kore_logs | what doesn't kill you makes you stronger

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what doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Who: The Hulk and you, IF YOU DARE
What: The rampaging Hulk is... you know, rampaging. Feel free to treat this as an open post kind of thing. Team up to battle him if you want, or come in to help rescue someone.
When: Day 50 (from here)
Where: Starting in the town, moving back out into the park (feel free to assume you're pursuing him out there from the town), then he flees into the woods.

There aren't a lot of conscious thoughts in the Hulk's mind right now. The only thing he's sure of is rage -- pure and unadulterated, it flows through him and feeds his strength, feeds his energy, but it's like poison, too. The regular Hulk, the calm one, would prefer rationality over this, but he doesn't have a choice. He doesn't get a choice like Banner, or like any of these other humans. He gets someone pushing Banner's buttons until the Hulk tumbles out mindless and angry and unable to turn it off.

So he'll rage, and he'll smash and destroy until he can bleed the anger out.

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“I usually ignore people when they tell me to shut up,” he says casually, torn between wanting to take offense at it and a willingness to let it slide. After a brief internal debate, he opts for the latter and, with a sigh, falls silent.

Silence is difficult enough for him, but combined with stillness it’s nearly impossible. He fidgets slightly, shifts his weight from one foot to another, picks at the pocket of his jeans, then gives it up as a lost cause and reaches out to run his fingertips over the Hulk’s hair. It’s a soothing, petting gesture, light enough and loose enough that his hand can be easily swatted away.

But there’s a point he’s making, both in the silent compliance that doesn’t come easily and in his determination to touch him. He’s not scared. And the Hulk’s not alone.

Unfortunately, the Hulk doesn't have much room for a sense of humor right now, even Iron Man-- okay, maybe especially Iron Man's. He tenses when he feels the hand in his hair, half a growl escaping; that's a reflex, the reaction of an animal caught in a trap, but once he realizes Tony's comforting him, he relaxes. And then he takes his hand away and leans into Tony's touch, his eyes closing. That sigh is relieved.

Luckily for everyone involved, Tony’s used to dealing with people who don’t find his shit funny. Mostly, he deals with it by ignoring the dissenting opinion and carrying on anyway. But he’s here for the Hulk right now, not to be a contrary asshole, and when he feels him relax, he applies a little more pressure to the strokes against his hair.

Once the Hulk’s hand moves out of the way, he changes tactics completely, combing through his hair in long strokes, gently working out the tangles with deft fingers. He has some dim memory of someone doing the same thing for him when he’d been a very young boy, though it happened so infrequently that he hadn’t grown dependent on the comfort. What he remembers is that it is a comfort, and if it’s all he can give the Hulk right now, then that’s what he’ll give him.

And once his hair isn’t a bird’s nest anymore, Tony drags his fingernails over his scalp, adding a light scratch to what is quickly turning into a massage.

No one's ever done anything like this for the Hulk before. The noise in his head -- all the anger and the rage that he can't begin to know how to control -- starts to fade, and the quiet he was looking for really does seep in. He grunts, leaning into Tony's touch and letting him do whatever he wants. It feels good, not just to have his hair touched like this, but to trust someone and to be trusted. At the fingernails, he grunts again in mild surprise and in approval. It sends a tingle down his spine that he likes.

He cracks an eye open and looks up at Tony from under his hair. "See? Quiet better." And that right there? That's a hint of a smile.

If there’s one thing Tony knows how to do, it’s touch people. He doesn’t always invite it from others, but when he decides to make contact, he generally knows what he’s doing. He’ll never be a professional masseuse, but he knows how work tension and kinks out of muscle, and he knows the difference between a sound of pleasure and one of pain.

The Hulk likes the fingernails, so he applies them again, draws them down from the top of his head and over the back of his neck, before dragging them back up again, alternating between scratching and kneading until, if his head were covered in muscle, he’s almost sure it would be tension-free.

“Quiet better, huh?” At the very least, he says it quietly. “Would quiet like a shoulder rub too? Lean forward a little bit so I can get behind you and I’ll give you one.” Voice still soft, he lets a note of humor leak into it. “A silent one.”

