Drown Your Sorrows

It was a warm night. Tony's latest engineering binge had kept him in the lab for the last fourteen hours refitting several joints in the armor. He was tired, but not nearly tired enough to sleep. He wanted a drink. So he pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet, carefully poured a single glass, and headed up to the roof.

It was fine. He had everything under control. Ever since he'd taken that first drink, when Chris and Steve had been snuggled up together on the couch, he'd been pleasantly surprised to find that he really could handle himself. He'd gone another two days, then had another glass, and left it at that. Then another couple of days and another one. He'd gotten into a nice routine of finishing off the day with a glass of something good. He hadn't fallen off the wagon. He was just handling it better than he ever had before. There was really no reason to deny himself now that that was the case.

He finished climbing the stairs to the roof and did a double take. Safi was sitting alone with a bottle, looking distinctly...well, miserable.

Tony glanced at the glass in his hand then set it down out of sight. He didn't need Safi to know, just yet, what Tony was doing. Even though he was fine. Then he cleared his throat to announce his presence and approached, stopping a few feet from where Safi was sitting.

"Safi? Everything all right?"

@kel

Safi had held it together. Days had passed since the night it had all come tumbling down and he had carefully made sure that Chris didn't see a damn bit of difference in his behavior. Tonight...tonight Chris was busy and wouldn’t miss him, and so with all the skills as a trained infiltrator Safi planned what he needed for the night.

So funny story:
Good Jews didn’t smoke.
Good Jews could drink as long they weren’t drinking to escape.
Good Jews could take drugs for pain relief or medical reasons.

So at the moment Safi was being a very bad Jew.
But at the moment he felt he could make a salient argument for the last one.

The harsh burn of Doka smoke took him back to his days in the military, “Did i ever tell you The Mossad tried to recruit me when i retired?” he wasn’t so far buzzed to not hear the door opening, or recognize Tony’s foot step. Hell half the reason Doka was used was as a attention focusing agent. Safi took another long drag, lips wrapped around the hand rolled paper filtered cigarette. “They thought even though I looked like a good white boy my skills would be perfect for long term undercover work.” Safi’s off hand closed around the clear liquid filled tumbler, ”they ever thought it would be a benefit. Cheers.” he finished in perfect russian toasting Tony before killing the shot.

@starkly

Well, that more or less answered his question. Tony closed the rest of the distance, the unfamiliar smell of the smoke waiting around Safi making him pause for a moment. He had no problem with drug use, per se, though in his experience the combination of alcohol, drugs, and the time of voice Safi had just used rarely spelled anything good.

"You didn't tell me that," Tony said in a measured tone, sitting down beside him.

For a few seconds he couldn't take his eyes off the glass in Safi's hand, or the smell of it cutting through the smoke. He needed it, or wanted it, with an intensity that made it impossible to distinguish between the two. Everything had fallen apart, and he just needed to take the edge off. He'd been so close to relief tonight, but now...

"Let me join you," he said, nodding toward the glass in Safi's hand, before he could think better off it. He wanted to be there for Safi, he really did, especially considering how much Safi had tried to help him through the first few months he'd been in the Hub. But he couldn't--he just couldn't handle anyone else's problems without a little something to dull his own. "Then you should tell me what's going on."

@"kel"

“I am a very good honey trap.” Safi’s tongue flicked out, chasing a drop. “And have that moral flexibility to kill after fucking if I had to.” Bright blue eyes followed Tony’s gaze, he saw he knew and the thread of him not wallowing in his own pain winced.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Pouring Tony a drink would be the same as handing a suicidal man a loaded gun, and safi wanted to believe he was better than that.

The memory of Chris crumpled at the end of his bed so grateful that nothing had changed cut through him.

No he really wasn’t was he?

Safi poured a glass, meeting Tony’s eyes...and downed it slowly.

God he was a perfect asshole wasn’t he?

Best to put the cherry on top.

He curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck pulling the other man into a deep kiss, licking the taste of vodka into his mouth.

