Chapter Text
“Really, Ty?” Tony muttered under his breath. “The Tom Ford show? You’re late to the Tom Ford show? I called in seven favors to get these tickets.”
He checked his watch for the ninth time in as many minutes and wondered when his on-again/off-again partner and all-the-time client, who had promised him that he would show up, would appear.
And then Tony caught a whiff of Valentino V cologne - that Ty claimed made him smell alluring and Tony thought made him smell like a gym sock - and knew the man himself had arrived. “Darling,” Ty began and Tony held up a hand.
“We have five minutes to get in there before Francesca gives our seats to a Hemsworth,” Tony replied and began to drag Ty through the crowd to their front row seats.
It was New York Fashion Week, one of the pinnacles of Tony’s year. While his business card read “Talent Acquisition”, his job was much more complex than that. CarbonWard was a global talent agency that he’d taken over from his father when he was 25 after Howard Stark’s untimely death. Tony’s mother had died giving birth to him so it had been the Stark men on their own while Howard started CarbonWard - named for Maria and himself - and grew it from a talent agent for novelists based in their garage to a global brand. While the world assumed Tony would eventually inherit, it was assumed Howard would be well into his dottage before he surrendered power.
A wildly mismanaged mental health problem ended that assumption on a quiet October morning seven years previous.
In the time between then and now, Tony had continued to grow CW beyond anyone’s imaginations. He’d known he was going to take over CW from the time he could form conscious thought. Howard had groomed him since the age of nine - taking him to board meetings and on international scouting trips. Tony loved CW, he really did. Every client was a mini-puzzle. What made them tick? Where did they fit best? And most importantly, how much money could they make him?
However, by the time he turned 12, he was bored. His father had signed a client that was a computer scientist and Tony learned coding at his side. Soon, Tony was coding, and creating algorithms, and convincing his father that most of their matching could be done by computer. Howard had resisted - insisting that the best part of scouting talent was the human element.
Tony didn’t believe the human element was anything to write home about.
If humans were anything like Tony’s classmates, Howard could take humans and shove them off a bridge. Humans belittled him, humans made him feel silly for building robots, humans were… He’d much rather spend his time creating worlds for himself. So he simply bided his time and built JARVIS in secret.
Named for Howard’s personal assistant until Tony was 10, JARVIS was an AI who could interpret data on every person alive faster than Tony could ever dream. When Howard died and Tony took over, Tony fired around 2,000 employees and replaced them all with JARVIS. To those people and others, he was a monster. His innovations made it nearly impossible to compete with him. His clientele were almost always given first preference to anything they desired because everyone knew Tony’s standards were so high. He’d taken unbridled capitalism to an extreme, activists cried out, and Tony simply smiled and waved and had his PA donate more money anonymously. He didn’t need anyone to love him, after all.
His presence at New York Fashion Week, therefore, was multifaceted. As a talent scout for everything from PR firms to casting agencies, there was always up and coming talent to discover among the throngs of models and attendees. As someone who loved to track trends and forecast the future, fashion said more about society than people truly gave it credit for and he appreciated the sneak peek. But mostly, as a perpetually thirsty gay man, the eye candy was unbeatable.
He and Ty took their seats and Tony quietly grumbled that they ended up next to Sunset Bain, one of his least favorite humans. Sunset worked at a rival firm to CW and had once seduced Tony in an effort to perform corporate espionage. She’d gotten more than he wanted her to know, but, thankfully, she hadn’t hacked JARVIS’ source code
He was about to make small talk with Sunset because protocol and human behavior dictated it, when the lights dimmed. People applauded as the music started and the lights went up on the catwalk. Stunning human after stunning human strutted down the catwalk, showing off the best of what the house of Tom Ford had to offer that season.
Yikes, Tony thought, plaids are back. I look horrible in plaid. Oh, but so are beards. Nice, I like a bit of beard burn.
He found himself lost in the rhythms of music and bodies until the final model. Tony knew the final outfit would be Tom’s pièce de résistance - his crowning achievement worn by the model Tom felt showed the piece the best. Tony frequently disagreed with his friend and client about whether or not the final model was the best.
Not this year.
The man was easily 6’3” and built like a brick shithouse met a Dorito. His blond hair was messy, as was his beard, and considering that he was walking down the runway in a three-piece suit tailored within an inch of its life but somehow also left completely disheveled, the look worked. Tony could imagine the man rolling out of bed and putting back on yesterday’s outfit, and knew that was exactly the point of the show.
Rode hard and put away handsome, Tony mused to himself as the show ended. He realized Ty had been jabbering to him for a few moments and he must have been ‘umm’ and ‘uhuh’-ing appropriately, because Ty did not seem to notice Tony’s preoccupation with Dirty Blond Dorito.
When the lights came back up and Sunset was clearly about to speak to him, Tony spoke quickly. “I have no idea who represents that last man, but I’m going to find him right now.”
Something flashed through Ty’s eyes. “Well, hurry back, darling. We have dinner reservations.”
Tony said something vaguely non-committal, knowing that if Tony blew him off, Ty would find someone to occupy both the table and his bed within swift course.
He wound his way through the crowd, and got to one of the show managers. “Franchesca, the tickets were amazing.”
“And you look perfect for the front row,” she responded, air kissing both his cheeks. “I just wish you would find a partner who photographs better. Tyberius either looks smarmy or constipated.”
Tony ignored her not-incorrect assessment. “The last guy.”
“Steve,” she supplied.