The next noise to come out of the Hulk is more than a grunt; that's definitely a groan, and he's maybe never felt this good before in his whole life. He snorts at Tony's joke, and when he picks his head up to smirk at him, his eyes are half-lidded. Silently, he moves to give Tony access to his shoulders. The Hulk watches him as best he can, paying attention to Tony now that he can pay attention to anything beyond his own rage.

Tony's nice. He's a good human. Banner likes him the same way he liked Betty, and even if the Hulk thinks Banner's horrible, he can be happy that Tony gets some happiness from him. Tony deserves that. Tony deserves everything. And he likes the Hulk too; he trusts Hulk, treats him fairly, is kind. He's a good human -- no, he's a good person. That's a distinction he can make now that some rationality is seeping in.

Note to self, Tony thinks as he catches sight of the Hulk’s smirk, the Hulk likes massages. Giving his hair a fond ruffle, he slips back into the space that’s been made for him and surveys the battlefield. The Hulk is like a small mountain of muscle, some of them look bigger than Tony’s head, and he’s glad there’s a tree at his back, because it might take bracing against hit to work some of the knots out of those things.

He promised silence, though, and instead of warning him about what he’s going to do, Tony just runs his hands over his shoulders, mapping out the way the muscles feel, before choosing a side and digging in. Unlike with someone smaller, he has to use both hands on the same side. But other than that, he does it just the same. Starting in against his neck, he works his way out, prodding at the knots, smoothing out the muscle and coaxing it to relax.

Through some sort of miracle, he manages to hold his tongue the entire time.

The Hulk's eyes close, and he lets Tony do what he wants, all the way up until he realizes that he's zoning out too much. He's not ready to relinquish control yet, not when he just got here and not when all the time he spent here was miserable. He snorts and straightens up, rolling his shoulders to brush Tony's hands off them.

"Stop. Not ready for Banner to come back." He rubs a fist against his eyes, trying to wake himself back up, and that's when he grins.

"Talk now. Gotta get angry." It's a joke!

“Uh huh. Yeah, okay,” Tony snorts, letting his hands fall as he tips his head back and looks down his nose at the top of the Hulk’s head. The broad grin sort of ruins it, but Tony's too amused to control himself. “My talking makes you angry, huh?”

He isn’t nearly as offended as he sounds, and he tries to make himself so theatrically, over-the-top offended that it should be obvious, he hopes, that he’s not. Not when he knows that listening to him talk legitimately does make other people angry. In some ways it’s a gift, one he’s even perversely proud of.

“Them’s fightin’ words, pal. Let’s go.” Balling up his hand, Tony aims a jab at the Hulk’s shoulder. In terms of force, it’s the most ineffectual punch a man could throw. But he’s only play fighting, and against the Hulk, he knows he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing. Even if he had the suit. “You and me, toe-to-toe, the sanctity of my—I don’t know, I don’t really have any dignity left. Whatever. The sanctity of something’s at stake here. First guy on the ground loses.”

He knows Tony's joking, and the Hulk likes his babbling, honest. Okay, sometimes he wants him to hush up for a second, but that's usually because he can't keep up, and he wants to keep up with him. And even if Tony's posturing wasn't amusing, him hitting the Hulk is just hilarious, and the Hulk grins wide, seconds away from laughing. He lets Tony have one hit, and he lets him issue the challenge. Then he raises his hand, puts one finger against Tony's shoulder, and pushes with enough force to hopefully send Tony back on his butt, but no more than that.

"Two out of three?"

He goes down like his legs are made of wet noodles, with an undignified noise that sounds like the bastard offspring of a squawk and a yelp. Really, he probably should have seen that coming. And it doesn’t hurt. Not really. It’s a little jarring, a little unexpected, but there’s grass and leaves and okay, maybe an uncomfortably placed rock, but for the most part it’s fine.

Laughing despite himself, he scrambles back up onto his feet. “Uh, yeah. Definitely two out of three.” Dimly, he’s reminded of Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey and the hopeless battle Death waged against two young men who were far too well-versed in the art of winning board games.

