IRON MAN AND FRANK IERO SLASH FIC. "I am not who you want me to be, yet I am exactly what you want. I'm right, aren't I? Yeah, I'm right."
“Frank? Frank, you’ve gotta listen to me. Don’t you see a way out?”
“No, I already tried. The door is blocked by something, and nobody is even trying to put the fire out….” Frank said into his cellphone, helplessly looking down at the New York streets from the buildings 23rd floor.
The windows were glass, or at least, the remaining bits of the glass were what the windows used to be. The building used to be quite a fancy one, with its 27 floors and sparkling clean glass floors. That’s right, glass floors. Fancy is New York’s specialty, when the people have the right money.
Gerard choked on his own tongue. “Does this mean…no! No, you’re not going to die. You can’t.”
“I think I am, honey.” Frank chuckled weakly. Might as well put a couple laughs in before your own death, he thought.
“Don’t say th-“
Frank’s iPhone lit up briefly before shutting off with the sign of a little spinning wheel. He might’ve guessed, it was only at 12% when he had walked onto the elevator on his way to this office.
Well, at least I got to hear him talk… Frank thought. He coughed onto the glass, causing it to fog up with his breath and little drops of spit fleck all over it.
The floor was hot, to the point where the underside was melting. Frank had to be careful of the ceiling above him, for it was melting as well. Small drops of hot and quick cooling liquid glass were raining around him. A few had burnt onto his back, but he didn’t mind. It felt a bit like those tattooing needles that ran over him every now and then, only concentrated.
He sighed and wiped the sweat off of his forehead, wondering when the Hell something was going to explode and slit his neck. He certainly didn’t feel like suffocating from the heavy smoke, he preferred something quick. Less…torturing, we’ll say.
That’s when the glass window on the other side of the room shattered.
Frank didn’t see it happen, he was in process of covering his face with his tattooed arms. He only heard the (what used to be last remaining) window crack into thousands of pieces.
Yep, I’m going to die now, just wait for it.
But he didn’t. No shard of glass pierced his jugular; nothing struck him square in the forehead. Maybe a few smaller pieces of glass had scraped his body here and there, but he certainly wasn’t dead.
What more or less terrified him was the sound of something heavy coming toward him. Or rolling, for that matter. He dared to peek through a slit of light between his two forearms and his breath was taken away, quite literally.
After all, anybody would be shocked to see Iron Man staring them in the face.
The man in red and gold plated armour coughed, still in a tumbling position, before saying
“Let’s get you out of here.”