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Come on and Get Your Kicks

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By the time they'd been Avengers together for over a year and sleeping together for a couple of months, Tony was starting to feel like he had a pretty good handle on who Steve was and what made him tick. He'd seen Steve in combat and in the throes of 21st century decision-fatigued ennui. He had shared a bed with Steve, knew how he slept and how he woke up--slowly, as long as he was in safe and familiar surroundings, while Tony's brain tended to kick into high gear the second he opened his eyes. He knew what Steve's nightmares were like, and he knew that Steve was surprisingly deft at keeping Tony company when one of his own nightmares drove him out of bed.

And he knew probably more than any person had ever known about having sex with Steve. When they first got together, Steve had admitted--a little sheepish, but clearly determined to be forthright about it--that he hadn't done anything you couldn't do with another guy mostly-clothed and preferably standing up. Tony had had the joy of introducing Steve to anal, which Steve was enthusiastic about, and a few of his less-alarming toys, and the joys of taking your time.

Steve took to all of it with obvious delight.

At first, Tony figured they were in some kind of honeymoon sampler platter phase. At some point Steve would make it clear what he liked the best, or what directions he wanted to explore more. When he did, then Tony would be able to figure out all the very best ways to rock Steve's world, whether it was rose petals and emotional declarations and mood music or fucking fast and rough on a workbench, driven by the heady threat of getting caught.

But Steve just... kept being satisfied with whatever they did. It was like he was grading their sex life Pass/Fail, and if there were orgasms it was an automatic pass. That might be enough for some people, but Tony was never going to get the high score, the A-plus-plus, if Steve didn't develop some actual standards.

And the thing was, Tony knew Steve wasn't just that laid back in general. Steve always wanted to be the best; every mission they came back from, Steve would spend all the time he could get afterward analyzing every outcome, figuring out how it could have been better. Figuring out how he could better, how they could be better. It was one of the ways Tony and Steve clicked--and of the two of them, Steve was the one more likely to do all that analysis and come up with something useful instead of bogging down in the endless rehashing of his own mistakes.

Tony tried, for about ten minutes once in the middle of the night, to imagine that Steve just didn't care enough about having sex with Tony to think it through, but he couldn't get that one off the ground. Steve was earnestly serious about their relationship, and he initiated sex at least as often as Tony did. Faking it was not really in Captain America's repertoire.

Steve had to have thought about it. He had to give a shit; giving a shit was written into his scientifically perfected DNA. Ergo, there had to be something he liked the best. It was possible that someone, somewhere was genuinely this indifferent to the quality of his sex life, but Tony would bet his life--or at least a very large portion of his dignity--that Steve Rogers wasn't one of them.

Also, Tony was getting restless and edgy the way he did when things seemed like they were going well, and needling Steve was fun. If it also ended in the other shoe dropping, that would be useful; if it just made him turn red and sputter and find a way to shut Tony up, that would be entertaining, and at least a data point. And Tony had to at least try to get the information he was looking for by the direct route before he started being deliberately bad at sex to provoke a reaction.

He chose his moment. They were in bed after yet another round of rather generic orgasms--one for Tony, two for Steve, which was about the usual proportion, since Steve would do things like come in Tony's mouth and then come again while he was sucking Tony's dick. Steve was still half-hard but looking all drowsy and pleased with the world, one arm flung across Tony so that he could have the sense of cuddling until he fell asleep and Tony scooted a few more inches away.

"Hey," Tony said, scooting closer instead, which made Steve perk up a little. "I wanted to ask you something. It's a good thing, okay, I don't want you to think it's not."

Steve gave a slow blink of stupidly long golden eyelashes, and said, "Well I wouldn't've before you said that, but now the idea's out there."

Tony rolled his eyes, smiling back to soften it, keep it light and recreationally argumentative. That was the way with Steve. "Yeah, yeah, I didn't hone my rhetorical style in the service of wartime propaganda, sorry. Really, though, I want you to know that--this is great, I am totally happy with what we do--"

Steve stiffened slightly at that, which Tony couldn't really rely on to mean anything; there was no way Steve wouldn't have some insecurities about sex.

Plus, obviously Tony was lying a little bit, or he wouldn't be bringing it up. Steve was way too smart not to know that, even after coming a couple of times.

"I just want to know if there's a way to make it better," Tony went on. "For you. Anything else you want to try, or anything you'd like to do more often."

Steve was frowning a little now, relaxing slightly, though Tony had a feeling that there was a put-on here somewhere. He just had to find it.

"No," Steve said. "No, I'm--I'm happy. I know I must be pretty... vanilla, by your standards. And if you want to try something else--"

Tony shook his head. "No point in variety just for the sake of variety. It doesn't have to be something we haven't done before. I just want to know what's the best for you."

