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Strip clubs are the kind of thing that Steve tolerates until he gets to go home. It's not that he doesn't like watching hot people dance around in skimpy clothing, it's just that whenever he steps into a strip club he's suddenly five feet tall with asthma again.

It's a Friday night, and Steve finds himself sitting in the booth he and Bucky usually sits in after Bucky had burst into their apartment, declared his job awful, and dragged Steve to the strip club a block away.

"Have fun this time," Bucky had ordered, shoving a finger in Steve's face as they got let in by the bouncer. "I mean it, Steve."

Steve had agreed wearily, but this time ends up like any other: he's sitting in a booth, downing cheap beer and wanting to leave as Bucky slots dollar-bills into a stripper's thong.

Steve is on his third beer when the main act comes on stage and Steve chokes his way through his next mouthful. Bucky shoots a look at him, puzzled and grinning, but Steve hardly notices, because a man is sauntering out onto stage wearing a suit and a sly smile.

The rest of the club starts the kind of cheering that only occurs in strip clubs, the kind that makes Steve wince, and the man on stage smirks like he has the secrets of the world up his nonexistent sleeve.

The music has already started, and the man slowly pulls his tie out of place before starting on his buttons. He moves like he's done this a hundred times, and he probably has, Steve considers. 

His hips move in time with the music, his fingers clever and practiced as he undoes his shirt and whips it off his shoulders. His fingers go to his belt, and Steve's eyes follow their movements. He itches for a sketchpad, to scribble down the way the man moves, to capture the look in his eyes.

"Okay, he's hot," Bucky says, and Steve says, "Hmm," and tunes in when Bucky digs an elbow into his ribs.

"I said, he's hot," Bucky repeats. "But he isn't the hottest one here, c'mon. Take your pick."

"Sure, Buck," Steve says, already turning back to look at the man on stage, who is slowly easing his pants off his hips, revealing a red thong that covers nearly nothing, and then he's left wearing a thong and his tie.

Steve watches the rest of the show, unable to concentrate on anything else. When it finishes, he realizes he hasn't touched his beer since it started.

"Okay then," Bucky says as the music turns to the usual playlist, and then he's snapping his fingers. "Hey, you! Yeah, with the tie and the thong."

"What are you doing," Steve hisses, having known Bucky long enough to see where this is going. He grabs Bucky's shoulder. "He's looking over at us, don't-"

"My buddy here would love a lapdance," Bucky finishes, shelling several twenties out of his wallet and shoving them in Steve's hand. He winks. "Go get 'im, tiger," he says, and then he's sliding out of the booth, ignoring Steve's hissed insults.

"Bucky," he says, and then his mouth is clamping shut, his head turning to where the man from the stage is now standing in front of his booth, his hand on his cocked hip. He bats his eyelashes, and Steve feels weak in a way he hasn't in years.

"Um," Steve says, one hand clutching the side of the table and one holding a handful of twenties. "I, uh."

"Want a lapdance," the man supplies, amused, and doesn't wait for a reply before climbing up onto his hands and knees on the table. Steve stutters something as the man crawls towards him like a cat might towards its prey, the end of his tie dragging on the table. Then he's sliding down into Steve's lap, straddling him, and Steve's protests die in his throat.

The amused look doesn't leave the man as he lifts his body weight from Steve's and then grinds slowly against the air, a whole-body ripple that makes Steve's mouth go dry. "Shy, huh?"

"I'm Steve," Steve says, instead of replying with the obvious. It seems like the polite thing to do, he has just met him, after all.

A circle of his hips and the man's eyebrows arch. "I'm Anthony."

"That's a nice name," Steve says weakly as Anthony bends backwards, showing off every lean muscle before coming back up in one lithe move.

"You never answered me," Anthony says when they're back at eye-level. When Steve frowns, he says, "You shy, Steve? Usually when I'm dancing, people like to give compliments. Tell me what they want to do with me."

Steve blinks. "There's a policy not to touch the stripper. It says on the door."

"Doesn't stop them from saying how they'd like to touch me," Anthony says, rolling his hips again, and Steve tries to get his crotch as far away from him as possible so his erection is less obvious.

"So?" Anthony turns his body so he's sitting backwards on Steve, his back pressing into Steve's chest. His hips flex again. "How would you like me, Steve?"

Steve's hands dig into the material of the booth seat. There's no way Anthony didn't notice his erection when he ground his ass down against it. "I'd like to draw you," Steve says honestly, and then cringes. He can't even get a lapdance right when he's on the receiving end.

A laugh from Anthony, and his head twists so he can look at Steve. "Well, I have to say that's a first," he admits. "You an artist?"

