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My Boys

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Despite being born four minutes apart, nothing in either of them professed that the other was their twin, nothing that would scream these two were conceived together, born together, and raised together. If one who did not know them were to meet them, at best that person would say they were close cousins, but never twins.

Gregory stood taller than Anthony by a good three inches. His hair glowed like spun gold in the sun and could reflect the barest of lights in the dark. His face was cut from the same marble as his mother's had been and was just as severe. He had calculating blue slits for eyes from which condescension and derision dripped. His mouth spouted cutting remarks that could kill a person had they manifested physically, but on being unable to do so, instead doled out psychological harm to those that managed to get on his bad side. He had a mind leagues ahead of anyone else in the business world, bolstered only by his inherent understanding of the intricacies of weapons development. Gregory Stark was cold, ruthless, cutting, and competent.

Everything his twin was not.

Anthony was the socialite. He had all the physical qualities of his father: black hair which he perpetually slicked in the most fashionable way, narrow, blue eyes alight with intelligence beyond comprehension, a chiseled jaw, softer than his brother's, but no less striking, and a lean body, toned by heavy lifting in his workshop. But everything else about him--his carefree, insouciant lifestyle, his personable aura, his charming charisma, his forward-thinking fashion choices--could only have come from his mother because no one would ever accuse Howard Stark of being joyous. In fact, the brightness of his personality was so great that it often overshadowed his mind whose engineering brilliance debatably exceeded Greg's. Anthony Stark was personable, carefree (often careless), charming, and gorgeous.

As great as this divide was, it was almost natural to find the two men often embroiled in one argument or another, stemming anywhere from morning routines to politics. They could be heard by staff and family alike from across the mansion screaming at each other until they grew hoarse or throwing things at each other--cheap things, expensive things, it didn’t matter--so much so that Maria had decided to move them to rooms on opposite sides of the mansion. Thankfully, in public, screaming at each other would be so completely undignified that instead, they’d politely debate and underhandedly sass each other in a manner that fooled no one anyway.

And when they weren't arguing, they'd settle for a bitter cold war. Such had always been the case since they were five and old enough to start forming opinions of their own.

This was why it was particularly concerning to see his two sixteen-year-olds curled together on a couch in the library (Greg sitting on one end, reading a book, with Tony sleeping with head on his twin's lap) the night they came back for the holidays from school. Greg looked up from his book, and the hand that was petting Tony's hair stopped. That prompted the brunet to peek an eye open and glance at the doorway.

"Good evening, father," Greg greeted. Howard paused in the face of their heavy stares, but then quickly found himself.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, boys," he said and shut the door behind him.


There were little things after that that he noticed, but none he could readily pinpoint: the way Tony would linger at Greg's side after they were supposed to part ways, the way Greg would touch the small of Tony's back to steer him, the way the backs of their hands would brush as they walked because they were too close to each other. They still fought--god, how they fought--but there was no more coldness in the absence of those wars.

Howard didn't bother thinking about it too hard. They were twins, and they were maturing; he chalked it up to that and let it be.

And then Maria had died.

Greg and Tony, both nineteen now, stood stoically as all three of them watched the casket being lowered to the ground. Around them, Maria's relatives and friends sobbed and mourned her loss. Maria was a beautiful person, inside and out, and even Howard, as perennially focus on his company as he was, could recognize that. He regretted her loss, more than he thought he would because their relationship had drifted apart in her last days, but sobbing for her wasn't going to bring her back, and he told his sons as much.

So when the last mound of dirt had been replaced on top of her grave, they turned on their heel, thanked everyone for coming and walked to their cars.

Later, when Howard happened to pass by Tony's room, he could hear his youngest's muffled sobs. He sighed; Tony had always tended more toward Maria than him, a pity considering his intelligence and penchant for inventing, but Greg, who favored his teachings more, was no second-best, so he hadn't minded all that much.

"You heard father, Tony. Crying isn't going to bring her back," came Greg's cool, subtle reprimand. There was a sigh of annoyance in his tone. Tony hiccuped.