Steve shrugged. "You, I guess. You make it the best for me every time, Tony, all I want is to be with you. I don't care which way around."

Tony narrowed his eyes, thinking about that turn of phrase. Naturally, in introducing Steve to the wide variety of sex acts which were now both legal and logistically possible, he had made sure to give Steve the chance to bottom and top on every activity.

And... hell, there was one pattern to what Steve asked for or initiated, wasn't there?

Steve made sure everything was fair, making sure they each topped and bottomed an equal amount of the time. Which either meant that by some freakish chance Steve liked both exactly equally all the time--or it meant that he had some kind of idea that Truth, Justice, and the American Way required that they go exactly halfsies on penetration.

Tony was in fact a betting man, and he was prepared to put all his chips on one of those possibilities.

"What if I cared which way around?" Tony tried. "What if I only liked doing it one way?"

Steve pushed up on an elbow in order to nod more earnestly; Tony rolled back onto his pillow to let Steve feel like he had the high ground.

"Tony, of course! I'm fine with anything, so--I know you wanted to let me try everything, but really, I don't want to do anything you don't like, not ever."

"Mm," Tony said, judging that this was not quite the moment for I don't like not being able to blow your mind with machine-like precision whenever I want to. "Yeah, well, I'm not an obligate anything either--which is why I said I'm happy with the way we've been doing things. I just want to know which thing you like the best. You know. Desert island sex."

Steve blinked. "Like... on a beach?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "No, no, this is a metaphor obviously--if you were going to be on a desert island and you could only take one... weapon. What would it be?"

"My shield," Steve said promptly. "Or a good combat knife, if the shield doesn't count."

Tony nodded. "And if you could only take one album to listen to?"

Steve looked actually a little pained at that, and Tony knew he was thinking of literal albums, LPs and old memories.

"So, anyway," Tony redirected quickly. "Same thing. Sex. If we were only going to have sex one way forever now, what would you want it to be?"

For just a second Steve looked trapped. Tony was tempted to relent, and then Steve got all steely-eyed Captain America.

"Well, none at all, until I find out who's making rules about which way I can have sex with you in the privacy of--"

Tony groaned, plastering one hand over his face. "No, Steve, come on, stop being you about this for a second and just--I know you understand what I'm asking! It's not even a matter of principle! I just want to know what you like better. Chocolate or vanilla! Against the wall or under the covers! Top or bottom!"

Steve was quiet just long enough for Tony to deflate slightly and peek through his fingers, but Steve was smiling, shaking his head. He tugged Tony's hand away from his face and held it between them.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Tony. I'm honestly just--just really happy to have this, with you, now. I mean, compared to what I grew up knowing--believing--about what it would mean to love a man and try to have a life with him..."

Steve shook his head. "I can be with you, and no one has to lie, or pretend, or be anything other than just two fellas who love each other. That's all I want."

Tony's gaze shifted from Steve's face--which was laying on the aw shucks, aren't microwaves keen? just a little thick--to stare into the middle distance as he connected up the few dots Steve had given him to work with.

He focused on Steve again when he'd gone silent, and by then Tony had at least a direction to try. If his hypothesis was wildly off-base he could redirect from there, but... this was starting to fit together, finally.

Because it had to be something Steve was desperate not to admit, didn't it? Something he really, really thought he wasn't supposed to want.

"No one has to pretend," Tony repeated, watching Steve's eyes, and the tops of his ears where the blush would start.

Steve smiled a little, nodding firmly. "Yeah."

"No one has to pretend to be anything other than two guys," Tony elaborated. "Two manly, red-blooded men, who aren't any less manly because they like to fuck another man."

Steve's expression shuttered a little, but he was sticking with it; he nodded again.

Tony had him.

"Which you can tell," Tony pressed on. "Because neither of them is always on the bottom, or on the top. Everything's fair, and even, and they're both just exactly what they look like, and never wanted to be anything else. Right?"

A muscle twitched in Steve's clenched jaw. He met Tony's eyes for a second, then tried a smile. "Think it's pretty clear in the history books that I'm exactly what I always wanted to be. But if you--"

"Uh-uh, nope, this is you," Tony cut in. "This is you, and the formative years you spent trying to imagine how to make it okay to love another guy, and the fantasies that you must have had--"

Steve cracked, squeezing his eyes shut, gripping hard on Tony's hand. "Stop."

Tony looked down at his own fingers trapped in Steve's grip, marveling that, even when he was the asshole pushing Steve's boundaries, it was his hand Steve clung to. That was good; that meant that they could get through to the other side of this, that Steve maybe even wanted to get through the other side of this with Tony.

But it also meant Tony needed to take his foot off the gas before Steve broke his fingers and then spent three weeks feeling even guiltier about breaking Tony's fingers than he did about what he wanted Tony to do to him in bed.

