One of the things Tony never would have guessed about Captain America is how much of a cuddler he was.
He had lost count of the number of times someone had walked in on the pair of them on the couch, Tony entrapped in Steve’s octopus embrace. Not that Tony was complaining. In the three weeks since they had finally gotten together (and several months of homoerotic tension before that) Tony had gotten more physical affection than in his previous 40-mumble-mumble years. (No, hookups did not count.) Steve was constantly pulling Tony into his arms, tangling their legs, and settling down for naps and just plain relaxation.
Steve’s therapists had diagnosed him as touch-starved, and Tony’s probably would if he ever went to see them. In the preceding months, Steve had sought him out for “therapeutic” snuggle sessions, and who was Tony to deny a sad-looking Captain America? Steve had assured him that he had asked some of the others as well, so Tony had fought the empty longing feeling and jealousy as he lay in Steve’s arms. Until Natasha walked in on them, and had cornered Tony later to ask how long they had been together and how they could have possibly have hid it from her, because they were both still pathetically pining. Which had led Tony to discover that Steve was only seeking him out to cuddle, and it had made him re-evaluate his knowledge of Captain America’s manipulative abilities.
So there they were on some random Wednesday, Tony’d had a terrible meeting, and Steve had wanted to make Tony forget. The TV was playing some mindless reality show with women screaming at each other and trying to rip their hair off. It was on mute, and Tony was more focused on Steve’s breath ruffling his hair than anything.
“Don’t know why these people get paid millions per episode to tear up one each other new ones.”
“You get paid millions every minute.”
“Yeah, but I’m a genius inventor. I’m worth it. They’re just a bunch of trashy women who have no respect for themselves.”
“Hmmm,” Steve hummed, face pressed into Tony’s neck, exhaling on his hair line.
“Yeah,” the rest of the words died in his throat as Steve began nosing along his jaw and the edges of his goatee.
“So,” Steve’s hot breath was in his ear. “If what’s on TV’s terrible, whatdaya’ wanna do for the rest of the night?”
So many things. Sexy things. “Uhh, you know, I’m kinda tired, should probably head up to bed.”
“Oh.” Steve slumped back with allowed Tony to wriggle free of his grip. Not like he wanted to, but Tony’s cock was demanding attention, and staying in Steve’s arms any longer would probably make him aware of the situation in Tony’s pants. “I thought we could, you know, hang out. Like this.”
No part of Tony was hanging anymore, and as appealing as cuddling and making out with Steve was, right now Tony needed to take care himself.
“Sorry Steve, I’m really bush-wacked. Need to hit the hay. You understand, right?”
Tony glanced over his shoulder, because he couldn’t face Steve full-frontally night now, and was met with an affectionate smile. Steve was very proud of the fact that he was the reason that Tony was now getting near-normal amounts of rest, even if it wasn’t yet on a regular schedule. It irked him slightly to lie, but it wasn’t like he was lying completely. He did need to sleep, he just needed to burn off some excess energy beforehand.
“Okay, want me to tuck you in?” Steve said after a few moments. He looked hopeful.
YES, Tony’s dick shouted. “I’m a big boy; I think I can handle myself. You should probably head to bed, too.”
“Probably,” Steve groused, pouting. Tony laughed and ducked in for a quick kiss. Steve brought a hand up to the base of his skull to lengthen it, but before it could get too deep, Tony broke it off.
“’Night, Steve,” Tony nearly gasped as he nearly sprinted to the elevator.
“’Night, Tony,” Steve called after him.
When he was finally in the elevator, Tony leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to his fly with a hiss. When the door finally dinged, he bolted across the penthouse’s sunken living room to the bedroom that Tony rarely used.
If the tower had been competed in his more hedonistic days, a more appropriate term would be the sexroom. As it was, since Iron Man, there had been no one-night stands and he had only been in two relationships: Pepper and Steve, and he’d only slept with Pepper. So now the room was more of a place to shower and dress, and a place for Steve to carry him when he felt Tony needed actual sleep.