"I'm not stupid, Greg. Of course I know that," he snapped, but his voice was clouded with tears. Howard stepped into the shadows where his boys would be visible to him, but not he to them. To his surprise, he found Greg wrapped around Tony on the bed, rather than sitting on the couch like he expected. The younger twin's face was buried in Greg's shoulder. "Can't I just be sad about it?" Greg sighed and stroked his hair.

"Okay," he agreed as though it was an imposition. "But don't cry about it for too long." Tony sighed back, but he didn't cry anymore. He only buried himself closer into his brother.

"You're such a jerk," he sniffed. "It's not like you don't miss her too." Greg said nothing, but he did press a kiss to Tony's hair and then rolled over so that Tony was pinned beneath him. He pulled back, just staring at Tony for a long moment, and then dipped his head to lean closer to Tony's ear.

"I know how to make you feel better," he whispered, but in the dark of the night and the silence around them, Howard heard it with startling clarity. He could see Tony roll his puffy eyes.

"Make you feel better, you mean?" he answered. Greg grinned and then, to Howard's utter surprise--and maybe a necessary degree of horror--he pressed a palm against the front of Tony's pants. The other moaned softly and pressed his hips up.

Howard watched Greg jack Tony off, gentle, easy as though they had done this a hundred times before. He watched his boys kiss each other, hot, dirty in a way that could never be mistaken for anything familial. He watched them move against each other shamelessly until Tony was crying out his apparent release into Greg's mouth, and then he was merely crying.

"Shush, Tony," Greg murmured, kissing his temple. "Go to sleep. It's going to be fine in the morning, I promise." He tucked himself around Tony once more while Tony buried himself into Greg's chest. And when Tony was settled and Howard was about to creep away from the scene, Greg lifted his gaze to the doorway and found his father's. Howard froze, but Greg only lifted a brow and quirked a tiny grin as if to say 'did you enjoy the show?'

Howard left.


Their strange closeness suddenly started to make sense to Howard. Where he thought it was only a twin thing, he now realized it was a relationship they had--an undeniably sexual one three years deep, at that, or maybe even more.

He found himself watching them at every available moment, observing, assessing, trying to glean insight on whether or not separating them completely, physically and emotionally, was warranted to protect them and protect the company. But if he were to be completely honest to himself--and if you couldn’t be honest with yourself, who could you be honest with?--they baffled and intrigued him.

They were both gorgeous, intelligent, rich, charismatic, and powerful. They could have anyone they wanted: young, old, man, woman, both, and more, even, if they so chose and no one would complain. To have gone for an incestuous relationship that would not only shun them from society, but possibly ruin their careers and their lives as well… why?

That was the question Howard asked himself when he saw them together through cracks in the doors, through windows and around corners, when he heard them talk in hushed tones when they thought no one was listening, the same question he was asking himself now while he watched his twins sunbathe beside the pool.

Today was an uncharacteristically beautiful and lazy day being that there was very little work to be done, and the sun was out and brightly shining. When Howard had finally put his pen down, he wandered to the veranda behind his study that opened up to the backyard and pool. There, he found Greg and Tony sharing a chaise lounge despite there being five others to choose from.

Tony was talking enthusiastically about something Howard couldn’t hear, but that didn’t matter all that much because it was Greg he was interested in observing. Greg, lying on his side, had his fist propped against his temple while the fingers of his other hand stroked Tony’s droplet-glistened chest. His lips moved every so often, likely in response to Tony’s words if the younger’s body language were anything to go by, but his attention absently moved between Tony’s mouth and his own hand tracing patterns across his brother’s chest. It was an intimate scene made passionate by the public setting.