"Hey, hey, okay, it's okay." Tony pushed a little with the hand Steve was clinging to and Steve went right over onto his back, letting Tony climb on top of him, though he kept his eyes shut and face turned away.

Tony dropped little kisses on his temple and jawline and the hard-clenched muscle in between. "Hey, Steve, it's just me. We're on the same team. I'm not asking to hurt you or shame you. I'm asking because whatever you want is fine, and I want you to have what you want. If you only wanted to fuck in a swimming pool full of cash, or while we were both wearing fursuits made from the skins of humanely-raised chinchillas, I'd be all over it. And I don't think what you want is really that complicated, is it? It's not even that weird."

Steve unclenched a little as Tony talked; he tried to let go of Tony's hand, and then it was Tony's turn to hold on. Steve stayed still for a second--Tony could almost see him considering his tactical position and whether he had any viable lines of retreat--and then the big body under his shuddered with something like submerged laughter.

Steve let out a sharp sigh and looked up at him. "You tell me, then, billionaire genius playboy philanthropic boyfriend."

"You can just call me Tony, it means the same thing and it's shorter." Tony kissed him, quickly, before Steve could argue with that, and then he scooted up and leaned his forehead against Steve's, so they didn't have to make eye contact.

"I think you were smaller than most guys you were attracted to, and I think back in the day that would've meant something about what you were supposed to like. It must've driven you crazy that even when you were being deviant there was a rule about how you were supposed to go about being deviant. And then, money was tight, and pretty things are usually expensive things, and being obvious is always dangerous, and you didn't have a hell of a lot of margin for error with money or the cops. So you played it as straight as you could--standing up, pants on kind of stuff."

Steve kept his eyes on Tony's the whole time Tony was speaking, but Tony still saw the flush rising on his face, the nervous swallow and lick of the lips. He didn't really need the tiny, confirming nod, or Steve's hoarse whisper of, "Go on."

"But you thought about it. That's your thing, even though you hate actually following rules, you love the idea of following rules. You love the idea that things could all be orderly and good if everyone just played fair. So maybe it would be okay to have what you wanted if you were just the right kind of person to want it, right? If you were a spitfire girl..."

Steve's eyes fluttered shut at that, and there was no more need to say anything at all.

"I'm not," Steve whispered. "I don't have to--it's not important, it was just--"

"Just something that got you hot," Tony put in softly, bringing one hand to rest on Steve's chest, the valley between his pecs where he could just about feel the frantic pounding of Steve's supersized heart. "Just something you fantasized about. Being somebody's girl, getting all dolled up so somebody could tell you how pretty you are before you decide whether you're gonna let him--" Tony shifted his hand to cup Steve's pec, teasing one pink nipple with his thumb, "...get a hand under your sweater?"

Steve's breath caught, his body jerking a little under Tony's, and Tony moved around enough to let his cock, barely half-hard, rest along Steve's, which felt ready to pound nails. Tony rocked down against him, still cupping one of Steve's tits gently, like they'd barely gotten to second base.

"Come on, baby, I know you know that's still a thing guys do," Tony coaxed. "Doesn't even have to be a serious gender thing, it can just be for fun if that's how you feel about it. We got drag queens on TV and everything--"

Steve's nose wrinkled, his eyes opening to slits just so he could give Tony a judgmental look while his face was beet red, and Tony grinned and kissed his pursed lips.

"No, no, drag's not your look, is it? You're already going out every day with your platform boots and bright blue tights, asking everybody to check you out. That's not what you want at home, is it? Not for this, not when what really gets you off is the idea of being nice and normal the long way around."

Tony ground down a little harder, squeezing Steve's tit a little more firmly even as he dropped his voice lower still to whisper, "At the end of the day, you just want to be my pretty little girl, is that it?"

Steve made a little sound that was undeniably desperate, almost pained, and Tony left off the above-the-waist stuff and got his hand on Steve's dick, jerking him off in tight hard strokes while dropping barely-there kisses on his mouth. Steve lasted about a minute before he was gasping into Tony's mouth, hips jerking helplessly and bouncing Tony around. It was far from Tony's first rodeo, and he rode it out until Steve went still and caught his breath, coming in pulses between their bodies.

A second later Steve surged up to wrap his arms around Tony, kissing him with the kind of filthy fervor that Steve usually reserved for you could have died or I haven't had an orgasm in 36 hours.

So, all right then. Hypothesis confirmed.


Tony actually had realized, right off the bat, that dating Captain I Survived the Great Depression and All I Got Was This Lousy Guilt Complex About Having Nice Things was going to require a really careful approach to gift-giving. So far, mostly what he had done was buy things and have nine out of ten of them shipped to Malibu. That was going to turn into some weird Bluebeard's Wife situation at some point, but... well, if he could actually keep this going long enough for Steve to marry him or even go to Malibu with him, then it would be a nice problem to have.