It’s that comparison that makes him laugh even harder. And then, in a move he knows is going to fail but can’t help doing anyway, he launches himself at the Hulk like he actually has a hope in hell of tackling him to the ground.

The jump does startle the Hulk enough that he leans back, and then his arm comes around Tony and his grip tightens, his muscles automatically preparing to throw Tony off him. He doesn't want to fling Tony though; he might really get hurt, and that's not okay. And he had sent the Hulk leaning back, that counts, right? The Hulk keeps falling back, holding Tony against him so he's cradled against his chest when the Hulk's back hits the ground with a thud.

It reminds him of New York with the flying lizards, when he'd caught Iron Man and landed just like this. He's not as good at ruffling hair as Tony, which is evidenced by the fact that he kind of ruffles Tony's whole side. It's gentle and affectionate, if not quite hitting the mark.

Someone else feeling the Hulk’s arm closing around them like that might panic. Might feel the cold wash of inexorable fear. Tony whoops like they’re on a rollercoaster cresting the first hill, and as the Hulk pitches over backward, he slings an arm around his neck and starts laughing again. It’s never an inkling in his mind that he might be in danger here. They might be in the monster-filled woods in some psychopath’s experimental town, but tucked in against the Hulk like this, Tony knows that he’s never been safer in his life.

He’s still laughing as he feels himself getting the full-body ruffle treatment, and he lifts his head enough to look right at the Hulk’s eyes. “You let me win that one, but I’m totally taking it. So that’s—Are you trying to tickle me? I’m not ticklish. Are you?”

And he follows that question up by poking his fingertips into the Hulk’s side and wriggling them over what, if it wasn’t covered by muscle, would probably be ribs.

Really, Tony isn't in danger, or at least the Hulk won't do anything to intentionally hurt Tony right now. Sometimes he doesn't realize his own strength, or sometimes he's, well, a hulking thing and he doesn't always realize if he's going to, say, step on someone or crush them accidentally. But if the Hulk has his way, nothing will hurt Tony ever again.

He lifts his head to see what Tony's doing with his fingers, and though at first there's nothing, he eventually starts to squirm. His hand holds Tony in place, keeping him from falling off.

"Stop. Tin Man -- " He cracks a smile and huffs, and it's almost a laugh.

“Wait, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

He’s lying through his teeth, which are plainly visible due to the huge-ass smile that’s going to make his face start to hurt soon if he doesn’t rein it in. Not that he’s planning on doing that any time soon. This is fun. And maybe it’s not in keeping with the solemnity of the aftermath of a rampage, but frankly, so what? A few buildings got destroyed and some people probably got scared. Big deal. It isn’t the end of the world. And unless someone dies, Tony’s not going to think twice about it.

“Was that a yes?”

Keeping up the charade of not being sure, Tony keeps it up, investigating each new dip and curve in the Hulk’s side with insistent, wiggling fingers.

He doesn't notice that Tony's lying this time because he's distracted by his wiggly fingers, and the Hulk's still wiggling underneath of them, trying to get away. He's not quite laughing, but he keeps grunting and snorting in ways that are almost a laugh. Finally, he wraps scoops Tony up in both hands and holds him up in the air, off the Hulk's chest.

"Not ticklish." Except he so is. Tony definitely wins this round for sure.

“Cheating!” Tony immediately says, half-laughing as he’s hoisted into the air. “Cheating! This is totally cheating!”

No one who’s grinning this much could be put out by it though. And really, this is kind of fun too. It’s taking everything he has to resist the childish impulse to feign flying through the air, but there’s still some dignity in there somewhere, and he manages. Barely.

“You know, I think that’s two for me.” He holds up two fingers, ratcheting up the smugness for the sake of the game. “Two. And one for you.” He curls one finger down. “So, two out of three, I think that means—Yep. I win!”

What -- hey! The Hulk's face settles into a scowl; he's not really annoyed, but he's not happy about losing, not being all that used to losing and all. He huffs, which is his way of conceding defeat, and then he rolls onto his side and deposits Tony on his back onto the ground.

"Hmph." He's pouting.