His hand then slowly trailed up to Tony’s jaw to tilt his head up. Easily, as though this were the most casual thing in the world, as if this were allowed, he silenced the younger twin when pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Tony’s, lewd as any porn star kiss, his tongue visibly snaking in. One of Tony’s hands curled into Greg’s damp hair and held on as Greg plundered his mouth ruthlessly, thoroughly. This was a kiss of passion, of dominance, and though Tony was not one to let himself lose an argument, with this, he easily surrendered to Greg and liked it, it seemed because his wet swim shorts did nothing to conceal his growing erection.

It was an advantage Greg very well exploited, running his hand down Tony’s chest, down his stomach and lower, fearing not the servants that could amble by nor his father who could easily walk out onto the study’s veranda as Howard had precisely done. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of Tony’s shorts and tugged it down beneath his now-naked balls, baring Tony to Howard’s gaze. But his hand didn’t stop there, instead moving further south and making Tony shudder all over.

Like he had shamefully done so several times before, Howard watched Greg tak Tony apart. It was impossible to look away because like before, Tony writhed against Greg’s hand, every sinewy muscle in his body begging for more. They broke their kiss when Tony gasped and arched up, inadvertently exposing his throat to Greg’s hungry mouth, and his twin took him apart with his mouth and his hand, knowing exactly where and when and how to push his buttons.

It didn’t take long--it shouldn’t, really if they wanted to keep this secret--before Tony’s faint cry of ecstasy was heard between there and here. Droplets of come flew through the air, glistening in the afternoon sun, and from behind them, Howard could see Greg’s amused blue eyes staring at him.


It took him an embarassingly long time to realize Greg was teasing him, and when he did realize it, he immediately booked himself a session with his shrink.

"Understand this," Howard told him, deathly serious. "I have Mafia lords indebted to me. I have generals and religious leaders who owe me money. I have the Secretary of Defense on speed dial." Dr. Abbot met his gaze evenly. He trusted Abbot with his sanity and his life, but this was greater than that. If this got out, it would ruin him, his company, and his sons. "If this gets out and I find you at the source of it, I will make sure you and every single person in your life will pay for it."

"Howard," Abbot answered. He sounded vaguely indignant and insulted even if he didn't show it. "If I was looking to make profit off of your stories, I would be happily living on my own private island in Bora-Bora right now." Howard searching his face for any sign of fear or untruthfulness, and found none, so he nodded and sat back on his couch.

"My sons are in a relationship," he said. Abbot's eyebrows flew up to his hairline.

"A relationship?" he asked. "Like... a sexual one?"

"Yes, doctor, my twins are fucking each other," Howard answered testily. "Although I'm pretty sure it's Greg whose fucking Tony."

"Okay..." Abbot tented his hands in front of his mouth. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Could you be any more of a cliche right now? How do I feel about it?" Howard laughed. "I don't fucking know! I find out after Maria's funeral. I watch Greg jack Tony off, watch them swap saliva, and then Greg looks at me and just--I don't know!"

"He looked at you?"

"Yes. Yes! You know how you look at someone like you're sharing a secret, like... like he's asking you if you want a turn? That! That's how he looks at me." Abbot paused, like a thought suddenly crossed his mind. And then he voiced it.

"And... Do you want a turn, Howard?" the psychiatrist asked carefully.

Howard stopped--frozen for a long moment, shocked and then thinking, thinking, thinking.

And then he stood.

"Thank you for your time, doctor," he said politely, maybe overly so, but that was not a question he was ready to answer just yet. He tried very, very much to sound insulted, and desperately wished he had succeeded in doing so. "I'll be in touch." Abbot grabbed his arm just as he turned. In surprise, Howard looked down at the hand and then up at the shrink's face.

"Maybe you should stay away from them for a while," he suggested gently. It was a sensible suggestion, so Howard merely pressed his lips together, nodded, and then left.


Did he?

It was a question he was afraid to answer, which shouldn't have been the case because "no" was the correct and only answer. No, he didn't want a turn. No, he didn't want to even think about it. No, he didn't want to have anything to do with their incestuous little dalliance. In fact, he should probably consider sending Greg down to LA to oversee operations down at the west coast. Obadiah would certainly appreciate the help.

Goddammit, but those boys were going to be the death of him!