So he'd been really really restrained, up until now, about gifts, and Steve had been bemused but more or less pleased by the handful of things Tony had given him so far. It helped that Steve had a congenital inability to take Tony too seriously.

This, though. This was serious, and this was a thing that Steve wanted that cried out for gifts, and Tony was struggling with the concept of a reasonable scale for how to indulge this.

Just one of anything, right? At least to start? Back when Steve was jerking off imagining himself as somebody's good little wife, he would have dreamed about having one good Sunday dress, one nice pair of shoes to match it.

Steve was already freaked out about this. He'd slipped out of bed not long after Tony finally managed to quit planning and fall asleep, the morning after Tony finally pried the idea loose from him. They hadn't really talked about it, and Steve's blushes around anything remotely sexual or suggestive were back to pre-sleeping-together levels.

Tony didn't push it right away. They went back to having carefully fifty-fifty sex with no special dirty talk or anything. He let a whole four days pass--and filled probably another entire room in the Malibu house, he couldn't help it, there were so many pretty things in the world and Steve deserved literally all of them--before he brought it up again.

"So, uh," Tony was fiddling with some suit upgrades, and Steve was perched at the next worktable studying JARVIS's combined-telemetry rendering of a particular thirty-second slice of their last mission. "I just want to warn you. I'm gonna buy you things."

Steve smiled without looking up. "What, in addition to the three watches and the new bike and--"

Steve stopped right there and actually looked over at Tony, going pale and then bright red.

"Yeah," Tony said, even as he tallied up a mark in favor of the Bluebeard strategy of gift-giving; he genuinely hadn't freaked Steve out with presents.

Until right now.

"You mean," Steve said, dropping his gaze. "Stuff for..."

"Yeah," Tony repeated, his voice coming out a little choked and hoarse. "If that's..."

Steve was biting his lip and staring really intently at the floor, his shoulders curling in, hands rubbing hard at his thighs like he was trying to dry them and they just kept sweating.

"I was thinking we could have a system," Tony said, looking away. "If I get you anything and it's too much, or just--wrong, the wrong size or color or anything--you could just put it in the closet in your room, and I'll... try again. Or not, if it's way off. Anything thrown on the floor, that would be right out."

Steve's room in the penthouse was a barren, unused space that nonetheless had to be there--a point of retreat, a symbol of something Tony couldn't quite put into words. There was a space that was Steve's. And if it never served any other purpose it could do this, be the place Steve used to say no to Tony without having to say it.

"Yeah?" Steve said in a small voice, and Tony could hear it now, the way he wanted and was holding himself back desperately.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "I won't--you won't have to open anything in front of me, I'll just leave it for you to find somewhere--in the penthouse, nowhere embarrassing. And then you can make your own call about whether it's what you want, or if it's too much, or whatever. I know I, uh, tend to go overboard."

Steve laughed a little wildly and looked up. The flush on his face had settled a little but his eyes were wide and dark.

"Also," Tony said, glancing toward the doors. "if you wanted to say yes to that plan really emphatically you could come over here and bend me over this table and fuck me really hard, see how many times you can get off before you let me come."

Steve's jaw dropped a little further and Tony added, "Don't think I don't know you can go more than twice as often as I can, you don't have to be polite all the--"

Steve didn't let him get any more words out before his mouth was on Tony's, rough and devouring. The rest of it went fast, too intense for Tony to track coherently and lasting so long that he was exhausted and wrecked and semi-conscious at the end.

Steve looked a different kind of embarrassed, wiping come and sweat and lube off Tony's thighs with a shop towel. Tony muttered drowsily, "Was that eight?"

"I, uh," Steve frowned. "I think? I... lost track."

"Benchmark," Tony muttered, making a mental note. Let Steve overcompensate for wanting to be the little lady once in a while; everybody wins. And if that really had been eight then they could definitely get to ten with a little focused effort, sometime in the future when Tony had recovered. "Are you sure my legs are still attached?"

Steve laughed a little. "Promise. But I'll carry you to bed anyway."

"Mmmf," Tony agreed. He had shopping to do, but it would wait. They had a plan now.


Thanks to the work he'd done on various upgrades to Steve's uniform, Tony had very, very exact measurements. Thanks to JARVIS, he also had a nearly complete catalog of everything Steve had worn since waking up in the 21st Century, which gave him empirical evidence that Steve both liked, and looked good in, a range of colors which could be summarized as blue.

He shipped off the information he had with some extremely vague ideas about styling to his own tailor, and got back a reassuring promise that the man was capable of dressing Steve for all possible occasions. Discretion was already built into Tony's contract with the man, so he had nothing to worry about there, and Steve could live in safe, blissful ignorance until he was ready and willing to go have dresses fitted in person.