Jews don’t have a hell.

Good thing he had made his own.

@starkly (@eve for lurking)

Tony stared at Safi, not bothering to attempt the impossible task of disguising his hunger, both for the man in front of him and what he had in his hand.

"I gathered that," Tony said a touch distantly. "Why're you up here now?"

Then he was asking if Tony was sure, as if it wasn't obvious already. But before Tony could even answer Safi was draining his own glass and pulling Tony in for a kiss.

Tony wanted it. He wanted all of it.

It occurred to him, for a brief moment while Safi's mouth was in his, that Safi was trying to hurt him. It also occurred to him in nearly the same instant that he didn't really mind. If Safi needed this, well, maybe Tony did too. He thought of Steve looming over him and smashing in his helmet again and again, and raising his should for that final blow, and pulled Safi closer, deepening the kiss for a few seconds before letting go abruptly.

"I'm sure," Tony said roughly. He had it under control. A drink now--even a few--that was fine. He was fine. He could be the company Safi needed and dull the pain in lurking in his own chest while he was at it. "Now pour me a drink and tell me what you need."

@"kel"

Even as drunk as he was, or as he wanted to be there were things Safi could never vocalize; like how after that first time coming back from Hub his old CO came to visit accompanied by the same Mossad Mage that had taught him how to carve himself up to feed magic. Apparently even across universes his usage of that sigel had been noticed.

Safi found himself with a choice; tell them everything including about Chris...or slant his report. The fact that they had reactivated him, that he had become what he’d once turned down...that mattered less than making sure that Chris never popped on their radar as anything other than a joke.

Major Safi Wasem came to Hub, slept with Tony Stark, made contacts, took back samples, and reported everything back to IDF.

Did he care about Tony? Yes yes he did. But as he admitted to Chris, if he had to choose...well that fight had already been played out.

This was why he had turned out the offer to become an intelligence asset, why he had rejected a life of lies. He did not WANT to be here when everything he saw and did (or who) had to be reported back.

One fucking night he was taking off, he was going to get high enough to maybe forget that he was living a lie to protect a man he loved who he couldn’t, didn’t dare infect with his...everything. Forget that he was sleeping with another man who he DID care about, who should have been a friend without reservations.

Safi broke apart from the harsh kiss, blindly splashing clear liquid into both glasses, “You.” he’s voice was smoke rough, pausing his rapid fire shot to answer Tony’s question. The second the other man matched his gesture Safi pulled him back into a rough kiss, calloused hands shoving shirts out of the way, edging the other man on.

Normally Safi had been so far a very well… gentle lover, considerate, accommodating, conscious always that he shared a dead man's face. Tonight he was none of those things. Tonight he was edging on brutal and egging Tony on to be the same, harsh nips, finger marks that would bruise even with extremis, vocally encouraging him when Tony used that enhanced strength on him.

What Safi needed, what he craved in that moment was to be hurt needed it in a horrific way; he was betraying this man, betraying the man he had admitted to loving, betraying his country, his home. He lifted Tony’s hand to own neck putting pressure on his palm.

He didn’t let himself think about how much more brutal this was, to try and make Tony choke the doppelganger of the man he blamed himself fors death.

Did he want to die? Not exactly. But he did want the pain.

@starkly

Tony took the glass and downed it in one, closing his eyes at the familiar burn. God, he'd missed this. Before Safi pulled him closer he grabbed the bottle and drank directly from it, craving the warm escape. He had catching up to do after all. Then Safi was pulling him close, kissing him roughly and tearing at his shirt.

It hurt, especially where Safi's hands met the ribs that were still healing from the mission in the tower but Safi kept pushing, encouraging Tony in a low rough voice to give as good as he got. It wasn't Steve, but it was Steve's face and without Safi's usual tenderness it was all Tony could see, Steve throwing him to the ground and bashing the shield against his helmet again and again and again.

