(no subject)

[cat_13145]

Title: "Blondie" 
Author: cat_13145 
Rating: NC17, I'll say.
Warnings/Kinks/Spoilers: Non Con.
Pairings/Characters: Tony/Steve, Steve/OMC (past non con)
Word Count: 2067
Beta: truthiness_aura,
A/N: This was inspired by a prompt at iron_kink Steve/Tony Kink "Steve reveals to Tony that he briefly prostituted himself during the 40s, pre-Army. Tony is both shocked and intrigued. He can't stop thinking about that during their next sexual encounter." THIS IS NOT A RESPONSE!!! For one thing, it's far more angsty than I suspect the prompter wanted. I will be posting happier fic later on.
Summary: A School project reveals a part of his past Steve had hoped he'd burried.

 

It was Billy who found the painting first.

He claimed it was research for a school project; why he felt he had to show it to Tony when he found it was anyone’s guess.

Tony sat next to the computer, looking at the painting.

It depicted two men, both blond, one slightly older than the other. They stood facing each other, but with their faces turned slightly towards the viewer. The older man was leaning slightly towards the younger one, one hand cupped gently under his chin, the other reaching downwards. The older man’s slightly extended leg hid its goal, but the expression on the younger man’s face left little doubt of its eventual destination.

Tony forced his eyes away from the younger man’s face to read the text next to the picture.

Viewed by many as the artist’s finest work, this controversial picture depicts, as its title suggests, the ancient practise of pederasty, though some view its alternative title “America” as better.

Though never achieving popularity in his own lifetime, the artist George Busiek, is viewed as one of the finest (if most controversial) gay painters of the 1930s. His suicide, merely two days after the US entered into World War II has been a source of much speculation, ranging from an investigation into his activities, to depression that his favourite model (and from the intimate pictures many speculate lover) had enlisted.

The models’ names are unknown, though the younger man is thought to be the “Blondie” of the artist correspondence.

“I didn’t know he’d committed suicide.” The voice behind Tony made him jump. He spun around to see Steve standing there, staring at the screen. “Never thought to investigate what happened to him.”

Facing the grown up version, the similarities were even clearer. The body was bulky now, of course, the features less juvenile, but the blue of the eyes, the distance between them, the curve of the nose, these were all the same.

Blondie was Steve.

“He’s quite popular, if controversial” Tony said cautiously. He didn’t know what to make of the expression on Steve’s face, but Steve hardly heard him, he was trapped in the past.

The modelling had been Arnie’s idea as a good way to pay for art school. Arnie, to whom puberty had been kind, giving him muscles. Arnie with his red hair. Titian, one of the teachers called it.

He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but hawking papers brought in dimes, and he’d need dollars to stay in art school. So he'd agreed.

It’s hard at first; Steve doesn’t have the classic beauty of a man that most of the painters are looking for. But then George Busiek notices him.

“Tony, do me a favour.” He said, noticing the for sale notice at the bottom of the page. “Buy that picture. And burn it!”

“Steve?” Ton looked confused. Then his eyes narrowed. “What happened? Did he...?”

Painting has finished for the day. Jean Claude, the older model, wanders around to look at the canvas, pulling on his robe with one hand.

“It’s good, George,” he says, in a funny accent that Steve supposes must be French. “Your best work.”

George shrugs. “Maybe,” he says calmly. “What do you think of it, Steve?”

He thinks it might be wrong; the position certainly feels so. But there’s beauty to the paintings he can’t deny. And George is paying well.

“I think it’s swell.”

They both laugh at that, the same sort of laughs they give when Steve looks uncomfortable when they talk about sex. Experienced laughs.

“Well, that’s good testimony,” George says, getting control of himself. “Let’s drink to the picture's success, hey?” He reaches over to where a bucket of ice held a bottle of pink champagne.

“There was something in the champagne,” he muttered. “Or maybe I just wasn’t used to drinking.”

“Steve...” Tony’s face was a picture of horror.

He didn’t really remember much of that night. Images came to him when he tried to think about it. Mirrors on the ceiling. An ice cube sliding down his chest with a hot tongue following it. George leaning over him. Pain. Silk pillows, he’s fairly sure of that.

He remembers waking up the next morning in George’s bed, feeling strange and sore. Jean Claude arriving, sparing barely a pitiful glance before stripping. Confused and frightened, he took his position too, all of them acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

George asks him to pose again five, maybe six times. The same thing happens each time, and although it hurts less physically, Steve can’t stop feeling... sick? Unhappy definitely.

It’s almost a relief when he hears the army is after young men for troops. It would mean he has to leave art school, but it’s better than modelling for George.

“Just burn it,” he muttered, walking away from the computer.

****

“Tony.” Pepper was standing the doorway, her arms folded. “What are you still doing here? It’s nearly midnight.”

Tony shrugged, his eyes still resting on the painting.

“What’s going on, Tony?” Pepper walked over to the desk. “You ask me to arrange the purchase of that painting, and then you’ve spent the last two days here until god only knows when. I’m fairly sure  Happy will kill me if I put in any more overtime this month...” She sighed, “What’s wrong, Tony?”

Tony pointed at the picture. “Recognise anyone?”

Pepper frowned. “Well, I suppose the younger one does look a bit like Steve.”

