploring him with my free hand. For a moment so long, so deep that I can't tell if it's seconds or hours, that is answer enough. 'I want this,' it tells him, 'so quit talking and give it to me.'

I've slammed him against so many walls that, in the dark, I have no idea where we are anymore in this room the size of a baseball field. The glow of Tony's life bulb shows me the bed, and it's all I can think of as I pull him after me. We collide with the frame, all hands and teeth and friction. My shirt is gone, I realize, as my back slams against the cool wood of the frame, and I tear the buttons from Tony's shirt, just to make things even I tell myself with a grin.

In an instant I realize that it's all too much, all too now, and I want to take it apart, savor it one sense at a time, but Tony's taste is in my mouth, and his hands are on my jeans, freeing me from the pressure of my zipper and helping me step out of the restrictive denim, and exactly who could say no to that? I kiss him again, long and slow and deep, as I feel the fabric pooling around my feet.

I can't get drunk now, couldn't even if I wanted to, but before, when I was young, drinking gave me the lightheadedness and the fluttering in my stomach that Tony's presence gives me now, and I realize that this is the most human I've felt since I became…this, whatever I am now. He's like a rope, holding me here, keeping me from floating away.

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up from my chest. To think that this man, this self-obsessed, arrogant man, this man I would have happily decked only days ago, has become the firmest connection to this world, this life, to think that he has become my tether is too much, and I have to lean back, clutching at the bedpost to keep myself upright. It's then that I remember his question.

"Forever," I whisper into the darkness, and I can feel Tony's gaze and the calculating weight behind it settle firmly on me. It's not a promise I expect him to make, less one I think he can keep, but a challenge. 'I've come this far,' Forever said. 'Let's see what you can do.'

For a moment, I wonder if Tony will understand, or really if anyone even can, but then he speaks, and he's all bravado and a big stupid grin, the flash of teeth reflected by the soft light of his chest, made all the brighter in the darkness. "You're on," Tony says, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me onto what had best be a very sturdy bed. I have a fleeting moment to hope, for Bruce's sake, that these walls are thick and sound proof, before I'm lost to the moment, lost to the man, lost to the promise. Forever.

And that, as they say, is the end of that. Thanks go out to everyone who stuck it out with me, and I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did.

And as always, I would like to thank MirrorFlower and DarkWind, Wildfire2, BADAZZtoldya, Assassin of Oblivion, Evilchick2010, MikiMouze16, Sexy Sam Girl forever 11, DarkBombayAngel, and, as ever, my dearest Elske. You guys made this worth the effort, and there aren't enough words for me to thank you for it.