God, he wanted Safi to hurt him, like Steve had hurt him. So he pushed back, nipping and pulling and shoving because he needed Safi to give it right back to him. He only broke away long enough to take another pull from the bottle, and another and another, until everything blurred and there was just Safi hurting him and Steve's ghost and the bite of the vodka.

When Safi pressed Tony's hand to his throat, Tony froze, an unexpected sob crawling up his throat. He'd killed Steve, as good as killed him, and now... he pulled his hand away violently, but then he was angry, because Safi knew. He'd never wanted to hurt Steve, never wanted any of it, but Steve had given him no choice. So instead he grabbed Safi's shoulders and shoved him down to the asphalt, saying, "No. You want that, you--make me." He rattled him hard enough to smack Safi's head against the group, Extremis letting him do it to the muscular man even as his ribs protested sharply. He was drunk and angry and Steve wasn't coming back but maybe Safi would hurt him like Steve had. "Make me!"

@kel

Tony was nothing. He was a means to an end. He was a distraction, a mask, a shield.

At least that was what the ugly side of him whispered, egging him on, ‘look how he wants it. Wants to be hurt, dominated.’ Something even darker twisted behind royal blue eyes, narrowed with rage and lust. The blow only heightened his arousal. The desire to BE hurt slid into the need TO hurt.

Anyone who watched, who knew the history men wearing these faces shared would think they understood what was happening. The could not be more wrong.

Safi was not a super soldier, but he WAS damn near 200 pounds of muscle, which he used hefting Tony up off of him, against the wall. Safi pressed him there, a mean smile carving across his expression, “That’s what you want to isn’t it? To finally get what you ‘deserve’?” he chuckled pressing his arm into Tony’s chest. “How many times?” Safi’s off hand snaked down between them rubbing Tony though his pants. “How many times did you pretend it was him?” Safi’s voice flattened out his accent, months in hub making his mimicking perfect- “How many Shellhead.” Steve’s voice whispered into Tony’s lips.

@starkly

Tony could see Safi's expression shifting, and welcomed it, not resisting as Safi pushed him off and pressed him roughly up against the wall. He grunted in pain as his ribs his the brick but didn't want Safi to stop. He could feel how hard Safi was and he thrust forward even as Safi's arm pinned him. He wanted Safi to hurt him. Wanted it more than anything, even more than he wanted another drink from the bottle on the ground feet away but God did he want that too. He was pathetic, he was nothing, and he wanted Safi to stop being such a goddamn saint and hurt him.

Tony ground into Safi again as Safi asked the question, groaning in pleasure and pain before Safi mimicked Steve and wiped all the expression from Tony's face.

"Every time," Tony snarled, his honesty taking him by surprise. But he needed Safi to know what a mess he was, how he'd used him, how he was using him now. He shoved Safi back, needing Safi to shove him again in return. He wanted Safi to leave him bruised and bloody and numb. "Every god damn time. Now you want to do this, fucking make me."

@kel

Maybe he knew. Maybe he shouldn’t care. After all Tony was a mark. A mark that had come to mean something.

Two little words slammed into him knocking his breath out in a single punch.

Funny he hadn’t actually expected that to hurt like it did.

Ugliness twisted in his heart, “Than let me help you.” a mask slid over his emotions, Safi was a very very good mimic, it was one of the talents that had drawn the mossad’s attention and right now he WAS Steve Rogers. Boxing Tony in, twisting him around to face the wall Safi used all the tricks he knew to project that his body was bigger, stronger, a super soldiers. “I don’t have to make you.” Safi..no Steve’s hand worked down Tony’s belt stripping his pants to his ankles in one firm move. “You are going to beg.” Those same thick fingers moved over his ass, stroking feather light touches across his hole. “Because thats what you want isn’t it?” Safi ground against him, “That’s what you’ve wanted from the start to beg for this.”

@jasmine

It was like looking at Steve. Hearing his voice. Feeling his touch. How Safi was doing it Tony didn't know, but it didn't matter. It was wrong. It was so wrong.

It was everything he'd wanted when Steve was alive.

