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Bespoke

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For most of the world, Tony Stark in a suit was nothing new; one could simply run the man's name through Google and the first few hundred results - well, with SafeSearch on at least - would be a mixed batch of the Iron Man armor and Tony looking like he had just walked out of some board room or charity gala.

But Steve Rogers wasn't most of the world, and since the Avengers had moved in to Stark Tower, Tony's own personal dress code around the place seemed to be limited to jeans and t-shirts. Even when he and Steve started dating, Tony kept it casual, doing little more than tossing on a button-down and a nice jacket with his jeans. On the rare occasion that he did venture out in a suit, Tony always practically stripped out of it and reappeared in greasy garage wear within thirty seconds of arriving back home.

Steve found it singularly frustrating.

Growing up a poor orphan in Brooklyn, Steve had matured into an adulthood where - prior to joining the Army - he owned exactly one nice suit. That suit was reserved for special occasions like funerals and holiday church services, and even though it had never quite fit him properly, Steve took good care of it, always uncertain of his future in procuring another should anything happen to the one.

Steve's nicest suit paled in comparison to even the more casual ones that Tony wore, though, and Steve developed a bit of a fascination with glimpsing Tony in his different outfits. Grays and blacks and blues, pinstripes and sharkskin and even checkers appeared. Nothing came off the rack; all of the bespoke suits were perfectly tailored to Tony's body, trim at the waist, jacket sleeves falling to show the ideal half-inch of shirt cuff, trousers perfectly hemmed to accommodate the baffling lift shoes that Tony oftentimes wore.

The shirts and ties and pocket squares never came in the same colors or patterns; sometimes Tony would mix stripes and checks, to strangely pleasing result. Colors that Steve might have combined only by mistake in his colorblind days before the serum came together to make each ensemble pop.

Steve realized he was developing a bit of a fixation the first time he got a peek inside Tony's closet, while Tony was in the bathroom trimming his beard. Tony had left his chosen suit out, but asked Steve to go retrieve him a tie; it was when Tony came out to question how long Steve had taken - was he having trouble finding the one? - that Steve got caught gawking and flushed furiously.

They'd not had time, just then, to take advantage of Steve's admitted interest. But when Tony got back from his round of meetings that afternoon, Steve had convinced him to keep on the suit, at least for a little while longer than usual.

It continued on like that for a while, Tony being convinced to dawdle around a little longer in the suits each time; once or twice, he even donned a suit at Steve's request - "put on the suit" having garnered all new meaning from the first time Steve ever spoke the words to Tony - for the sole purpose of sex.

Steve would grab Tony down corridors after press conferences, press him up the wall and get a hand down his trousers sometimes and jerk him off right there, rutting against Tony's hip until they were both messy and Tony's - mercifully dark, usually, on those occasions - suit would be a complete ruin.

Today, though, it was a little different. Tony was in his office - working, for a change - sitting behind his desk in one of his immaculate suits (dark gray; shirt in a shade of blue that wouldn't have looked out of place on Captain America) when Steve showed up with lunch as a surprise.

They sat at the table by the window and ate in companionable silence for a while, until Tony's knowing stare became a bit too intense for Steve to endure.

"What?" he asked, trying for innocence (and failing badly, he knew).

"You didn't come all the way down here for lunch," Tony said. It wasn't a question.

Steve didn't bother looking embarrassed; they were far, far past that point. "No."

Tony pushed away the remnants of his lunch and stood up. Steve didn't even ask for further encouragement before surging forward and grabbing Tony by the lapels of his jacket. He was careful not to ruin the fabric in his grip, and instead spent a moment running his thumb over the stitching, appreciating the way the fine Italian wool hugged Tony's body.

Tony wasn't nearly as careful with Steve's shirt as he grabbed a fistful of it in his hand and tugged Steve down for a kiss.

Steve, always intent on leaving as much of the suit intact as he could while maintaining Tony's comfort, merely ran his fingertips down the front of Tony's shirt while they kissed, and dropped his hands to Tony's belt, unfastening it with deft fingers.

Tony was the one to walk them back toward his desk, keeping Steve bent over uncomfortably for the sake of continuing to kiss. Steve didn't mind, too busy getting his hand down Tony's pants, stroking him the rest of the way to hardness - though, if Tony was being honest with himself, he'd have to admit the excitement started in around the time Steve stepped into his office earlier.

Tony made a surprised sound when Steve spun him around and bent him right across his desk. Steve swept an arm out, pushing things aside (but considerately, not off) to give them room, while Tony settled onto his elbows, rife with anticipation.

"Did you bring lube?" he demanded.

"Yes." Steve dangled the bottle just in Tony's line of sight.

Tony groaned softly for how hot the idea was that Steve Rogers had been carrying around lube, with the intention of coming here just to have an afternoon fuck.

"God, Steve," he said. "Always prepared. Such a boy scout."