Most nights (and days, who was he kidding?) his unconscious hours were spent on the cot down in the workshop. There were numerous benefits to this system. First, when he was on an inventing binge, he could just walk over and collapse without needing to take the extra time to head upstairs. It also worked in there reverse, when he woke up with an idea, he was ten feet from a table filled with tools. There was also the decreased response time if the klaxon went off and he needed to be in the suit an hour ago. But the reason he never really told people was that he felt safer here in the place where everything was his, where he knew every screw and wire, where the only foreign objects were Steve and his sketchbooks, and those had become Tony’s a few weeks ago, when Steve had brought down a turkey-and-swiss sandwich and Tony had been to out of it to realize he had kissed Steve thank you before Steve had his hands on his face and was kissing back.
But since their relationship had begun (and well before that, but Tony hadn’t been listening), Steve had been encouraging Tony to sleep in his “real bed”. Tony tried to argue, the room wasn’t his, but Steve just refuted it with “make it yours.”
So now Tony found himself heading upstairs after dinner, instead of crashing when he reached a stopping point.
“Lights on low, JARVIS,” he said through gritted teeth as he fumbled with his belt buckle. He shed the remnants of his suit before hitting the bed naked.
“Ohh-aahh, that’s it,” he groaned as he palmed his aching cock in one hand and fumbled for the bedside drawer with the other. He grabbed a tube of lube, figuring he was already too far gone to bother with a vibrator. He slicked his fingers and quickly inserted two.
Now if Steve were there, he would probably want to take it slow. Tony expected gentle teasing and an over-arching concern for his comfort when they finally made it into bed. But right now he just needed to get off. And thinking too much into the details of how Steve would treat him made the wanting all the more horrible.
So he set a rough, quick pace, working himself up to four fingers as he stroked his cock. He might have been mildly training himself to take Steve with as little discomfort as possible when they finally got there. He knew Steve was hung, both from stealing glimpses (the Captain America suit didn’t hide much) and from medical records (he had been checking up on his boyfriend’s health, it wasn’t his fault that they had before and after comparisons of his dick), and Tony could admit he could be a bit of a cockslut for the men he slept with.
The pressure was fast building, and when it finally blew he made sure he pressed his prostate hard as he splattered cum over his belly. He moaned Steve’s name and silently congratulated himself on landing a boyfriend with a nice long vowel in his name.
After he had a moment to catch his breath, he called out to JARVIS, “J, bring up the newest propositions for Operation: Lover Boy”
It was his newest obsession. Tony was quite aware of his tendency to be rather one-minded when he was invested in an exciting project. He would often be unable to get anything else done when in amidst the workings of a new plan, and Steve was no exception.
Steve was one of the best things that had ever happened to Tony, and despite his ever-building sexual frustrations, wanted Steve’s first time to be, corny as it sounded, special. Steve deserved more than Tony could ever give him, but Tony could at least give his best.
Thus Operation: Lover Boy (AKA Seduce Steve) had been put into motion. It was Tony’s big research project, cross-referencing every possible scenario. Should he take Steve on vacation, or should this be done at home? Dinner and a movie? Should they go to a museum or a theatrical performance? Hotel or one of Tony’s many houses? Should he wait for a special holiday? Should he give Steve flowers, or just fill the bedroom with them? Scented candles, or the little LEDs that wouldn’t set stuff on fire if he kicked one in his enthusiasm? A bath first, or straight to bed? Should he stage a strip tease for Steve, or let Steve take his clothes off? Should he have notarized blood work so he could convince Steve to go bareback, which would also be a first for Tony? Or should he just let Steve make the decisions as to what he wanted?
His indecision was going to be the death of him.
Steve was just so hot. Tony was surprised that he hadn’t spontaneously combusted yet. His arms and shoulders were perfect for holding him up and digging fingers into if Steve fucked him against a wall. Despite his rough lifestyle, his skin was still baby-soft, and the serum hadn’t boosted the amount of body hair he had. His hips and claves were like something from a sculpture at the Louvre. And his ass, oh Tony could write an opera about that ass.
(He had taken to avoiding looking at Steve’s crotch, not want in do deal with his own neglected erections.)
It was terrible being around Steve sometimes, because as much as Tony liked (he couldn’t think those words yet) Steve, Tony was left wondering about just how much he was missing out on.
