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Chapter 74: Tony Is In The Closet
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The massive truck slid into a parking spot beside a lonely, neon-lit diner on the outskirts of a Transylvanian town.
The sign flickered weakly against the encroaching sunshine: "Casa Bună" in peeling letters.
It was the kind of place that existed in the liminal space between towns, serving truckers, locals who wanted anonymity, and tourists who were hopelessly lost.
Adam and Tony jumped down from the high cab, the chilly mountain air biting after the climate-controlled workshop.
Adam, now changed into a fresh, dark grey suit that still managed to look slightly rumpled, tapped a command on his wrist.
The truck's systems whirred, locks engaging with heavy thunks, and the exterior lights dimmed to a dormant state.
He adjusted his cuffs, his manner shifting subtly as they approached the diner's door.
His posture became more willful, his voice taking on a cultured, almost theatrical cadence.
"I hear they do a wonderful lunch here," Adam mused, holding the door open for Tony.
The warm, greasy air from inside washed over them, carrying the scent of fried food and strong coffee.
"Their signature is a tocăniță de vânat; a venison stew. Simmered for hours with root vegetables and a rather bold paprika."
"They say it's delicious enough to turn a vampire… well, let's say it would challenge their dietary convictions profoundly. Make them reconsider their life choices, perhaps even consider veganism."
Tony brushed past him, rolling his eyes. "The expression is 'to die for,' Cypher. Or 'mouth-watering.' Not 'species-confusing.'"
[Man my grandma made me that yesterday, soo goood!]
[I don't think a vampire would turn vegan anytime soon.]
[Trust me, there are a lot of simps about. Imagine a simp vampire in love with a vegan, he would turn vegan for her yesterday.]
[True true, I've read in a story about a guy who brainwashed himself into being a cuck cause that is his girl's fetish, weird shit man.]
[ok what?] [+1] [+1] [+1]
[My wife's friend is trying to convince me to be a cuck, but ain't falling for it, man.]
[???? I think you have bigger issues man?]
[...] [That's weird.] [Suspicious.]
[That's a statement so puzzling I can't even comprehend it.]
[I have so many questions.]
[Tony's already exhausted, and they haven't even sat down.]
They walked in. The diner was a study in faded Americana grafted onto Eastern Europe: vinyl booths, a long chrome counter, a jukebox in the corner playing a tinny Romanian folk song.
About a dozen patrons were scattered about; a few tired-looking truckers, an elderly couple, some locals.
Heads turned immediately. Not at Adam, though his heterochromatic eyes drew a few second glances.
All eyes locked onto Tony Stark. The sunglasses, the goatee, the unmistakable aura of billionaire genius, playboy, philanthropist; it translated universally, even here.
They made their way to an empty booth by a fogged-up window. Before Tony could slide in, a man in his thirties, wearing a trucker's cap and an over-eager grin, practically bounded over.
"Mr. Stark! Oh my god, sir, it's an honor!" The man's English was accented but fluent.
He held up a cheap smartphone. "Could I please, please get a picture? My son will never believe me!" He reached out as if to clap Tony on the shoulder in camaraderie.
Tony stiffened. He was used to attention, but this felt invasive, and he hates when others touch him. "Not today," He said, his voice curt, leaning away from the reaching hand. "Private time."
The fan's face fell, his hand hovering awkwardly. The atmosphere turned awkward.
Adam smoothly interjected, his tone light and conspiratorial. "No photos today, my friend. It's our special date, you see."
"Date?" The fan blinked, looking between the handsome, eccentric man and the famously hetero Tony Stark.
"Tony's still a bit… Closeted about it," Adam continued, giving a dramatic, sympathetic sigh. "So if you could keep this just between us? For his sake?" He put a finger to his lips in a 'shhh' gesture.
The fan's confusion morphed into stunned, scandalized comprehension. "Oh! Oh, I… of course! Discretion! Yes!"
He backed away, nodding vigorously, looking like he'd just been handed the world's most explosive secret.
"Just go," Tony snapped, his patience gone. As the fan scurried away, Tony turned a venomous glare on Adam. "You have no shame. None."
Adam slid into the booth opposite him, shrugging. "Smile, Tony. Face everything with laughter. It was funny, no?"
"No," Tony said flatly, picking up a laminated menu. "It was not. And you have a terrible sense of humor."