"I'm a college student, but one day, yes, I'd like to be an artist," Steve says, looking at the shadow of Tony's trimmed stubble, the curve of his neck when he arches it.

"Cute," Anthony says, and this time he stands, feet planted on either side of Steve on the booth seats, and shakes his ass in Steve's face when the music demands it. "Do you often make a habit of drawing strippers, Steve?"

"Um, no."

"What a shame," Anthony sighs, and then he's sitting down on the booth table and leaning down until his back is pressed against it, and then he thrusts, the red thong not covering nearly enough and making Steve's mouth water involuntarily. Jesus. "I'd model for you," Anthony says, and his mouth tugs up to one side as he sits up. "Privately. And with pay, of course."

Steve's mouth flaps uselessly. "Really," he manages eventually.

Anthony sits on him again, face to face this time, and leans in so they'd be kissing if they were any closer. "Name the time and place, Steve."

Feeling his name being breathed across his lips is enough to make Steve shudder, and Anthony grins when he feels it against his body.

"Really," he says again, and Anthony sighs louder.

"Yes, genius. Name a place before I change my mind."

Steve glances over at Bucky, who is wasting the paycheck he just got on buying drink after drink for a redhead who looks like she could kill him with the bowl of peanuts next to her hand if she wanted. 

He wants me to have fun, Steve considers. And if my idea of fun is sketching strippers, who's he to say anything?

"I live the next block over, if you want to go now," he offers. "I mean, when your shift is over."

"My shift is over when I say it's over," Anthony says, and then smirks like it's his own private joke. He hops off of Steve, and Steve's front suddenly feels cold. "Lead the way, Steve."

Steve looks at his lack of clothing. "Are you- it's not a great neighbourhood."

"No, really," Anthony mock-gasps, walking around the booth. "I'm getting my clothes first, then you're leading the way, gorgeous."

Then he leaves to find his clothes and Steve is left sitting in a booth with a handful of twenties, an erection, a half-empty beer and a growing fear that he's doing something really stupid.

He hands Anthony the crumpled, slightly sweaty twenties when he returns in casual clothing instead of the suit he had stripped off. "I forgot to give you these when you were dancing."

"I've been told I'm distracting," Anthony says, and pushes Steve's hand down. "Keep it. Believe me, I don't need the money."

"But- I'm sketching you for money."

"Yes," Anthony says. "I never said I needed the money, though. Getting paid just adds to the fun. Though I'm considering doing it for free," he says, eyeing Steve's clothes. "Looks like you need it a hell of a lot more than I do."

"So-" Steve stuffs the money in his pocket and has to speed up to catch up, since he had stood there and gawped as Anthony started walking past the tables to the door. "You do this for fun?"

"I get bored some nights," Anthony replies when they're out of the club, and Steve stares, waiting.

Anthony laughs, pocketing his hands. "Why am I in front? You're leading the way, we've discussed this."

"Sorry," Steve says, and moves to walk beside him. He glances over, looking at the clothes Anthony had changed into: jeans and a button-up shirt, both reasonably tight. And boots that look like they cost a month of Steve's rent. 

He jerks when his phone rings in his pocket, and pulls it out to see the name 'BUCKY' flashing across the screen. "Sorry," Steve says again, and Anthony shrugs.

Steve clicks 'ACCEPT CALL.' "Hey, I-"

"I just saw you leaving with that stripper you were drooling over," Bucky shouts over the music from his end, and his voice is loud enough that Anthony hears him and snorts.

Steve clears his throat. "And you called me why?"

"Congrats, buddy! I love strippers that do the whole package!"

"I'm taking him back to our apartment to sketch him," Steve says, rubbing his forehead.

Silence apart from the tinny music, and then Bucky says, "Seriously," in a low whine that makes Anthony snort again. "Oh my god, Steve-"

"You said to have fun," Steve talks over him. "Drawing is fun."

"SO IS SEX, STEVE!"

"Goodbye, Bucky," Steve says quickly, and hangs up before Bucky can continue embarrassing him further. He feels his phone buzz with a text as he pockets it, but he ignores it. 

Anthony is chuckling into his hand when Steve looks over at him again. "Brother?"

"Overbearing friend," Steve sighs, and then considers. "But basically a brother, yes. I've known him since I was up to here," he says, and holds a hang to navel height.

"Six?"

"Nine," Steve admits. "I was a small kid."

"No kidding," Anthony says.

Steve hums, scuffing his shoe on the sidewalk. "Sickly, too. I never knew why Buck thought it'd be a good idea to be friends with a runt like me."