Sometimes, Steve would turn to him as he entered the kitchen in the mornings, and Tony could only wonder what it would be like to see Steve drowsy and well-fucked with bed-head as he woke up. Sometimes, when they were sparring, Steve would pin him to the mat, sweating and glistening, and Tony wondered if this was how it would look as Steve thrust into him. Sometimes, when Steve came down to the workshop to cuddle with Tony, he had to decline because he couldn’t handle being in the same bed with his boyfriend (he always caved at Steve’s pouty face).
But it was the worst when, after a mission or battle, Steve would look at him like he was all that mattered. In those instances, he just wanted Steve, sex or not, just being with the man.
But before he could start getting the oh-my-god-you-almost-died-let-me-show-how-much-you-mean-to-me sex, he had to introduce Steve gently.
The current plan was (for Tony) simple. He would have an industrial cleaning service clean the penthouse from top to bottom, and stock it with candles and flowers and massage oils and the finest cotton sheets (a good middle ground between the silk Tony usually used for sex and the burlap sacks that Steve still slept on). He would tell Pepper he was taking a few days off, and not to call for anything. He had already gotten Steve the perfect suit (royal blue with a crisp white shirt and crimson tie. What? The color scheme worked on him.), and Tony had selected his own (black as night, scarlet shirt, and black tie). He had plans to rent out one of the restaurants in town that had the upmost elegance, but still had English menus (Steve’s French was mostly baseline communication and swears, and he didn’t like French food anyway). A string quartet had been booked to be available at three hours notice (they should be, with what he was paying them) and Tony had made sure the managers would have a parquet out if he could maybe convince Steve to dance with him (he was pretty hopeful, as he was the first person Steve had ever actually dated).
After dinner (and maybe dancing), he would take Steve home and, well, allow their passions to flow. There they would remain holed up for at least three days, as Tony showed Steve the ropes, and would only be interrupted by a cataclysmic disaster (which, in their line of work, was a good possibility).
So, of course, after all of his careful planning, of all the made and canceled reservations all over the world, the roses ordered and abandoned, dinners organized and disbanded, fireworks, mountaintop sunsets, and exotic cruises, it happened on a Tuesday after a seven-hour battle with AIM.
No one had been seriously hurt, but everyone was exhausted; and after the quickest debrief in Avengers history (thanks in no small part to Bruce literally falling asleep at the conference table, and Steve sternly telling Fury “The entire battle is on video from multiple angles. I’m sure with your extensive dispensable resources you can piece it together. Now, my team is indispensible, and we’re all about to keel over.”), they separated for food and sleep. Steve gave Tony the kicked puppy look, so Tony showered as fast as he could (he only dozed off against the marble tiles twice), and after he had changed into sweatpants and a tank top, he went down to the workshop to burn off the remaining bits of adrenaline, then eat and maybe cuddle with Steve.
Steve was already there, also in sweats, sitting in the middle of the futon that Tony slept in more than his own bedroom. His hair was damp, and he was blinking sleepily and smiled lazily when Tony came in. Something twisted behind the arc reactor at seeing Steve here, in amidst the only place where Tony felt he was truly himself. Tony swallowed, and turned to one of the shin plates, hoping that banging out the dents in the armor would take his mind off banging Steve.
“So, what do you want?”
“You.” Steve whined and beckoned, and of course Tony was helpless to resist. He dropped the ball-peen hammer he had just picked up and padded over to the bed. Steve flopped onto his back and made grabby hands, and Tony was too tired to tease him for his pathetic whining.
One of the things he had learned since being in a relationship with Steve was how much of a needy brat he could be. He got sad and pouty when Tony spent too much time in the workshop or on his tablet (and Tony was too ashamed to admit that he was using it to research the best way to seduce Captain America), until either Tony stopped what he was doing to pay attention to Steve, or else Steve would cuddle closer until Tony was forced to pay attention to Steve.
Tony crawled on to Steve’s chest and nuzzled into the hollow of his neck, inhaling the scent of ash that the shower hadn’t eradicated. He felt Steve’s arms circle around his back. “I meant, what you wanted for dinner.”
Steve tensed, like he was bracing for impact. “Italian.”
“JARVIS, order out. You know, pizza would be faster, but if you wanted the fettuccine-“
Steve groaned and threw his arms over his head. Tony sat up on his elbows to catch sight of Steve glaring at the ceiling, look of immense frustration on his face.