Some very distant part of his mind registered that this was a bad idea, that this drunk was an even worse idea.

He thought about Steve nearly killing him. Then he thought about fighting Steve in the ruins of the Mansion, unleashing all that pent up frustration they'd both had, years and years of fighting bring their only release, and suddenly it was worse than wrong. It wasn't enough. It wasn't what he wanted at all.

"No, it's not enough," Tony growled, then shoved him back and swung a fist at his face. "Hit me. Hurt me." And then his face twisted and he said the words that wouldn't mean anything to Safi but meant everything to him. "Finish this!"

@kel

Safi caught the punch, muscles flexing as he forced the other man back again, blue eyes that could never quite have the same life as the man he was pretending to be filled with his own desolation, rage, and hate. Not for the man infront of him, but for the man he had become.

There was no way to turn this, he saw it clearly, even the punishment, the hard domination of sex was nothing compared to the ashes of Tony’s soul. Safi wrapped his hand around Tony’s neck and squeezed. “You don’t want pain, you don’t want to pay.” his grip tightened, hard enough to send blackness dotting across Tony’s vision. “You want to die.”

He could do it. It would be a mercy wouldn’t it? At least Tony would see it like that. He had killed the man he loved, or at least not prevented his death, and now Safi wore his face, and Tony wanted to find his end at the hands of the man he loved.

That man would never have done what he asked.

Safi on the other hand was a killer. The cold silent part of his mind clicked, and he knew he could do it, press his palm into Tony’s larynx and that would be all. He would die choking on his own blood.

Oddly enough it wasn’t his anger that fueled the desire to do what the other man asked, no it stemmed from the same place Tony’s admission had ravaged, Tony was hurting, Safi’s options for taking away that pain had narrowed to one.

“No.” his hand slipped over Tony’s neck pulling the other man into a tight embrace. “No. He wouldn’t want that. I don’t want that.” Safi held him crushingly tight, “I’m sorry Tony. I can’t.”


@starkly

Tony struggled fitfully against Safi's grip on his neck, but even as black spots danced around the edges of his vision Safi's words registered. He wanted to die. Well, of course he wanted to die. He'd accepted that more or less calmly for a while now, but it'd seemed the least he could do was stick around and clean up the mess he'd made, and so he had. He was drunk enough now he didn't especially care.

Then Safi was pulling him into an embrace, trying to tell Tony what Steve would have wanted and apologizing.

Tony coughed, pulling air into his lungs again, and said, "Fuck you." He was here, half-naked and bruised and blitzed out of his mind because Safi had been up here drowning his sorrows and Tony had wanted to help. And then, well, he'd gotten selfish like he always did. But none of that added up to him needing an apology, or comfort. That was the last fucking thing he needed.

Safi had wanted Tony to hurt him. Whether he still did, Tony didn't know, but he was about to find out. Tony found he didn't much care.

Strong as Safi was, he was no supersoldier, and Extremis gave Tony the raw power he needed to spin them both around and slam Safi back against the wall, hard enough to scrape his shoulder blades raw against the rough brick. "You're not him. You don't get to forgive me. You don't get to decide when it's over for me." He pressed in for a rough kiss, then pulled back, his eyes wild, still pressing Safi into the wall. "You want to fuck me, fuck me. But this isn't about me. This is about you, and your problems, and you'd better fucking use me or what was the point of any of this?"

@kel

‘You’re not him.’

A choked out laugh shocked them both; Safi was grinning into the wall.

‘What was the point’

He couldn’t help it, Safi doubled over laughing helplessly doubled over. “There’s no fucking point.” He gasped out; there was nothing near humor in his hestertics. Blue eyes filled with more darkness than his precious Steve’s ever held glared up at Tony, pinning him with his gaze. “I don’t get a choice, follow orders I don't even have the luxury of putting a fucking BULLET in my head!” His fingers mimed the action.