After that, there were a few other little presents--JARVIS couldn't find a makeup kit that fit Steve's coloring and looked as much like an artist's supplies as Tony wanted, so Tony fabricated the case he was imagining, with little jars like pots of paint and squares of pressed pigments like watercolors, and all the pencils and brushes and tools lined up the way Steve had his paintbrushes.

It was for Steve, all that really mattered was that Steve liked it, but it was still a relief when Tony saw it tucked into the bathroom cupboard that night, instead of being banished to the closet of no-go gifts.

"There are lots of tutorials online," Tony said casually, coming back out of the bathroom. "You know, makeup--"

"Tony," Steve cut in, blushing but looking amused, too. "Trust me, I spent enough time surrounded by USO chorus girls to know my way around an eye pencil."

Tony grinned. "Yeah, sorry, of course you do. But you, uh--you like...?"

Steve blushed brighter, but he also said, "Yes, Tony," in the exasperated, definite way that meant he was being sincere.

"Okay, okay," Tony said, and allowed himself exactly ten minutes the next day to pick out a few little accessories, telling himself not to get too hung up on anything happening too soon. It was for Steve, this was Steve's thing, he might want to try stuff out in private for a while before he let Tony see...

Of course, this was Steve, who had parachuted into enemy territory alone to stage a rescue when he'd never actually seen combat; Tony wasn't actually surprised when Steve texted him about an hour after the first dress got delivered. Elated and almost unbearably turned on, yes, but those were honestly pretty normal things for him to feel in relation to Steve, even when he didn't send Tony text messages in the middle of the afternoon that said things like, Can't quite reach the last few buttons, come give me a hand? ;)

"With an actual winking face, you little minx," Tony muttered delightedly at his phone, tapping out a quick, On my way! .

Steve was nowhere in sight when Tony stepped off the elevator, so he took one last glance at his phone and then set it aside.

"Honey! I'm home!"

There was a beat of silence and then he heard Steve's muffled giggling from the bedroom, and he grinned, feeling a rush of warmth. He was definitely playing this right, if he could make Steve laugh about it.

"Come on," he called out, "Where's my--" but before he could demand a martini, or a cigar, or a pot roast, something much better appeared.

Steve was in a deep blue dress--which was definitely as buttoned as it was going to get, so Steve had actually lied in the service of flirtation. His shyly smiling mouth was stained dramatically red, eyes lined in black and eyelashes darkened with mascara, and...

"Oh my God, you are just tits and legs for days," Tony blurted out, hypnotized by all the bare skin on display. "Please, please tell me you've been up here twirling around in that skirt for at least half an hour."

Steve stepped all the way out of the doorway, his flush spreading all the way down his throat and onto his chest--which Tony had definitely loved already but holy shit modern shapewear did some impressive things. Steve had cleavage. He twirled, careful little steps with his feet in a pair of lovely black heels, and the full skirt of his dress flared out, showing off a flash of smooth golden thigh.

"No stockings?" Tony walked in a little further, his body revving higher while Steve stood there watching, eyes bright blue in their perfect black rims. "Tsk, tsk, can't take you anywhere respectable without stockings on."

Steve blushed even more red, but managed to say, "Were you planning on taking me somewhere respectable if I did?"

"Well, no," Tony admitted. "No, I was thinking about taking you to bed, honestly. Or over the back of the couch, or really anywhere you want to go at all as long as I can get my hands up your skirt when we get there."

He was nearly close enough to touch now, and Steve glanced down at himself, hands hovering over his hips, the flare of fabric below his sweet little waist that gave him something like an hourglass figure. "Yeah? You... you like it? Really?"

"You are without a doubt the prettiest, best girl I have ever come home to," Tony assured him, and Steve bit his lush red lip and ducked his head, looking at Tony through long, black lashes.

"And I know you're a nice girl and everything, but, seriously, I'm going to give you beard-burn everywhere, sorry not sorry," Tony added, closing the distance between them to get his hands on Steve's waist and his face into Steve's cleavage.

Steve gave a startled little laugh that definitely wasn't discouragement, and Tony dragged his lips over the lush, firm curves, running one hand up the small of Steve's back. He found bare skin a lot sooner than he expected, and couldn't resist tightening his grip, pressing closer.

There was a lot of frothy skirt in the way, so Tony couldn't exactly feel Steve's reaction, but the full-body shiver and the little cut-off breath were enough to go on. Yes.

"Come on, honey, the couch is right here, come sit down with me and let me get my hands on you." Tony turned Steve like they were dancing--something they would definitely have to experiment with--and guided him toward the couch, Steve taking dainty little backward steps with one hand resting lightly on Tony's shoulder.