“That’s not funny.” His eyes closed, and he was breathing deeply.
“I just asked what’s up!”
“Me.” Steve cracked open an eye, the slit of blue glaring accusingly.
“Then let’s go to sleep! But we really should eat first, or you might actually eat your shield-“
Steve grabbed Tony’s hand and pressed it to the front of his sweat pants.
He kept his eyes on Steve’s challenging gaze and determined set jaw; because he didn’t think he could handle looking at their joined hands over Steve’s erection. He was absolutely throbbing, hot and long and thick and God, Tony just wanted it in him.
“You keep avoiding me,” Steve said in a voice too vulnerable for forcibly holding another man's hand to the front of his pants. “I keep trying to . . . arouse you, but you don’t seem to . . . . Is it me? Am I not . . . doing it for you?”
Steve, sweet, sexy Steve, had been trying to seduce Tony, and Tony had been oblivious. Oblivious to Steve’s subtle attempts to drive Tony crazy, which they had, but he had just attributed it to his own filthy mind. It was obvious now, Steve holding him too-tight between his hips while sparring, Steve bending down to pick up things he could have easily caught so he could stick his ass in the air, Steve obscenely licking and sucking on a Bomb Pop. All the things that had sent Tony into furious rounds of masturbation had been Steve trying to get him to jump his bones.
Tony couldn’t help himself. He laughed.
Steve visibly crumpled, pulling away, dick deflating in embarrassment. Tony made to stop him, and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, the heat from Steve’s angry blush making him laugh harder.
“No, don’t go . . . . It’s just . . . Jesus Steve . . . arouse me . . . .”
“Well, I would prefer we had this discussion some other time.” Steve stood stiffly, intimidatingly tall but morbid embarrassment etched on his face.
“No, Steve, wait!” Tony wasn’t laughing anymore. He’d fucked up, making Steve feel unwanted and rejected when all Tony wanted nowadays was to pull Steve into bed. Or on a couch. Or chair. Or table. Or floor. Or wall. He wasn’t picky. “Steve, please hear me out.”
Steve stood there, arms crossed, Captain America face in play. Tony gulped.
“Every night,” he croaked. “Every. Fucking. Night I’m touching myself, thinking, hoping, wishing it was you. But I know you’ve never done this, and I want it to be perfect for you-“
The rest of the speech was lost in Steve’s mouth as he practically climbed on top of Tony, running his tongue around Tony’s teeth and getting Tony harder than he thought humanly possible, before breaking off but staying close enough that his heaving breath washed over Tony’s face.
“It will be perfect, Tony, because it’s you. And even if you can’t say it yet, I know how you feel, and I feel the same. And you will never be anything but perfect to me.”
Tony tried to stifle the sudden insurgence of warm fuzzy feelings. “Oh my God, you’re so cheesy.”
“Captain Cheesy, that’s me. Now, can we . . . ?”
“Well, if you insist-“ Tony wiggled his hips.
“I do. And I don’t think you’re complaining.”
Tony leaned back, and in his giddiness sang a little. “I’m gonna get it! Oo, love-“
“What was that?”
“Oo, lov-a boooy, whatcha’ doin’ tonight?”
“What song is this?”
“’Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy’. By Queen. Remind me to make you listen to it. Later. Hey boy.”
Steve just shook his head before plastering his lips to Tony’s neck, effectively ending the rendition. “Now who’s the cheesy one?” he mumbled against Tony’s skin.
“Still you. Nnnugh, right there . . . .”
Steve, ever the solider to follow orders only when they made sense, sucked harder in the joint behind Tony’s ear. Tony allowed himself to go boneless beneath his intuitive mouth. Steve’s frustration only became obvious when he got a hold of Tony’s tank and ripped it clean off.
“Sorry,” Steve grunted, not sounding sorry.
“’Sit’s fine. Could buy the factory.” Steve muffled his laughter in Tony’s collarbone.
Eventually, Steve made his way down Tony’s chest, biting and laving at them marks he left along the way. Just as Tony had suspected, Steve was very through. He attached himself to one dusky nipple and positively sucked Tony’s brain out before moving to the other. His hands were teasing the waistband of Tony’s sweatpants. Tony cried out when huge fingers slid under the elastic band and wrapped around him.