"I was never a boy scout," Steve murmured. He huffed a soft laugh right against Tony's ear, the kind that sent a shiver down Tony's spine.

"Fuck."

Tony reached back, awkwardly fumbling for Steve's hip, to press him forward, and found that Steve had apparently not wasted any time in getting his trousers down. Steve bent over Tony and rubbed his own erection against Tony's still clothed ass, leaving a trail of precome on the expensive fabric.

"Come on, Steve," Tony complained. He had no idea what Steve was doing to him, in that Tony felt like a horny teenager all over again; they'd just fucked this morning before he left for the office, and Steve had already shown up by mid-afternoon to do it all over again.

"So impatient," Steve muttered, but he complied in tugging down Tony's trousers and boxer-briefs, just far enough to expose Tony's ass and free his cock from the confines of fabric.

Tony groaned with relief, even as he shuddered at the sensation of cool air against his erection. "Steve."

Steve planted his free hand against Tony's back, just between his shoulder blades, keeping him from squirming around. Tony assumed he might have hated being pinned down in such a way, but Steve's casual display of strength - something Steve had only been convinced to use in the bedroom after quite a lot of coaxing - just made him feel impossibly more aroused.

Tony put his tongue to use in the filthiest vocal encouragement he could come up with, at least, goading Steve on, until Steve had given him a minimal amount of prep and finally, at last, his cock was pressed against Tony's ass.

"Come on," Tony demanded impatiently.

"Geez, I'd think you weren't even excited I came to visit you this afternoon," Steve said. Tony couldn't see it, but he was pretty sure Steve would be wearing a teasing grin right about now.

"I'll be excited when you get a move on."

Steve didn't, though, not just yet; he just slid his slicked up cock along Tony's cleft, teasing between his thighs, nudging against Tony's balls. Once the moans he was wringing out of Tony started turning to a whine, Steve finally did line himself up and began pressing inside. Tony was still loose from the morning and took him easily, pressing back onto Steve's cock until Steve was all the way inside.

"Fuck," Tony said again, dropping his forehead onto his arm. "That's good, baby. So good."

Steve took his time at first, with slow but deep strokes, until he was finally building up a rhythm. He leaned over Tony and pressed kisses at the nape of his neck, nuzzling against the collar of his jacket and his shirt. Tony reached back and threaded his fingers through Steve's hair, pushing back into the motion of each thrust, working himself back onto Steve's cock.

Gradually, Steve picked up his pace and Tony had to brace himself harder against the desk to keep from sliding across it from the force of Steve's thrusts. It was perfect and not enough all at once; he could tell from the shift of Steve's breathing that Steve was getting close. A few seconds more, a particularly rough thrust, and Steve buried himself inside Tony as he came, his head falling to Tony's shoulder, and he actually bit down on the fabric of Tony's jacket to stifle himself.

Tony thought it was at least the second hottest thing he'd ever experienced.

Steve drew out after giving himself a moment to recover, and Tony made a soft noise of protest before Steve hauled him up and pushed Tony back into his desk chair. Steve had an intense look on his face, eyes dark, brows drawn together, as he went down to his knees in front of Tony and leaned in.

"Oh," Tony gasped, as Steve went down on him without a second's hesitation.

Tony loved everything they did together, but there was something especially striking about the way Steve sucked cock. He always looked so debauched, with his hair a mess (usually from Tony's fingers in it) and his mouth red where it was stretched around Tony's dick.

Steve went at it with enthusiasm now, bobbing up and down, sucking with intent; Tony just slumped bonelessly in the chair and put his hands on Steve's head, playing with his hair, letting his lover go for it. When Steve slipped his hand up between Tony's slick thighs and pushed two fingers into his hole, Tony tensed; the press of Steve's fingertips against his prostate was enough to send him right over. Tony came with a shout that he didn't bother trying to muffle, his hips jerking up reflexively until he was buried even deeper in Steve's mouth.

Steve took it all like a champ, swallowing and licking and sucking Tony clean. When he was done, he pulled off Tony's cock, helped Tony neatly back into his trousers, and got to his feet to right his own clothes.

Tony, still slouched in his desk chair and feeling a bit dazed, looked up at him. "... where did I go just now?"

Steve laughed, looking inordinately pleased with himself - and more than a bit smug. He glanced at his watch. "I think you're about to go to a three o'clock meeting," he said, trying to keep it casual, but his voice was ever so slightly hoarse, and his mouth still looked far too well-fucked for Tony to think he could get away with looking anything but.

"You are evil," Tony accused. He glanced down at himself, and was dismayed to find he hardly even looked rumpled. "An evil genius."

"Hmm." Steve leaned down and kissed him; Tony could still taste himself on Steve's tongue. "I'll see you later."

"Oh, so now you're just leaving?" Tony groused. He loved it, though; Captain America, stopping by for lunch and a quickie.

"I'll see you when you get home this evening," Steve said cheerfully, on his way to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back over his shoulder with a smile. "And Tony? I'll help you out of the suit."