He mentally added that the most annoying part was that his usual arsenal of sarcasm felt blunted against Adam.
Insults and quips seemed to slide off the man, absorbed into his general aura of cheerful madness.
You couldn't win a snark battle with someone who found your best jabs genuinely amusing.
A nervous young waiter appeared, pad in hand. They ordered; coffee for Tony, the venison stew for Adam, who described his desired spice level with the precision of a sommelier.
Once the waiter fled, Tony leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "When's your 'specialist' getting here?"
Adam gazed out the window at the darkening pine forest. The sun was setting. "I don't know the exact ETA. But I'd wager he'll arrive… in a moment of maximum tension. A real 'main character entrance' kind of thing. Probably with dramatic lighting."
Tony's mouth twitched in exasperation. "You are so childish. Do you need someone to read you comic books before bed?"
Adam raised a brow, a flicker of genuine thought crossing his face. My imaginary friends do provide a constant stream of comic book lore, he mused. "Kinda," He said aloud with a small smile.
[He's not wrong! Blade's entrances are always dramatic!]
[Talking about main character entrances right before Blade shows up is peak meta.]
[Adam is going heavy on the gay jokes, you think he's distracting from the fact that he's techsexual?]
[He already got the great Emma Frost in bed, but I genuinely believe he would've preferred a cyborg version.]
[You speaking facts.] [You smoking crack.]
The food arrived. Tony's coffee was strong and bitter. Adam's stew was a deep, aromatic bowl of rich brown gravy and tender meat.
He took a careful spoonful, closed his eye, and sighed in contentment. "See? Not so bad,"
Tony conceded, taking a sip of his coffee. "The world could be ending, but a decent cup of…"
He was interrupted. A woman approached their table. She was brunette, in her late twenties, with sharp features and eyes that lingered a little too long on Adam, not Tony.
"Excuse me," She said, her English flavored with a local accent. "It's quite crowded. May I join you?" Her smile was inviting, her body language angled toward Adam.
Adam smiled back, genial and open. "But of course. Please."
She slid into the booth beside Adam, too close for casual acquaintance.
Tony watched, slightly surprised. Why him? And she didn't even look at him.
Sure, Adam is rising to fame recently due to all the controversies surrounding him, but Tony is a hundred times more popular, at least.
Though admittedly, Adam has a unique allure. The stark white hair, the striking heterochromia; one warm hazel, one cool, mechanical grey; gave him a memorable, almost otherworldly handsomeness.
He almost looks as handsome as I am, narcissistically mused Tony.
Speaking of Adam's grey eye. Tony had had JARVIS analyze it because he noticed its oddness, a cybernetic eye.
The craftsmanship was extraordinary. It made him curious about how Adam went about the neural connection, or if it was his mutant ability. A question for another time.
If the brunette's plan was seduction, it was immediately derailed.
The diner's entrance door was kicked open with a violence that shattered the low hum of conversation.
Two men stood there, clad in dark, nondescript clothing, their faces hidden behind crude ski masks.
Each held a pistol; heavy, ugly things that looked Soviet-era. Despite Romania's strict gun laws, the weapons were very real.
"Toată lumea jos! Portofelele, telefoanele, acum!" One yelled, waving his gun. Everyone down! Wallets, phones, now!
Pandemonium erupted. A glass shattered. The elderly woman gasped. The truckers at the counter slowly raised their hands.
In the same fraction of a second, two things happened at Adam and Tony's table.
First, Adam's hand moved. The steak knife he'd been using to cut a piece of venison forsake the food.
Its polished tip now rested lightly against the side of the brunette's throat, just below her jawline.
He hadn't turned to look at her. His gaze was fixed on the robbers, but his voice, cold and flat as a surgeon's scalpel, spoke to the woman beside him.
"I wouldn't," He said softly.
She had been in the process of "panic-throwing" herself into his arms, a move that would have put her hands dangerously close to his torso and neck.
She froze, her eyes wide with a fear that seemed entirely genuine, feeling the icy kiss of the steel.
Second, the diner's door, which had swung shut after the robbers' entrance, was pulled open again.
This time, it wasn't kicked. It was simply opened, with class, and controlled force.
The man who stepped inside seemed to suck the warmth from the room.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black leather that creaked softly with his movement... It was Blade.
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