“Let’s get you out of these.” Steve sounded too composed for their current situation.
Steve pulled the pants over Tony’s erection and down his legs. Tony lay there for a moment as Steve examined him predatorily. The possessive look in Steve’s eyes was going to make him come untouched.
“Come on, I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”
Steve laughed and quickly shucked off his shirt, pants, and boxer-briefs (Tony was right about the size of Steve’s cock). He continued kneeling to allow Tony to get an eye full, before he draped himself over Tony and began grinding against his hip, with Tony helpless to do anything but mirror his actions. They were both gasping and heaving at the rough slide.
“Steeeve, come on, uha, need you to fuck me . . . .”
“Got any – ah – got any lube?”
Thus commenced the mad scramble through the pile of random shit at the edge of the bed, until Tony remembered he had used the last of his workshop stock three days ago after Steve had spent two hours “helping” Tony by bending over to pick things up. After Steve had left, Tony couldn’t get his pants down fast enough.
“Fuck, I’m fresh out, I have some upstairs if you want to-“
“No,” Steve said firmly. “I want our first time to be in your space. We don’t need lube for other things, right?”
“Ohhhh-kay, just how are you a virgin?” Tony gasped as Steve leaned over and lined their pelvises up and took the two of them together in one massive palm.
Steve did the thing that Tony knew only Steve could do with a pair of cocks in his hand: he blushed.
“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I’m a stranger to this,” he said with a twist of his wrist. The movement, paired with the revelation that Steve masturbated (and why wouldn’t he? He was a guy in his mid-twenties with the testosterone levels of a fucking bull rhinoceros), made Tony gasp and arch into Steve’s grip.
“Do you – ah – ever think about me?”
“I think the two of us have been jerking off thinking about the other while the other does the same. For a month. Or longer.”
“Can’t keep that up.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve was grinning affectionately down at him, which honestly wasn’t fair, too look that adorable while making Tony’s brain short-circuit. “Could jerk off while the other watches. Or mutual masturbation. That’s a thing.”
“Wait ‘til the world learns that Captain America has been watching porn.”
“Maybe the world should realize that Captain America is a man with needs like the rest of them. I think my needs might be bigger than the average Joe’s, too.”
“I’ll do my best to keep up. Uhh-a, do that again . . . .”
It wasn’t the perfect seduction Tony had planned. There was no day of fun and romance, perfect candlelight dinner with wine pairing, and the slow build that would come to a head with leading Steve to the tastefully appointed bedroom, filled with candles and roses and lube, and letting Steve take whatever he wanted.
This was Steve whining desperately as he fucked the both of them into one fist as they lay in the stark lighting of the workshop, on a bed that hadn’t had its sheets changed in weeks, and was covered in motor oil and metal shavings. It was rough and sloppy and uncoordinated. They were both tired, and Tony was shaking with exhaustion. Their legs were tangled in the sheets in a way that meant they were probably going to fall out of bed when getting the knots undone, and Tony’s ass was cold.
It was perfect.
The feeling of all of Steve’s hot skin moving against him was so much better than what he could have imagined, and the calloused palm holding the both of them together, with a dry side that gave amazing friction. Tony knew he wasn’t going to last.
But by far the best thing was just how desperate Steve seemed for him.
When he came, it was like pure unfiltered sunlight in the morning, the air filled with the sound of his own shout of “Steve!” and Steve’s groan of “Tony!” like a prayer.
In amidst the afterglow (and that name was actually very appropriate), Tony remembered all his careful planning, and couldn’t help but laughing.
“Here I was going to take you out to dinner first.”
“You can still do that.”
Steve yawned, and Tony followed suit.
“Probably need to clean up before we get too sticky.”
“Sure.” Steve just pulled Tony deeper into his chest.
“You don’t care, do you?”
“Showers were invented for a reason.”
“Fine. Don’t complain when you’re crusty in the morning.” Tony snuggles deeper into Steve’s embrace, feeling sleep tugging heavily at the edges of his consciousness.
“Because of you, I often wake up with sticky sheets.”
“Good night, Tony.”