“It is Steve,” Tony said. “He was modelling to try and make enough money to stay in art school. And the bastard who painted this drugged and raped him. Not once, several times!” The anger that had been building since the revelations came rushing through him and his fist hit the desk. “The bastard got away with it. Committed suicide back in the forties, and Steve’s only response is to ask me to burn the picture.” Suddenly, he couldn’t stay still, he had to pace, gesticulating wildly. “ Just burn. No condemnations of the man, nothing.” He snarled, hitting the picture frame. “We’re supposed to be superheroes. Why can’t we protect our own? What are we meant to do when the best and the brightest of us...? Aaaah!” He punched the frame again.

He turned around. Pepper was standing looking at him with a strange expression on her face. “Have you talked to Steve about this?”

Tony shook his head. He’d been hiding out in the office since then. “How can I? When I failed him?”
Pepper sighed. “Tony, the guy died before you were born. And yeah, at the moment you’re failing him.”

At Tony’s confused expression, she sighed. “Christ, Tony. Steve told you he was paid for modelling when the guy raped him. I.E., in Steve’s eyes, he was paid for sex.” She watched as this information sunk in. “Steve has probably convinced himself that now you’ve found out, you don’t want him. That you think he’s a whore, or that he’s easy.”

Tony’s expression was a picture. “But it wasn’t his fault.”

“But it doesn’t feel that way.” Pepper said, sitting on the edge of the desk. She sighed. “When I was in college, I went to a party and someone slipped something in my drink. Nothing happened,” she hastened to add, seeing the horrified expression on Tony’s face. “But only because I had a good friend with me who realised something was wrong and made sure I got home O.K.” She rubbed her forehead, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “I blamed myself for being such an idiot. Pretty much shut myself away for a whole term, nearly failed my courses. Until I realised something.”

“What?”

“He’d won. Whoever drugged my drink had won, and he’d done so without even trying.” She smiled. “I wasn’t going to let that happen, so I went back to class and graduated top.” Her grin wavered, “But it took a long time, and a lot of help, before I accepted it wasn’t my fault.”

She picked up her bag and started for the door. “Don’t let him win, Tony. He hurt Steve, and he’s hurting you, but he’s dead now. Do what you promised Steve you’d do, then go home and tell him it’s not his fault.” She paused by the door. “And help him to believe it.”

Tony stood for a moment after she’d left. Then slowly, he pulled on the Iron Man glove.

Standing a safe distance from the painting, he raised his hand.

“AAAHHUMPH!”

The picture exploded into a million burning fragments. It felt surprisingly good. He aimed again and again, hitting small fragments of burning canvas, and sending them flying across the room, like some strange insect storm. The Frame was his next target, gripping it in the glove and breaking it again and again until it was saw dust. Slowly, he stood amidst the wreckage, breathing deeply, but feeling strangely better. He felt he could face Steve now, could talk to him about this.

 Tony found himself grinning as he peeled off the repulsor glove and grabbed his jacket.

******

Steve was sitting in the dark in the Avengers’ living room.

The television wasn’t on, and there was no book or sketch pad in his hands.

“Hey,” Tony said softly.

It physically hurt to see the brightness return to Steve’s face as he said, “Tony.”

He felt worse than he could ever remember feeling, and that included fighting Steve in the Armor Wars. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

For not protecting you, for not talking to you for two days after you told me something like that.

“For not being here.”

Steve’s face softened. “You needed time to deal with it. It’s O.K.”

“No, it’s not.” He found himself pacing. “He hurt you, Steve, and I want to hurt him. I want to strangle him until his spine is powder. I want to turn him into one of Peter’s pancakes. I want to fly him out into space and leave him there without a suit. I want to....” he shook his head. “I want to hurt him as much as he hurt you.”

Steve smiled at Tony. “He’s dead,” he reminded him gently.

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“It kinda does.” Steve was smiling. “But if you want, I will personally help you get a shovel and dig him up.”

Tony shook his head. “It’s not the same,” he said. “I’m just so angry with him.”

Steve nodded. “I was too. For a long time. Then a friend of mine told me something.”

“What?” Tony asked, voice desperate.

“He said the greatest revenge I could have on him was to live and love.” Steve smiled. “And since the person who told me that had seen his whole family die before... it happened. I think it’s pretty sound advice.”

Tony nodded slowly. “O.K.” he said. “I still want to punch him though.”

Steve shrugged. “So do I, if I’m honest. ” Uncertainly he kissed Tony. “Now you know how I felt about you and Tiberius.”

“I guess.” He sighed. “Steve?” he said as the other man looked at him. “You know I’m not mad at you, right? Just at him.”

Steve nodded. “It’s O.K.” he said, softly. “Seeing the picture yesterday, it was just a shock.” He shook his head. “I was the one who kept going back.”

“You were a kid desperate for money. He took advantage of that.” Tony sighed. “You remember you told me about the guy who talked Bucky into having sex with him to let him stay at Lehigh?”

Steve’s face darkened as he muttered. “Yes.”

“Was that Bucky’s fault?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then George wasn’t yours.”

Slowly, Tony pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Carol gave me this. It’s a group she’s founded. Support for rape victims in the superhero community. Maybe,” he paused, chewing on his lip, “maybe we should both go.”

He watched Steve weighing up his options; getting Tony to talk about what had happened with Ty, the Sentient Armor and various others vs. having to talk himself.

“O.K.” he said, taking the piece of paper.

Tony relaxed.

I’m not going to let you win, George, he thought.

Fini

A/N2: For those interested, this is the pose I had in mind when describing the painting. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pederastic_courtship_Louvre_CA3096_n2.jpg