Who Am I? » [Stucky]

51. Professing Sins

"Is there anywhere we can discuss this like mature adults?" Steve suggested, his tone sickly patronising and bitterly sour; he was out of all the prissy patience he could manage for the violence that kept being aimed at Bucky.

Tony glowered menacingly, his stubble framed lips curved down in a putrid tight lipped frown of disgust at Bucky as he looked him up and down condescendingly.

Tony's eyes trailed invasively over Bucky, just chillingly remembering that the man standing before him was the one who had brought about the untimely heart-breaking demise of his parents at a delicate and emotionally unstable age; he had been the one who had triggered his alcohol reliance, he was the one who was indirectly responsible for the exhausting sleepless nights where he'd sob into his pillow as he clutched it to his jerking and heaving chest as tears had poured from his eyes in an endless stream. He was the one to blame for the prime source of grief and strife in Tony's life.

His hands were itching and tingling, his fingers frivolously flexing and curling and adrenaline was pumping through his system, whooshing through his heart as it thundered violently in his chest. He was aching to wrap his trembling hands around Bucky's throat and squeeze the pathetic life out of him. Tony ground his solid back teeth, wincing slightly as he caught his cheek between his teeth and blood started spilling out. He was snarling as he was losing all control, his equilibrium draining more and more from his by the second. Still his harsh unrelenting brown-eyed gaze was locked on Bucky.

"Tony," Steve snapped, whipping Tony's head around with the abrupt sound, cutting through his imaginative daze and bursting his dizzy daydream.

"Right..." Tony's rigid catatonic face was tight with anger and his neck muscles taut as his jaw strained. "Yeah..." He bit out through the rows of clenched teeth pressed together like a vice, his voice a low growl more than words.

He bit into his bottom lip, sharp teeth sinking right down into the flesh as he buried them in the flesh. Blood leaked from the horizontal wound and spilled into his mouth, making him curl his lip in distaste.

"JARVIS... Get this thing off me..." Tony demanded, finally breaking eye contact and striding over to the lift with stomping furious steps.

The iron suit unfurled around him, complex mechanisms splitting apart and armour plating falling away with small clicks and whirrs; the individual components whizzing off on their thrusters, airborne, and placing themselves around the room in tidy places.

"Thank you..." Steve whispered thankfully, a look of upmost empathy on his face, his eyes light with gratitude and his smile inviting. He placed a friendly hand of encouragement on Tony's shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me..." Tony spat, lashing his arm out to shove away the unwelcome touch of Steve, batting his arm away with dread and hatred.

He immediately rubbed self-consciously at his shoulder where the touch had been, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling of his skin crawling from the contact. He felt sickened by the way Steve was trying to be all touchy-feely-sensitive. He was in a frothing rage and the room felt too small around him, everything and everyone was too close and he felt like there was a volcano about to erupt. His body was buzzing with tense livid anger and he didn't know how much longer he could go without exploding into a temper tantrum.

Stark slammed his hand into the button on the lift.

"JARVIS!" Tony yelled with a scratchy throaty voice, at the end of his tether, his composure wearing thin and his mask of confidence crumbling around him; he didn't have much left to hide behind. "75th floor... Please..." He whimpered, bracing himself against the wall with an arm against the wall over his head, he was emotionally frustrated and physically frustrated.