“Steve.” He rolled the name on his tongue. “I need to talk to him.”
“He’s got representation, Tony,” she replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Whoever it is, you know I’m better.”
“I’m quite fond of him,” she said, “and if he signs with you, I can’t afford him for the smaller shows I want him in.”
“I’ll match his comp rate now for you, and only for you, on six shows a year,” Tony responded immediately. He knew Frannie was playing a game, and she knew he knew. They both knew Tony would leave tonight with a new client, but he supposed she had the right to excise some terms.
“He’s got a photo call with Tom and Christian,” she said, naming another designer.
“Is he in that show, too?”
She shook her head. “Christian’s doing plus size wedding gowns tomorrow morning and he and Tom are doing a joint photo call with each of their showstopper models. Steve just hurried into one of Tom’s tuxes. They should be about an hour? Maybe two?”
Christ, Tony inwardly swore, that means more time with Sunset.
“Are you at the Bulgari party later?”
“I can be,” he replied.
“I’ll send him to find you.” She had a smirk on her face that said she knew something Tony didn’t.
Tony didn’t like not knowing things.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“So many fucking things, Stark, your brain would melt. Now get out of here, I have bow ties to catalogue.”
Knowing when he was dismissed, Tony saluted and wandered towards where he’d left Ty and Sunset.
“If you liked ladies at all, you understand I would drug you to force you to marry me. You are that perfect, Rogers,” the model bride muttered under her breath as he helped her hold up her skirt to pee.
“I know, Cressida. You’ve told me before.” He bit back a grin. If he was into women, he probably would marry Cressida. They’d been recruited by Faces of the Future modeling agency at the same time and their profiles had risen commensurately. She’d become the face of Christian Siriano’s bridal line the month before, and had suggested Steve as her groom in her first year of shoots. He loved working with Cressida Brightman. They were both from New York - her from the Bronx and him from Brooklyn. She was crass and witty, along with warm. She was one of those humans that just made everyone around her feel better - unless you were an asshole, and then she let you know exactly what was what.
One of the union guys earlier in the day had grabbed her chest and she’d screamed that he was a “misogynistic termite who may have the longevity of a Twinkie, but not the welcome of one”.
“What did Frannie want with you?”
“Some scout is meeting me at the Bulgari party,” Steve said with a shrug. “She said she’d meet me at the door and introduce me to him. I’m supposed to put on Suit 47 before I show up.”
“Ooo,” she replied as she finished her business and they righted her dress. “Suit 47 is my favorite on you from this line.”
“It’s a fucking nightmare to get on,” Steve muttered and Cressida promised she’d help him into it. The pair headed back to the camera rig and acted as in love as humanly possible. He made dirty jokes to make her laugh and she whispered lovely things into his ear when he needed to look tender.
God, if only he was straight.
“Rogers, Brightman, you’re free to go,” the photographer signaled after about forty-five minutes. “We’ll see you both for the morning call at 5:45.”
They both groaned, but headed to the dressing area to change.
“Who the living fuck has a sunrise wedding anyway,” Cressida muttered. “Fucking youths with their jam jar bullshit, I bet you it’s those bougie motherfuckers taking over the boroughs.”
“God, you sound like Buck.”
“How is that handsome motherfucker?” She brightened. “Still treating Nat okay?”
“You think Natasha Romanov, NYPD detective, would let him get away with less than that?”
She snorted. “He’d walk on glass for her if she asked.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty gone on her.” He finished changing and then handed her the jacket he needed help getting on. “I better head to see what this bigwig wants.”
“Mr. Stark? I'm Steve Rogers. Frannie said you asked to see me?”
Tony stared up from his phone as his blood ran cold. Coming out of the mouth of Super Hot Steve was the most godawful accent Tony had heard in a minute. Shit.
“I did,” Tony said, grinning wide. “I’m sure you know who I am.”
“I ain’t stupid,” Steve said and Tony could tell he was barely containing an eyeroll. Oh, he’s got that Brooklyn fire, too.
“I was impressed with your carriage on stage.”
“Thanks.” The blond man clearly wasn’t sure why Tony was talking to him. However, in the hour that Tony had been waiting, he’d pulled up all of Steve’s records. High school drop out at 14, there was little record of him until he got scouted selling Christmas trees at a lot in Red Hook when he was 20. He’d been modeling with Faces for seven years and had rapidly risen up their ranks from catalogue shoots to runway. There was a note on his file that he wanted to move into commercials but that the agency was ‘hesitant’.
Tony understood why.
“You ever think about vocal coaching?”
“Why?” Steve asked. “I sound fine.”
“Yeah, you don’t,” Tony said calmly. “You sound like a walking stereotype.”
“I’m from Brooklyn, and I’m proud of it,” Steve retorted. “I ain’t gotta change how I talk just to look pretty.”
“But what if you wanted more?” Tony pressed. “If you were willing to do voice coaching and get your accent cleaned, I could make you a movie star.”
“I don’t wanna be a movie star, Mr. Stark,” Steve said. “I want to be a model.”
Every model Tony had ever met wanted to be a movie star.
“You can’t be serious,” Tony remarked.
“You don’t know me,” Steve said with a growl. “I am what I am and I’m not doing no fancy vocal shit to make me sound like I’m something I’m not. I don’t like bullies, Mr. Stark. Thanks anyway.”
He stalked off and Tony was baffled.
Insanely aroused.
But mostly baffled.
Who was this guy?
And how fast could he hire him?