“You-“ He snorted straightening, “You wouldn’t still be here if some part of you didn’t fucking know the guy you loved would want you to kee going. So stop lying to both of us.” Safi’s grin held no humor “Because if you HONESTLY believed he hated you?” Safi stepped up to breathe out the vicious words “You’d have already done it.” He could be cruel, and he wasn’t pulling any punches.

“So shit or get off the pot Tony Stark-“ A gun appeared in his hand grip towards Tony. “Blow your fucking brains out and I’ll Steve-y down stairs you peaced out.”

@starkly

Well, he hadn't exactly expected that reaction. Safi doubled over laughing, and it pissed him off, because there was not a damn thing about this that was funny. Tony pushed past him and picked up the bottle of vodka, drinking straight from the bottle until the warm nothing feeling of the alcohol stole over him. God how he'd missed that.

Then he turned back to Safi and snarled, "You think I've had a damn choice? This whole time. I lost everything, but I had to--I had to keep going because if I didn't there was no goddamn point in any of it. I have to see it through. I have to!"

Safi swam in front of him as the alcohol did its work, but suddenly he was holding out a gun, daring Tony to finish it. Anger rose in him again. He grabbed for the gun, missed it the first time, then closed his hand clumsily around the grip. He raised the bottle he still held in the other hand and took another pull before raising the barrell of the gun and aiming it under his chin. "'S that what you want, Safi?" he slurred. "Want me to kill myself with your own gun?"

@kel

To look at him, no one would beable to pick Safi as drunk as he actually was, he LOOK stone cold sober; it was a skill that had served him well more than once in the not so distant past.

That how ever did not demolish the fact that he WAS piss drunk and not at all thinking as clearly as he THOUGHT he was. “I THINK-“ He didn’t slur, his hands were steadier than they had any right to be when he wrapped them around Tony’s wrist. Forcing him to lift the gun, slotting it against Tony’s temple. “That need to fucking let it go. Let it all fucking go. Him or you. Just fucking do it. Either live or die but quit pretending this has anything to do with the kid downstairs.”

@starkly

The gun was heavy in his hand, the barrel cold against his temple. The world tilted around him, and he thought about letting go. The relief of it. The desire for it pulled at him, tantalizing in its finality. No more pain. No more grief.

But he couldn't. “It's not,” he slurred. “It's not. About him. I can't. Not yet.” He knew he wasn't making any sense, but he couldn't seem to convey what he really wanted to. Then the anger burned hotter, because, really, fuck Safi's presumptuousness. He shoved the gun back at Safi, not caring that it was loaded, and snapped at the same to.e, “If I want to fucking kill myself I don't need your help to do it.”

@kel

“Right.” Safi snorted decisively “Than who is it about?” Safi jacked the slide, safing the weapon automatically. “Never said you did.”

Sliding down the wall he fished out a new smoke, lighter flicking open illuminating his features sinisterly, “So.” He stared at the flame for a long moment, “What now.” Because he was empty. Purely exhausted, he didn’t have anything left to feel.
@starkly

Tony laughed humorlessly as Safi pulled the gun away. Instead of answering directly he said in a slurred voice, “Right before the war, someone got control of my suits. Was attaching my friends. So I stopped my heart. Just stopped it, like that. I mean, yes, had to save Cap’s life but, what I'm saying is, is.” He stopped, then frowned, “doesn't matter. 's not about the kid.”

The flame lit up Safi’s handsome face and Tony aftereffect at him, seeing Steve--as hr always did--but also seeing a hurting, broken man. Whose night he had not at all made better.

In response to Safi's question, he said in a voice so calm it surprised even him, “I think you should tell me what's wrong.”

@kel

“Who started you back up?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

He felt his eyebrow raise as Tony actually seemed to give a shit, which was surprising considering...well the last ten minutes or so. “I-” He held the tip of the cig between his fingers rolling it, “Am fucked.” he proclaimed deciding to finally light the damn thing. “And there is not a damn thing I can do.” he finished with an inhale. “So lets fix you up and call it a night.” he grinned toothily around the rolled parchment.
@starkly