Tony executed another little maneuver so that he could sit down first, catching Steve's hand to pull him down after, giving him a little leeway to decide where he wanted to sit.

Steve planted his knees on either side of Tony's thighs, putting his tits beautifully at eye level again.

"Okay, yes, I can work with this." Tony got one hand on Steve's chest, slipping a thumb under the low neckline of the dress to find the peaked nipple under the layers of clothes.

Steve moaned, louder when Tony tugged those pretty clothes down enough to get that nipple popping out, so he could see how darkly flushed it was, how hard and eager. He got his mouth on it, giving it a little scrape of teeth and then a slow, wet lick, and that got both of Steve's hands on his shoulders and Steve gasping softly above him.

That seemed like a good time to get his other hand up under Steve's skirt, between those helpfully parted thighs. Steve's cock was every bit as hard as Tony expected it to be, partially restrained by some silky lace-trimmed undergarment. Tony rubbed him through it, working his palm over the damp spot over the head of his dick, and Steve's breathing got faster, punctuated with high helpless sounds. His hips twitched, shaking his skirts and pressing into Tony's touch, but Tony knew Steve didn't need more than this--not the first time, not when he was just taking the edge off.

Sure enough, within a few minutes Steve was gasping his name, pushing hard into the touch of his hand and his mouth. He came in hot pulses under Tony's palm, and Tony finally let up on Steve's lovely breast to tip his head back and watch Steve's face.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his face flushed a hectic red, his face twisting with ecstasy that almost looked like pain. Tony stroked him through it, until Steve jerked away from his touch. Tony shifted his hand down to Steve's smooth bare thigh and waited for him to get through the oversensitive stage.

He didn't, though, or at least he didn't push Tony to get back to work within the usual interval of a minute or two after coming. Instead Steve's breathing slowed, and he slumped a little over Tony, keeping his eyes shut and turning his face further away.

"Hey," Tony said softly. Right. Not physically oversensitive, not about this; he would be feeling the other kind of raw. "Steve. Don't tell me you're quitting already."

That at least got Steve to look at him, an awful uncertainty in his eyes where there should have been defiance, pushing back against Tony's words.

"Hey," Tony repeated. "Whatever nasty things you're hearing in your head right now, they're not coming from me, and they're not anything you have to listen to now. All that matters is if you liked that. I like this. Do you?"

Steve nodded, leaning down to kiss Tony tentatively.

"So," Tony said, when Steve picked his head up a little. "You going to let me get your panties off now that you've got them all wet and wrecked?"

Steve's lips parted, but there was heat overcoming the fear in his eyes. "Why, you gonna wash 'em for me?"

"No," Tony said firmly. "I'm gonna buy you a dozen more, but these are going to get dropped on the floor while I have my wicked way with you, sweetheart." Tony punctuated his words with a brush of his thumb over Steve's nipple, still wet and exposed above the disarranged neckline of his dress.

Steve made a strangled little noise, and Tony added a little pinch to the inside of his thigh.

"Stand up and slide 'em off for me," Tony directed. "You can kick off those shoes, too, I want you back on my lap facing the other way."

Steve just stared at him, pupils wide, the sex-and-embarrassment flush looking like it might just stick around forever on his fair skin. Tony pushed his hand up, sticking one finger under the elastic of Steve's panties at the crease of his groin, wiggling it around in all the trapped wetness underneath.

Steve's eyes closed and he groaned and then pushed up to his feet, hurriedly shimmying out of the ruined panties and kicking them away. Tony licked his finger clean, pressing the heel of his other hand to his dick; when Steve opened his eyes, searching for direction, Tony raised his damp, clean finger and made a circling motion.

"Other way, honey."

Steve turned, quick enough to make the dress flare up a little, and made a maneuver that shouldn't have been possible to execute gracefully, folding himself onto the couch straddling Tony's lap. His feet pressed in on either side of Tony's hips, calves running along Tony's thighs. Tony had a lovely eye-level view of the low back of the dress, putting lots of Steve's back on display. There had to be some fascinating corsetry construction going on to support the front view.

Tony set both of his hands on Steve's waist, rubbing his thumbs in to feel for it; Steve whined a little at the touch, arching to push his ass back at Tony. All it really accomplished was a rustling in the froth of dress covering his lap.

"Something you wanted me to be paying attention to there?"

"Tony," Steve said, sounding strained and desperate in a way that went straight to Tony's dick, making him ache. Steve had just gotten off two minutes ago and he was already--still--on the ragged edge.

"Tell you what," Tony said, giving Steve's tightly cinched waist a little squeeze. "You can tell me exactly what you want me to do, in words..." Steve squirmed, making a little despairing noise; he obviously already knew that he couldn't do that and that the alternative Tony offered him wasn't going to be a whole lot easier.