"He was smarter than all the other nine year olds?"

Steve huffs, shooting him a smile, and then nudges him to make him notice Steve is starting to cross the road. Anthony follows, and then they're on Steve's street. Steve waves a hand at his apartment when they reach it. "Something tells me your home is a lot nicer than mine, but I make do."

"My house is- technically too big to be called a house."

"Right, because stripping is your weekend job."

"It's Friday," Anthony corrects him, and looks around Steve's apartment when Steve opens the door for him. He waits until Steve is inside and the door is closed before asking, "Ever do nudes?"

"Nude drawings? Yes, I have to do them in class."

Anthony tilts his head at him, with the same smile he had when he had emerged onto the stage. "Want to practice those? I could show you more than I'm allowed to in the club."

"I don't know, you pretty much showed everything with that thong," Steve says when he gets his breath back, and is rewarded with a full-body laugh.

"I'm still wearing it. Wanna see?"

He does, god, he does, and Anthony is already pulling a side of his jeans down so Steve can see a strip of red over Anthony's hip-

"I need to- get my supplies first. Art supplies," he clarifies hastily, and Anthony's tongue flicks out over his lips before he says, "Okay."

Steve nods uselessly for a few seconds before his brain gets back into gear. "Uh, you should go into the lounge. And- clothes," he says eloquently, and says, "Shut up," as he turns to go to his room. 

He gets his sketchbook, checks if he has enough room and then takes a stub of charcoal. He's in a charcoal mood. He checks his reflection in the mirror and takes several deeps breaths before going into the lounge, feeling like an idiot as he does it.

He's been hard for about forty minutes now, ever since Anthony walked out onto stage, but his cock twitches when he sees Anthony, naked and standing confidently and also way too close.

"How do you want me," Anthony asks, low and playful, and Steve has a second to wonder what the hell he got himself into, inviting a man who strips for fun and is probably richer than everyone he knows put together to model nude for him in his apartment.

Steve walks past him to a chair, and sits down with one leg crossed over the other to balance his sketching pad on. "On the bed, pl- on the couch," he corrects hastily. "Uh, sit down on it."

Anthony chuckles but gets on the couch, spreading his legs wide, slowly, keeping his eyes on Steve's. "Like this?"

Steve swallows. The nude models at his school have never asked him anything, and he tries to get into his artist side rather than the continuous loop of oh god he's hot.

"Tilt your head," Steve says. "Yes, like- back a bit, against the couch- perfect. And put your hands behind your thighs."

The position kind of puts Anthony's cock on display, the main feature, and Steve lets his eyes linger before putting charcoal to paper.

He draws in silence for a while, asking every few minutes if Anthony's comfortable. 

After Steve asks the fourth time, Anthony says yes, and hesitates. "I'm actually Tony."

Steve's charcoal pauses in his hand.

"I mean," Anthony says, shrugging as small as he can. "My real name is Anthony, but no-one calls me that. So I used it as my stage name."

"What do you want me to call you?"

"Oh, a lot of things," Tony mumbles, and then, louder: "Tony's fine."

Steve nods, and goes back to drawing, unsure what to think of the mutter. "My full name's Steven," he offers.

"Hi," Tony says, nonchalant, like he isn't sitting naked on Steve's crappy couch.

"Hi," Steve replies, smiling a little when he looks up to check he's drawing Tony's jawline right. He isn't, so he smudges it until it looks more accurate. 

As Steve draws, he notices that Tony is looking at him just as intensely, like he's storing him away to trace the lines of Steve's body later. And he's hard- Steve notices, inhales sharply and nearly breaks his charcoal stub, and Tony grins.

"Sorry," Tony says, sounding anything but. "Does it ruin the drawing?"

"No, it's fine," Steve says, hoping he doesn't sound as strangled as he thinks he does. "I haven't drawn, uh, that in yet."

"Oh, good," Tony says.

Steve's sure he's blushing, and he's certain Tony has noticed, and when he looks up again he watches Tony's hand slide over his thigh and then move inwards, maintaining eye contact as he does.

Steve watches, his gasp drowned out by Tony's moan as Tony wraps his hand around the base, squeezing once. He strokes himself, a long, slow stroke that sends a wave of heat through Steve's nervous system.

Tony moans again, loud and unashamed as he rubs his finger along his slit, his thumb circling the head before pushing his hips into his fist so his cock slides into it. 

"Continue," he says, and he would sound completely unruffled if he didn't gasp the word. "Come on, Steve. You told me how you want me. Unless you've changed your mind."

