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- contents of packaging: topher brink,
- external packaging: topher brink,
- fact: brink crushes are not your crushes,
- fact: caustic personality yields ouchies,
- i answer to: tony stark,
- issue: motherfucking kinkmeme,
- issue: tony stark is my reason to live,
- issue: topher can hack,
- mood: emo,
- person: tony: braincrush ♥♥♥,
- place: 307,
- tech: computer,
- tech: hacking
Room 307, Wednesday Evening
As it turned out, it was harder to take stories down from a kink meme than you might think. Perils of posting anonymously and all that -- no easy delete button.
Which was why it was fortunate that Topher didn't need a delete button, and managed with little trouble to not only take the story down, but also to gift the moderators with some thoughtful presents to express his appreciation of their entire stupid system.
Mean, system-disrupty presents. Sorry, Pepper totally anonymous moderators.
At least it felt useful to do that rather than the whole video-game-zombie-killing thing. That was a plus. Once he was finished, he considered working a bit on some of Peter's spybots, since his weetiny self had not been kind to them, but the memory of working on them with Tony put that on a definite hold.
So. Moping Hacking for sport it was.
[[for that guy getting a jump start on his career as a heartbreaker actually screw that, i'm bored. door shut but post open.]]
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THE BAD TOUCH LECTURE, HOWEVER...
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"Oh," Topher said, aiming for cool and casual and failing miserably. "Oh. 'Cause, um. Yeah. That's good."
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"We're going to have to talk about Thursday sometime soon, though."
When he wasn't half dead. And smelling like he was homeless.
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Plus there was the matter of the dirty clothes, and Topher just so happened to have a shirt of Tony's on hand that he could... probably be persuaded to give up. If Tony asked nicely.
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"I'm just stopping by to get some clothes and head back to the lab." To work through his issues in a completely healthy manner. "Got anything caffeinated that I can steal?"
ENABLE HIIIIIM.
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"Yeah, definitely," Topher answered, getting up to grab a couple of Mountain Dews out of the fridge. He tossed one to Tony, then flopped back on the bed and offered, maybe a little too eagerly at the chance to get to help somehow, "You need a shirt or something?"
DON'T DO IT, TONY. NOT UNLESS YOU WANTED IT TO TURN INTO TOPHER'S MOST PRIZED PILLOW.
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And now Topher was back up again, rifling through his meticulously-organized closet. "This okay?" he offered, holding up a sweater vest.
THERE WAS A NEW LOOK FOR TONY. HOT.
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"I'll be fine without," Tony assured him. "T-shirts are more my thing."
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Topher winced, then presented an alternative. Which was Tony's shirt from Thursday, because he was weird. "There's this too," he offered reluctantly.
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"Maaaaaybe? I think, uh, on Thursday things got kind of mixed up, so I might've, uh..."
STOLEN IT. TO WEAR AND CUDDLE AND OCCASIONALLY SNIFF WHILE PETER WATCHED IN HORROR.
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"Uh, yeah?" Topher said, trying to make it sound like it was obvious. Too bad he looked just a bit too deer-in-the-headlights for that to really go over very well. "You told me. At the ki-- uh, carnival."
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Or stalk. He had more than enough experience there, thanks.
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"I know," Topher said again, drawing in closer on himself because, fine, he really hadn't known that. "It was just, like, an accident. With the... drinking. You know."
WORST LIE EVER.
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"Topher. I'm serious," Tony said, looking down at the ground. "I've had a seriously bad couple of days and don't want to deal with this again."
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The hurt passed over his face quickly enough, then was replaced by a wide-eyed uncertainty that made it perfectly clear how clueless he felt right now.
"Um," he said. "What, uh, what happened?"
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He sighed, feeling all that sleep deprivation hit him behind the eyes like a truck.
"I'm not saying you have to get over it right now, but you do eventually. You'll find someone who can like you back in that way and I'll be there to keep you from stealing their clothing."
Like a good friend.
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Topher picked at his comforter for a minute, not sure of what to say. Except that he shouldn't've been so obvious. Even if Tony wasn't saying he didn't want to be friends anymore, he was saying that Topher had completely mishandled this, and like all smartass geniuses, he really, really hated to be wrong. But even bigger than that was that stupid, awful, painful feeling like he was going to throw up, and it shouldn't be so much of a surprise because he knew this already, had known this ever since Homecoming, but it still hit him like sudden nausea that this was never going to happen. Because Tony didn't want it to.
"Oh," he said after a long silence, actually managing to lift his eyes almost to Tony's. "Oh. Um."
Stupid fucking pit-of-his-stomach twisty feeling that wasn't going away.
"Yeah. Okay, then."
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"Just think about it, okay? I--" He sighed, closing his eyes tight to regain focus. "--I know this hurts. Trust me, I've been there. Everyone has been there. But you pick yourself up and move on stronger than you started."
Or brood a lot. While beating up people in a robotic suit of armor.
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So how could Tony get it?
"Yeah," he said, picking at the blanket some more. "I, uh. I'll get on that." Suddenly he was grateful he'd already taken down that stupid story. "Should I, um. Leave you alone for a while?"
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"I mean. Not really?" he offered awkwardly. "But, um, if you'd rather?"
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