Holding Out (for a hero, or something)

Tony had a concussion. Head trauma was common enough in his life that he didn't need a doctor to diagnose him. It was Tuesday, this week's antagonist had kidnapped him, and Tony had a concussion.

At the moment, he was chained to a chair, in the most cliched Evil Villain Lair (TM) he'd yet seen. Seriously, the building material of choice was plated metal, it echoed like a converted bomb silo, the floor was concrete, there was a pit 10 feet to his left with something letting out a steady stream of low snarls inside it, and one wall was almost entirely taken up by a solid block of screens, each showing a camera view for different parts of the surrounding Fortress of Terror, or whatever his captor was calling it.

Speaking of, the reptilian villain (Tony nicknamed him Scaly Face McGee) was glaring and pacing in front of the tv wall, taloned fists clenching and unclenching as they both watched Cap kick, punch and parkour his way through the building, heading straight for their location.

"What is he?" the alien spit furiously.

"Gorgeous."

There was dead silence (besides the low, threatening rumble of whatever the hell was in the pit) as Scaly slowly turned his head to stare, wide-eyed, at Tony. "...what?"

Rather than go compliantly silent, as Scaly probably expected, Tony rolled his eyes so hard it made him dizzy (in addition to the headache and general daze). "Are you new? The fact that I'm an equal opportunity oggler was established in Us Weekly back when I was 16. That I am appreciative of the physical aspects of any and all of my teammates is not a surprise to anyone. Seriously."

"You-"

Ignoring the attempt of Scaly to speak, Tony railroaded right on past, deciding to focus on something pleasing in an attempt to ignore the way his head currently felt like someone had messily bisected it with rebar. "You know what, I'm concussed. I will talk the ear off anyone listening on a normal day, lemme tell you, but now I'm a little loopy, and even less likely to bother filtering myself. And JARVIS isn't here to do it for me, so screw it.

"And if I'm currently living out a really weird version of a minor fetish, in which I get to play damsel in distress for the approaching hot hero, who might ask for a kiss in repayment, please any god that's not Odin let that happen, and my gallant rescuer-to-be is Captain America, you, sir, are out of luck. Steve Rogers, my herpetologically inclined enemy, is beautiful. According to the majority of the internet, he is the proud owner of the best ass on Planet Earth, has chiseled abs that anyone sane wants to lick like a lollipop, hands and forearms and shoulders like woah, not to mention the height thing, and that's usually wrapped up like a present in a skintight, patriotic uniform, that makes drooling over him practically an American duty.

"As if that weren't enough, he's got a jawline to make Michelangelo weep, he cries every time we watch Up, he gives amazing hugs and worries about people, and when he does the bashful blushing thing, the tips of his ears go all rosy, and it makes me want to kidnap him for hourly cuddles. It's a problem."

Which was about when Tony stopped rambling, his attention catching on the person currently standing behind the appalled looking Scaly. Said individual was wearing a red, white and blue outfit, and a cowl over most of his head that was failing miserably to hide either his wide smile or the way his face was flushing bright pink.

Tony couldn't help grinning back, unrepentant and shameless beneath the fondly amused gaze. "Heya, Cap."

One swift punch to Scaly's face, and the villain dropped. Walking over the unconscious body, the soldier leaned closer to Tony, his hands running across the thick links chaining the shorter man to the chair. Rather than undoing them, he merely nuzzled his nose against that of the restrained billionaire. "Hourly cuddles, huh?"

Nodding more eagerly than his concussion approved of, Tony confirmed, "Absolutely, Cap."

There was a pause while the hero tilted his head, considering, before he dipped his head. "I'm fine with that."

Then warm lips were brushing against Tony's, and a gloved hand lightly tangled in his hair to encourage him, and it was better than he'd ever imagined.

Eventually, though, Steve pulled back, brows scrunched up in confusion. "What's that growling noise?"

end

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author's note: Kate, this is all your fault.