"Or you can reach down and pull that skirt up out of the way so I can see your pretty little pussy."

Steve's whole body jerked. He actually twisted around to give Tony a wide-eyed, shocked look over his shoulder.

It didn't look like a bad shock, exactly.

"What," Tony said, slouching back into the couch, taking one arm off of Steve to curl it carelessly behind his head. Thank God for a lifetime's practice in playing it cool. "You get all dressed up for me, let me play with your tits, and you don't want me to pay any attention to your pussy? Or is that just not the word you like? Are you a cunt kind of girl under all those pretty things?"

Steve made a little despairing noise, clearly past the point of being able to argue in words, and faced front again. He reached down and grabbed handfuls of the skirt, hauling it up to his waist. It took a few tries for him to gather it all up, but then his smooth, bare thighs and lovely little ass were on display, spread open by his position straddling Tony's lap.

Tony settled his left hand on Steve's thigh, using his other hand to stroke between his parted cheeks. "There, see? Pretty little cunt, already nice and wet for me."

Steve had clearly prepared for this, as much as the rest of it; Tony's finger slipped in easily, and Steve was all but dripping lube, the good stuff that stayed wet and slippery for hours. Tony teased him, drawing that finger back out and dragging it up and down through the wetness while Steve squirmed and held his skirt out of the way.

"Please," Steve finally gasped.

"Please... get you off again with my fingers? I bet you've got a really sensitive g-spot, don't you, baby?" Tony pushed two fingers into the clinging heat of Steve's ass, hooking them forward to make Steve gasp and arch into the touch. "You're one of those girls who can just get off all night."

"Tony."

"Oh, all right," Tony said. "I know what you really want in your cunt--" he felt the way Steve's entire body reacted to that word, a tight, hot shudder rushing through him.

Tony unzipped and shoved his pants down a little with his left hand, keeping his fingers in place, teasing Steve, until he needed that hand to wrap around the base of his own cock, holding it steady and squeezing hard enough to discourage himself from coming instantly.

"All right, baby," Tony said. "Sit right down on my lap, now."

Steve groaned, but he obeyed without hesitation, folding down at just the right angle to bring his slick, soft hole to the head of Tony's cock.

"That's it," Tony murmured, reaching around with his left hand to find Steve's breast and that exposed nipple. "Take it, honey, I know you can."

"Oh God," Steve exhaled, but he lowered himself further, his hands still in front of him holding his skirt. It was only the strength of his thighs holding him up as he sank onto Tony's cock, and Tony was definitely going to admire that feat as soon as he got past the part of this that made his brain melt a little.

By the time Steve had bottomed out, sitting all the way on his dick, Tony was able to make some room in his brain for more than physical sensation. It was almost immediately filled with the equally exciting pulse beat of Yes, yes, I did it, I found what he wants.

He could feel Steve trembling a little with the effort of holding himself still. Tony leaned forward, kissing the bare skin over Steve's spine.

"Go on, honey," Tony murmured. "Be a good girl for me, ride my cock, I bet you can make yourself come again before you get too tired, can't you?"

Steve let out a sharp little sound and started moving. Nothing too dramatic, but Tony groaned at the feeling on his cock, the way Steve was moving on him. The sound of Steve's skirt rustling hid the normal sounds of fucking.

"God, baby, that's so good," Tony murmured, getting both arms around him, both hands full of his half-bared tits, stroking the curves and toying with his nipples. "You're such a filthy perfect girl for me, and your cunt is so fucking tight I can hardly take it."

Steve moaned, his movements getting a little more emphatic.

"That's it, you know what you want." Tony scraped his teeth across the point of Steve's shoulder blade, felt the shudder go through his body. "That's it, baby, fill yourself right up with my cock. Do you need more? Do you need somebody to touch your big hard clit? Because--"

Tony squeezed hard with both hands, making Steve twist, trying to push into his hands and onto his dick at the same time. "I've got my hands full of you already, baby. But you can touch yourself if you need to. Do you need to, you dirty girl?"

Steve shook his head. "Just--just you, m'yours, I--ah--"

Steve was moving faster and harder now, slamming himself down onto Tony's cock again and again while Tony played harder with his tits, pinching his hard little nipples, digging his fingers in a little.

"Yeah, you're mine all right," Tony growled. "My sweet little girl, just begging me to fill up your tight, wet cunt, because that's all you really need, that's all you ever--"

Steve gasped and went tighter still around him, and Tony felt the pulses of his orgasm from the inside. He just had to picture Steve's untouched dick jerking, getting the swishy layers of his skirt wet.