He threw open his bedroom door with one hand while tugging his necktie off with the other, intent on grabbing a strong drink from his mini bar and tossing himself onto the couch for the next few hours. Only…

The blood drained from his face and his whole body froze where it stood because there, on his blue satin sheets, were Greg and Tony.

That croak that escaped his throat drew Greg’s gaze to him, but not Tony’s because his face was buried into a pillow as Greg pounded him into the mattress. His arms, wrapped around the same pillow, were limp with exhaustion, and his back, bathed in sweat, was arched to keep his ass lifted for Greg’s benefit. Howard noticed a wet spot beneath him--come undoubtedly--only because his eyes were inadvertently drawn to Tony’s spent cock on their way to his filled hole.

“Greg…” he moaned. Even muffled, it was clearly pained, and Howard should have probably felt concern for it. He only wondered how long they had been fucking to have him sounding like that.

“Shhh,” Greg murmured, his eyes never leaving Howard’s. “One more, Tony. Just one more.”

“...can’t…” was Tony’s begging answer.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course you can,” the older twin said sharply. This time, his gaze let Howard be to look down at Tony, stroking his back with the hand that was not holding his hip in a death grip. “One more, Tony.” His voice softened to a murmur as he bent over to kiss what part of his back he could reach. And then he whispered, “For dad.”

The breath Howard was struggling to take left him completely.

“You want to show him what a good boy you can be, don’t you?” Greg was saying. “Don’t you want him to see how perfect you can be for him? How much you’re willing to give?” Tony groaned and shifted so that he could slide a hand between his legs. “Yeah, that’s it. Go on, Tony.” And it was filthy, all of it--his words, his voice, the loud slick sounds of their fucking that filled the room.

The erection Howard was getting from watching Tony pump his cock into fullness while Greg drilled into him.

“Look at him, Tony,” Greg gently commanded, and Tony said naught a word as he complied, finding Howard’s eyes with his own. It was in the light of that pleading gaze that Howard took a step back. Tony’s eyes widened briefly before he turned his head and buried his face back in the pillow, and Greg gave a small unhappy noise before he reached around to take Tony’s cock into his hand. He pressed gentle kisses down the line of Tony’s back even as the thrust of his hips never faltered. Then, he guided Tony’s head up and back to kiss him. “One more,” he crooned against his mouth, fisting Tony’s cock as he did. Tony’s eyes fell shut, and his hips stuttered between Greg’s fist and cock. “One more, darling. Show him what he’s missing out on.”

“Fuck, Greg, I… I…”

“Yeah, that’s it, Tony. Go on...” Greg murmured, fisting him into completion. Tony’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as hips stuttered once, twice, and stilled, though only a scant few drops of come spurted out of his cock. His moans, though, were loud enough, hot enough to pin Howard to where he stood while Greg buried his face in his twin’s neck and groaned through his own orgasm. Then, finally, there was a stillness in the room.

So Howard ran.


It was by no coincidence that he had a business trip the next day.


He couldn’t avoid them forever, though.


“You’re fucked up.”

Howard balked over his glass of scotch (bottle really, but it was hidden beneath his desk, so they didn’t have to know).

I’m fucked up?” he asked incredulously. He wasn’t the one having sex with his brother in front of his father. Greg shrugged.

“Sure you are. And so am I, and so is Tony. Isn’t that what all Starks are?” he asked as he strolled over, Tony right at his heels after shutting the door behind them. Howard suddenly felt trapped as his twins towered over him, no longer the boys he remembered running around the mansion, but two strapping young men of twenty, very well capable of holding their own in any kind of fight--psychological, physical, emotional, or what have you. “Deny it all you want, dad, but you know it’s true.” Howard said nothing at first as he tossed back the last of his drink, debating on whether or not to refill the glass.

“Not fucked up enough to join your… your… thing,” he eventually sneered. But it was half-meant and posturing more than anything.

“Just fucked up enough to enjoy watching it then?” Tony asked, casually as he could manage. Howard’s fingers itched for the bottle.