“Hey! No one said winning meant forfeiting my Hulk pillow!” The Hulk might be pouting, but now Tony’s whining. “That was so not part of the deal.”

Not one to take this lying down, Tony sits up and leans over until he’s sprawled out against the Hulk, insinuating himself back into his personal space like it’s got his name written all over it. Tipping his head back toward his chest so that he’s looking at him sort of upside-down, Tony grins.

“You wanna go for five out of seven? Reclaim the title?”

Right now, he likes Tony getting in his personal space. Rational like he is now, he's far more patient and able to accept this kind of treatment. An angrier Hulk would be far less accepting, and the Hulk sees that as Tony gets more comfortable. He sighs, though it's more of a snort, and he curls his arm around where Tony's propped against him.

"Keep Hulk pillow. Keep title too." That's how much he likes Tin Man. After a second to think, he actually tries to tickle Tony, though for him that means one finger only probing around where Tony's ribs are. He really is trying to tickle, his touch gentle.

“Thank you, I will,” he responds loftily, still grinning. “I’ll keep them both for—Yea—Ha. Nn, what’re—Ah, stop it!”

Squirming away from his finger, Tony twists around and slaps at his finger, half trying to climb over to his other side. Not like the Hulk doesn’t have two hands and ten fingers, but discovering at 42 that his not ticklish assertion isn’t entirely accurate doesn’t leave much room for calmly and rationally pointing out that he was wrong and now that they’ve got it sorted out, he’ll be going back to being the tickler, not the ticklee.

“Okay! So I am a little! I give up!”

He does stop... for all of two seconds before he redoubles his attack using two fingers and really giving it (in a gentle way) to Tony. And then he lets up. The Hulk grins then, satisfied, and this time he actually does laugh; it's rusty and abrupt and short, but it's a laugh, and it leaves him lightheaded. He relaxes back against the ground, sighing.

"Don't have much time." He looks down at Tony, and he feels a surge of affection that he knows is his just as much as it's Banner's. He'll never find another person like him, and that thought is upsetting in a general way but warming in a very specific way. He touches Tony's cheek gently.

"Stay with Hulk?"

Men don’t shriek. But they do yelp and squirm and flail around so much that they may as well shriek. At least until they’re not being tickled anymore. When it’s over, Tony slumps against the Hulk, breathless and laughing quietly under his breath. So quiet that he’s able to hear him when he laughs, and that’s worth all the tickling in the world.

Turning his head toward him, he leans into the Hulk’s hand and lifts his own to rest against the big green one. “You better believe it, buddy.” He taps the arc reactor with his other hand, looking up at the Hulk’s eyes as he tips his head just a little further to kiss that patch of green skin nearest his mouth. “Until this old thing gives out, I’m going to be right here with you.”

The Hulk smiles, slow and surprised. Not at the sentiment, because he's heard Tony reassure him like that before, but at the kiss. And not even that it happened because Tony's kissed him before too, but because it warms something in him too. It doesn't actually take a lot of thought or buildup for him to decide to touch Tony's cheek again and then to kiss him, really kiss him. The idea that Tony might not want it doesn't even cross his mind; he's that convinced of Tony's acceptance of him.

With things the way they are now, there’s no way Tony would ever let himself get into this kind of situation with anyone else. He may have made a reputation for himself as loose and easy, basically slutty, but it’s been a few years since he lived like that and that kind of lifestyle has always been dependent on being single. When he’s with someone, he doesn’t stray, and he certainly doesn’t make out in weird places with other people.

The Hulk isn’t other people, though. He’s a part of Bruce, and not wanting to be touched by him, whether he’s big and green or not, isn’t something that Tony can imagine himself ever feeling.

He’s surprised by the kiss, if only because the Hulk doesn’t strike him as the physically affectionate sort, but the surprise is a fleeting thing. It certainly doesn’t prevent him from kissing him back, and because he’s Tony Stark and Tony Stark never does anything by half-measure, he slips his hand into the Hulk’s hair and tugs him closer. It’s the kind of nonverbal message - I want you, I’ll be here, that isn’t going to change - that he hopes translates well enough for the Hulk to understand.

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