In front of a mirror next time, he decided, staring at the ceiling and concentrating on not coming as Steve's ass clenched again and again on his cock and Steve made all his sweetest overwhelmed noises. When he finally went limp, Tony kept still for a minute, his cock still throbbing inside, his hands cupping Steve's tits. He could actually see them now, with Steve slumped back against him; he nuzzled at the side of Steve's throat and looked down Steve's body at the wreck they'd already managed to make of Steve's pretty dress.

He felt the tension come back into Steve's body after a couple of minutes. It was the good kind this time, that little thrum of what's next anticipation. Tony jerked his hips up just to make Steve gasp at the thrust of his cock, then brought his hands around to Steve's shoulders.

"Not like this, honey. Get down for me." Steve turned his head, looking a little dazed and entirely hot.

Tony grinned. "On your knees, sweetheart. My turn to do the work."

Steve's eyes closed in a fluttering of long black lashes, and Steve twisted enough to kiss Tony before he moved. Tony felt a little cold as Steve got off of him, but it was followed by a surge of heat at the sight of Steve taking his position.

He knelt down facing the couch--which they both knew was strong enough to hold him through just about anything--with his knees apart, and yanked his skirt up again to bare himself. His hole was open now, briefly reddened and dripping slick.

"God, look at you." Tony couldn't resist slipping his fingers in when he knelt down between Steve's legs, and Steve just moaned and pushed back for more. "You just can't get enough, can you? Such a hungry little cunt, always begging for more."

"Please." Steve's voice was low but clear--no hiding in the couch cushions. No hiding from this.

"That's all you ever had to say, baby." Tony nudged Steve's knees a little further apart to get the angle right, and then he pushed inside, a slick, easy glide. Steve clenched down around him as soon as he was in, making both of them gasp.

Tony slapped his ass, making him clench up tighter for a second before he relaxed. "Let me do this, honey. This isn't your show."

Steve let out a whine, his head dropping a little as he gave himself up. Tony got a firm grip on his slim hips under the froth of his dress and pulled out slow before he slammed back in hard. Steve stayed pliant, letting himself be jolted by it, and Tony kept going, finding a rhythm and sinking into it.

All the window-dressing faded away; this was simple, necessary, nothing but bodies. Tony fucked him fast and hard while Steve let out those gorgeous little noises of surrender and pleasure. Tony was vaguely aware that his mouth was running on autopilot, filth and endearments and encouragement mingled as the pleasure of it soared to a dizzy height.

"Come on," he gasped, "come on, come on--ladies first--"

Steve let out a stuttering sound that might have been a laugh, making him tighten around Tony's cock, but that turned quickly to a different tightness, Steve clenching down around him as he came. Tony groaned at the sensation, letting the intensity of it drag him over the edge, coming like he'd been working up to it for a week.

When he could breathe and think at the same time, he scrubbed his cheek deliberately against Steve's back, making a nice little patch of beard-burn. "Sorry, I was gonna eat you out, too."

Steve gave a shaky little laugh under him. "Tony, honestly, I might not have survived."

Tony smiled and pressed a kiss to Steve's spine before he started peeling himself away. "Well, something to work up to, then. By the way, how do you feel about jewelry?"

Steve slumped further forward, hiding his face in the couch cushions, as soon as Tony was out of him, which did absolutely nothing to cut down on the level of cross-dressed debauchery on display. Tony spent a few seconds admiring the image of Steve's splayed thighs and the slick and come dripping out of him before he added, "Something tasteful, I swear. But if we're going to keep doing this, I should really put a ring on it, shouldn't I? Make an honest woman of you?"

Steve twisted while he was speaking, staring at him with such obvious shock that Tony could not help actually hearing the words coming out of his own mouth.

Well. Not exactly the way he'd intended to do that, but Steve was the type to appreciate spontaneity, right?

"Did you just propose to me," Steve said, sounding more amused than appalled, although it was a near thing. "While I'm wearing a dress that you just fucked me in?"

Tony looked him up and down. "Sorry, should I have proposed before the fucking? You gotta tell me this stuff or--"

Steve slid down to sit on the floor in a puddle of crumpled skirts, laughing into his hands, and Tony figured that whether that was a yes or not, he hadn't actually fucked up too badly.

He sat down, shoving Steve's skirt out of the way so he could press close without sitting on it, and tugged lightly at Steve's hands. "Come on, even if it wasn't worth marrying me for, could you please at least admit that you have a favorite now?"

Steve lowered his hands and studied Tony for a minute, the laughter momentarily submerged. "The things you do to win an argument, Tony."

Tony shrugged. "I mean. Seems like it worked out okay for you, right? I'm a very generous winner. Also you definitely admitted that I won, there."

Steve hauled him into a kiss, and Tony figured... yeah, they could work out the rest of the details later. Although he should probably have JARVIS buy a warehouse somewhere for gift storage.