kore_logs | (no subject)

Who: Bruce Banner and Tony Stark
Where: House 6
When: Day 58, early morning
What: Tony wakes up dead
Warnings: Sparklepires

It’s the absence of light, instead of its constant presence, that wakes him, though he doesn’t immediately realize it. For over two years, the blue glow of the arc reactor has been a steady, grudgingly accepted companion. At night, it always seems brighter, almost blindingly so, though even Tony’s aware that that’s more of a psychological side-effect of the issues he refuses to deal with than legitimate fact. It’s taken him some time, but he’s finally gotten to the point where he can ignore it and sleep.

This night – or perhaps more accurately, morning – he wakes abruptly, eyes snapping open to a room shrouded in heavy darkness. He can hear the rush rise and fall of what sounds like waves and a deep, low thrumming sound that he’s never heard before. Yet he knows that those noises, however odd, aren’t what has woken him.

He glances around, quick darts of his eyes, but all he can see is the same room he’s been sleeping in for weeks. When he does sleep. It’s not uncommon for him to pull all-nighters even here. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the shadowed shapes of…

Shadows.

With a gasp that sounds abnormally loud to him, Tony jerks upright and slaps a hand to his chest. There’s no blue glow. Looking down, the light of the arc reactor’s gone. Even the current of energy that’s been going through it since he installed it in his chest is gone. It’s dead. It’s dead and he’s going to be dead in minutes.

“Bruce!”

In his haste to get up, he gets tangled up in the sheets and nearly pitches over the side of the bed. He catches himself at the last minute, works himself free of them, and makes a lunge for the lamp on the nightstand. Bruce can’t fix it. Only he can fix it. But he doesn’t have the tools and it might blow up and they’re all going to die unless he does something. And if he fails, which seems pretty likely, the Hulk can take the thing as far away from the town as he can before it detonates.

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Inwardly, he can agree with that. He’s still the same guy he was when he went to sleep. A little rawer around the edges, maybe. A little more prone to jumping on the emotional rollercoaster. He feels more than he did before, sharper and harder, so much so that it’s difficult to ignore it the way he did when he was alive. It’s not a problem with the positive emotions, he doesn’t mind being deliriously happy or extraordinarily turned-on. But the darker ones, the negative ones, already Tony can see that that might be a problem.

Unless he learns how to control it. With time, maybe he will. He just has to hope that he has that time before he ruins everything with his quicksilver mood swings.

Outwardly, though, he’s hardly the same. It’s a difference emphasized when Bruce touches him again and he feels how warm he is.

“Maybe that should be our gimmick,” he suggests, hooking an arm around Bruce’s waist and walking backward toward the bed. “Setting various rock and pop songs to inappropriate dance numbers. The Mister Roboto dance to Enrique Iglesias’s Hero. That kind of thing.” When he’s close enough, he leans backwards, precursor to falling onto the bed, and tugs at Bruce to follow him down.

He follows him easily, and though Tony's on an emotional rollercoaster that's related to his new vampiric nature, Bruce just thinks he's having a hard time adjusting. It makes sense; it isn't easy finding yourself to be something completely different, something you've always thought of as demonic. So he went into shock and had a freakout, that's normal. Bruce is committed to doing whatever he needs to do to make Tony feel better, as much as he can.

"The Macarena to that Celine Dion song," he offers, smiling, as he settles himself on top of Tony.

Admittedly, the coldness is something Bruce is going to need to adjust to somehow. He's breaking out in goosebumps, but he's refusing to move away; he'll get used to it. Bruce just runs hot.

To prove to Tony that nothing fundamental about their relationship needs to change, he dips his head and kisses along his neck, nuzzling, playful kisses.

Celine Dion’s got a discography half a mile long. Not that Tony would know; he doesn’t actively listen to her music, it’s more of a case that it finds him than the other way around. But he doesn’t need to ask which song Bruce means. It’s that kind of song. One just knows.

He’s tempted to break into the chorus just for the fun of it, but as Bruce settles in on top of him, he thinks that maybe there are better things to do with his mouth than waste it belting out trite, overused schmoopy love songs.

Bruce is so warm that the heat radiating off of him gives Tony an idea of just how cold he must feel. The goosebumps he finds when he runs his hands up his arms are another clue, and he resolves to figure out a way to do something about it. Not at the moment, there’s nothing he can do. But later, surely there’s something he can make. A heat blanket, a thermal shirt of some kind that can subtly warm his body to at least room temperature, something.

Silently, he apologizes to Bruce as he curls around him, recognizing that it’s selfish but wanting to be close to him too much to pull away. He ducks his head to kiss Bruce’s shoulder. He’ll fix this. Somehow, some way, he’ll fix this. That he promises to Bruce, even if he doesn't say the words out loud.