His hips continue flexing forwards, his cock moving in and out of his fist as he rocks against the couch, and Steve hears his throat click as he stands up. He puts the charcoal down, wiping his hands on his pants- the stains will take forever to get out.

Tony grins at him as he walks over, eyes flicking down to the obvious tent in the front of Steve's pants. His expression changes to surprise as Steve gets down on his knees between Tony's spread legs.

"You," Steve says, eyes on Tony's, "are so goddamn distracting."

"Good to know I'm still-" Tony breaks off, his head dropping back to the couch when Steve licks a line up his cock. "Fuck. You're a bunch of surprises all around, St- ah."

Steve closes his lips around the head of Tony's cock before sliding down, letting it sit heavily on his tongue before sucking experimentally. Tony swears some more, so Steve takes that as a green light and takes him further into his mouth, until he's bumping the back of Steve's throat. 

Trying to remember his lessons from his very helpful roommate, Peggy, who was always fond of watching Steve deepthroat strap-ons before she fucked him, Steve relaxes his throat and takes Tony deeper.

"God," Tony chokes, and Steve feels a hand come up to his hair, clenching slightly. Steve moans in encouragement and the hand tightens, a pressure that makes Steve's hips thrust forwards to rub his covered erection against the couch.

He bobs up and down on Tony's cock, managing to get him down his throat half the time and trying to do it more, because whenever it happens Tony swears or says Steve's name like it's the only word in existence. His hand stays tight in Steve's hair and moves with Steve's head, which Steve appreciates- it's been a while, he doesn't think he's up to having his mouth fucked. Not that he would mind Tony doing it when he's gotten used to it, though. 

Tony's voice starts getting desperate, and Steve moves his head faster until Tony gasps, "Stop, shit, oh," and Steve pulls off.

"Did I-"

"You're awesome, holy shit, don't worry about it," Tony says, and Steve feels a warm wash of pride at how wrecked he sounds. "I was just wondering if you wanted to do anything else instead of finishing me off now."

Steve considers, and when he's decided it takes a second or two to force it out. "Could you, uh, be inside me?"

In front of his face, Tony's cock jerks and Steve's mouth waters again. 

"We could do that," Tony says, and the hand in Steve's hair is gone. "We could- we could definitely do that."

Steve nods, and his legs tingle with pins and needles as he stands. "I'll- we can move to my bedroom."

"Lead the way," Tony says, and Steve huffs a laugh, remembering the club. 

Tony stands, and follows Steve down the hall into his room.

"Sorry," Steve says when the bedroom door is closed behind them both. "It's kind of cold-"

"You'll warm me up," Tony says before he grabs his shirt and kisses him, licking into his mouth greedily when Steve parts his lips. Steve has been told he's a good kisser, but then again he's only kissed a handful of people, so he tries to remember what they liked. He's rewarded with a gasp when he bites Tony's bottom lip, and his grin stutters and gives way to slackness when Tony starts kissing his way down his neck.

"Please tell me you have lube," Tony says into his neck, in between kisses. "I think I might legitimately die if you turn out to not have lube."

"I think I'd end up worse off in that situation, thanks," Steve rasps, trying to gather his thoughts. It's not that easy, with Tony's naked body and hard cock pressing up against him. "I have lube."

"Thank god."

Steve kisses him again, a long, sloppy kiss that almost makes him forget what he was doing, before pulling away to cross the two meters to his bedside drawer. He opens it, and comes out with a jar of water-based lube.

Tony smirks at the size of the jar, and how much lube is missing from it. "Had a few lonely nights, Steve?"

"Maybe," Steve says, reaching for Tony, and when he pulls, Tony comes willingly onto the bed with him, his hands at the buttons of Steve's jeans. Steve pulls off his own shirt to help the process along, dropping it beside the bed and kissing Tony as he slides Steve's jeans down his legs.

"Fuck," Tony mutters when the boxers join the jeans on the floor, and Steve has enough time to feel self-conscious before Tony is jerking him off, faster than he had done it to himself.

Steve watches Tony's hand move on his cock for a while before Tony's leaning in and pressing kisses to his neck. Steve stutters a breath when Tony bites lightly, and reaches blindly for the lube he had put on the pillow, pushing it into Tony's free hand. Tony has to use both hands to unscrew it, but he makes up for his hand leaving Steve's cock by straddling Steve's waist and lining their cocks up. 

Tony has to pause then, forgetting the jar of lube in his hand and rolling his hips a few times before Steve pants, "Get on with it," and Tony grins. 

"Sure thing, gorgeous," he says, and drops to kiss Steve's chest before dipping his fingers in the lube. He sets the lube open on Steve's bedside table and rubs it between his fingers until they're all slick.