“Do you want me to tell you why you’re drinking?” Greg asked, strolling to the side of the desk to perch on one corner while Tony mirrored him on the other side. Howard ignored them and stared at the files Greg sat on, at the desk organizer he nudged aside, at the trash can he kicked further away, anywhere but up at him, but the blond only reached for the tumbler Howard had emptied. His close inspection is what drew Howard’s eyes up to him. Then he brought it to his mouth and licked into the glass, catching the last few golden drops inside. “It’s not working, is it, father?” Greg then asked with a smirk. Howard swallowed, and asked back:

“What isn’t?” But it was Tony who answered.

“Denying this.” Howard’s head snapped to him, only to find him a mere two inches away. Then Tony suddenly darted forward and caught his mouth in a kiss.

Howard felt electrocuted.

He grasped the arms of his chair, shocked, while Tony slid onto his lap, kissing him to within an inch of his life. His jaw was cupped by calloused hands and his lips pried open by a questing tongue, and he could do nothing but yield and allow Tony to because this?

This is--

“Goddamned amazing,” Greg whispered into his ear, a hairbreadth away and closing in as he pressed kisses to the side of Howard’s neck. “Let him, dad; he’s been wanting it for a while now, and he’s fucking amazing at this.”

“Oh God,” Howard groaned when he could, but he didn’t know what he was begging for, for this to stop or for it to go on. Tony threaded his fingers through Greg’s hair and tugged him closer for a sloppy, messy kiss, all the while grinding up against Howard and fumbling with his belt at the same time. “Why?” he gasped. He didn’t know why it was coming out, but maybe if he knew… if he understood, this could be a lot less fucked up than he thought it was.

Greg pushed Tony off of him to entertain Howard’s plea, but the younger twin didn’t seem to mind, instead sliding off of Howard’s lap and making space for himself in between his legs.

“Because we want to?” was his simple answer, but Howard wasn’t satisfied. “Because we can?” Greg tried again. “Because it isn’t allowed? Because it’s fucking hot? Because there is not a single person on Earth who has a better mouth than Tony has? They’re all true, dad.” Howard gasped when Tony swallowed him down. “Why should we need a reason? To whom are we justifying ourselves? We know the limitations of this arrangement, so who’s going to know?” And Howard didn’t have an answer for that. Greg placed his hands on the arms of Howard’s chair and leaned over his father, forcing him to tilt his head back. “Let go, dad,” he whispered before he kissed him.

And like that, Howard was falling. He was falling and he didn’t care if there was no one there to catch him.

He grabbed Greg’s and Tony’s hair in each hand and held them in place and held on for dear life. Greg kissed him like no one had ever kissed him before, messy and eager and just so damned good, and Tony… well, Greg hadn’t been lying about his mouth.

Then he found his will to fight Greg back, to give as good as he got, pressing his eldest back and down until he knelt beside Tony. It was only then that Howard, with great regret, pulled Tony back so that he could gaze at both his sons.

“This will ruin us if it gets out,” he thought to remind them even though he knew they knew. They probably knew better than he did just how much this would ruin them. “So we’re going to have to make staffing changes around here, and draw up a decent set of rules.” They gave him easy smiles as though humoring him. “Jarvis will have to know--he’ll find out eventually anyway, so there’s no point in keeping this from him. But him aside, no one else does, am I understood?” he asked firmly, with a sharp tug to their hair.

“Yes, father,” they answered precisely at the same time, suddenly seeming like the twins they never were.

“Good boys,” he said and released their hair to stroke their jaws in reward. Then he guided them forward until their mouths were on him.

They kissed and licked and sucked and fought and stroked and shared and touched until Howard could barely breath, let alone speak. He grasped the arms of his office chair and held on as they came together to drive him out of his mind.

Later, he’s going to think about this without the persuasion of alcohol in his system, with his head cleared and all his plans and options laid out, but right now… right now, all he can think is:

My boys.