Steve can't stop the moan that spills from his lips when Tony presses a finger into him, his hips twitching upwards and his eyes fluttering shut. He hears Tony swear softly above him, and his eyes jerk open at the sensation of Tony sucking his nipple into his mouth and pressing his finger into Steve at the same time.

"Oh," Steve breathes, and bites his lip. He always makes noises when he's being- stimulated, down there. Most of the time when he's doing other things, he manages to keep quiet, but with this, he's helpless to stop the sounds that come out of his mouth.

Tony hums, and Steve feels the vibrations on his chest as Tony kisses his way up it. Then he's nuzzling into Steve's neck, kissing it again, nipping and sucking as he pushes his finger in and out.

"Think you can take another," Tony asks after a minute, and Steve says, "What, yeah, do that," and pulls Tony's head up to kiss him. Tony's mouth flickers in a smile against his lips when Steve groans as Tony adds another finger, moving them slowly inside him. Steve pushes his hips down, forcing them further.

"Can I just say," Tony says into Steve's mouth, and then pauses to gasp as his cock slides against Steve's hip again, "that you are, by far, the hottest person I've ever gone home with when I pretended to be a stripper?"

"You were pretending?"

"Well, my day job is being a millionaire."

"I don't know how to respond to that," Steve says honestly, most of his tact out the window by now. "You should add another finger."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"So fucking hot," Tony says, and Steve groans into the next kiss as he feels a third finger enter him. He's making noise constantly now, almost as much as Tony, though Tony is saying actual words. Steve doesn't think he could manage that if he tried.

Tony seems hellbent to get Steve to make as much noise as possible, and after a few minutes have passed, Steve is certain he's going to get complains from the neighboring apartment later. 

"Another finger," Tony asks, and Steve pants, "Fuck me already," and feels Tony twitch against his hip. Lust floods him as he realizes he's doing to have that inside him soon.

Tony kisses him, drawing it out. "Sure thing, gorgeous," he says, and Steve whimpers when he takes his fingers out.

Tony pats his thigh. "Breathe," he tells him, and Steve watches him reach to the bedside table and scoop more lube on his fingers, then stroke his cock to slick it up. Tony's eyes close when he does this, hissing air through his teeth. "Oh, god, you're going to ruin me."

"Hope so," Steve says, using his leg to push Tony closer to him. Tony squeezes his thigh before taking Steve's waist with one hand and his cock with the other. He pushes into Steve slowly, and Steve's mouth goes slack as Tony starts thrusting, tiny movements until Steve's body gives more easily, and thrusting in harder.

Steve tugs at Tony's shoulder, and Tony goes willingly, lying over Steve as he fucks him, kissing his neck since Steve doesn't have the capacity to kiss at the moment.

Steve meets every thrust eagerly, and Tony grunts when Steve presses his blunt nails into his back.

"Gonna- get- complaints- from the neighbors," Steve gasps out.

"I'll just high five them," Tony says unsteadily, and kisses down Steve's chest before going back to his neck. Steve looks- Steve looks high, looks stoned out of his mind, his eyes glazed and his jaw slack.

"Faster."

"Yeah?" Tony sucks another mark into Steve's neck as he speeds up the pace. "You want it faster, Steve? Harder?"

"Yeah," Steve gasps. "Yeah, Tony, do it harder-" he breaks off into a moan when Tony snaps his hips. "Yes, like that, oh, just like-"

He shudders when he stops being able to speak, and keeps trembling until he stops making noise at all and comes, his back bowing.

Tony fucks and strokes him until he starts making noise again, before easing off.

"Keep going," Steve slurs before Tony gets to ask, and then grunts when Tony snaps his hips several times and comes with a low, shocked moan.

 

 

 

Bucky's halfway through calling Steve boring when he walks into the kitchen in the morning, and stops when his gaze lands on Tony and his smile blooms into a grin.

"Drawing," Bucky says. "Right."

"It started out as drawing," Steve says grudgingly. "The sex wasn't my fault, he started it."

"And you went with it," Tony says through his mouthful of toast. "Enthusiastically."

"Aaaand that's all I need to know," Bucky says. "Leaving now. Bye, stripper."

"Tony," Steve corrects him.

"And I own that strip club, and also most of Brooklyn," Tony says, and takes a lot of joy in watching Bucky's mouth fall open. "Speaking of which- Steve, do you want to go somewhere in a helicopter today?"

"How about I take you to a diner down the block?"

"Done and done," Tony says, and leaves the kitchen to get dressed and let Steve explain everything to Bucky.