Tony’s not going to deny that he’s ridiculously excited. Steve. In his bed. Naked. Everything is rainbows and nothing hurts.
And he’ll be the first to admit that he’s developed a few expectations, nothing outrageous, of course, but Captain America. If the name doesn’t say it all—hell, if the shape of Florida doesn’t say it all—then those tight, tight, wonderfully tight pants Steve wears does.
Not that he’s in it just for the sex. He lusts after Steve more than is probably healthy, sure, but he genuinely likes him. A lot. Respects him, too. Blah blah blah yadda yadda.
All very important stuff, yes, yes, but Captain America is naked in his bed.
He would dance if he weren’t afraid it would give Steve the wrong impression.
“So how do you want to do this?” he asks between kisses along Steve’s neck. He doesn’t normally ask his partners that question, is more the spontaneous type really, but the bear hug Steve has him in prevents him from moving too much, and while he’s not complaining about lying on top of Steve and being pressed against him, he would like to be able to move around a bit, maybe see more of the scenery than Steve’s right ear.
“However you want.”
There’s something in the tone of Steve’s voice that makes him pause, and he lifts his head up, which is a little difficult what with the trapped arms, but he manages.
“You have done this before, right?” he asks, and they’ve had this conversation before, but measure twice, cut once and all that.
“Yes, Tony.” But Steve isn’t looking at him.
“And with a guy?”
“Okay. So then the boa constrictor impression is because you’re into bondage maybe? Want to tie me down and fu—”
Steve makes a weird rumbly sound, rolling Tony off of him, and suddenly there’s no more naked body pressing, and really, he’s going to cry, that’s so depressing.
“Alright, what’s going on, Steve?” he asks, getting up on one elbow so he can look down at him.
“Can we not—” Steve’s lips thin, and he glances down.
“Have you changed your mind? Do you not want to have sex?” he asks, because they are friends, he cares about Steve, and even though the thought kills him, he can get up and walk away if Steve needs him to.
“I do, I want to, it’s just . . . it’s been a long time,” he says quietly at last, and damn, yeah, he hadn’t really thought about that.
He opens his mouth to ask how long exactly but then closes it. Steve’s expression indicates how little he wants to talk about it, and besides, does it really matter? Other than the way it makes Tony’s heart beat a little faster anyway, because he’s seen the looks people give Steve, but he’s here in Tony’s bed.
“It’s just like riding a bicycle,” he says instead, and Steve rolls his eyes. “Seriously, there’s riding and pumping, you have to keep your balance, it always feels better the faster you go, and it’s amazing how far you can take a metaphor. Simile,” he corrects himself after a second, and Steve smiles faintly, shaking his head at him.
He scoots closer and kisses him, does it again and decides there can never be enough Steve kisses, and keeps doing it until Steve finally starts relaxing a little. Steve’s nervous. He understands that. No one believes him when he tells them, but he’s an understanding kind of guy. And because he’s so understanding, he knows that the best way to help Steve get over his worry is obviously a blowjob. It’ll make Steve’s first-time-with-a-new-partner performance anxiety disappear, an orgasm is involved, and Tony gets to put his mouth on Steve’s cock, so it’s a win-win situation all around.
He nudges Steve onto his back and moves down his body, kissing and sucking little marks as he goes while finally being able to see the landscape—gorgeous, he’s fucking gorgeous—and then he’s finally close enough to get his first good view of Steve’s cock—
“Woah. Are you serious?”
Okay, okay, not his best moment there, he realizes as he struggles to keep Steve from getting up, but there are expectations and then there’s the shock of reality, and Tony is not disappointed at all. He might be a little bit giddy actually.
Any second now, Steve is going to remember he can lift Tony with one hand—and while he would enjoy that in some situations, Steve leaving the room definitely doesn’t qualify—so he makes one of those split-second decisions he’s known for that end in either brilliance or tears, dipping his head down to take Steve into his mouth.
Steve lets out a strangled sound, his hips jerking, and he probably didn’t mean to push deeper into Tony’s mouth, but that’s what happens anyway. Tony can feel the muscles in his jaw stretch in order to accommodate his girth, his lips pulsing with blood as they slide against his cock, and oh, this is going to be good.
“Tony?” Steve gasps, and Tony hasn’t even done anything yet, but Steve’s already trembling, his grip in his hair just this side of painful, and fuck, the thought of Steve losing it so soon makes his head swim.
He pulls up just enough that he can talk, his lips brushing against Steve as he looks up at him and says huskily, “I can’t wait to taste you.”
Steve whimpers as Tony lowers his head, which is all kinds of gratifying, and he’s always been pretty adept at blocking his gag reflex, so it’s not too much of a problem to take him deep, not even when Steve starts rocking up into him. He puts his hands on Steve’s hips in order to keep some control, but he doesn’t stop him from fucking his face, just goes along for the ride and wishes it had lasted longer when Steve comes a few seconds later with a loud cry.
He’s not disappointed though, is feeling pretty smug as a matter of fact. They’ve got all night, and a blissed out Steve is a sight to behold. He wipes his mouth with the heel of his hand and wonders how long it’ll take Steve to remember that, hello, he hasn’t come yet. Although if it’s been a while for Steve, maybe he’ll be ready for another go in a few minutes—
“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs, his voice justifiably raspy, and he is impressed. Steve Rogers: 1, refractory period: 0.
His words apparently knock Steve out of la-la land, because he goes from dopey to guilty in 0.6 seconds flat.
“Tony, I am so—”
“—so happy right now, thank you for that spectacular orgasm, and I’m going to spread the joy around a bit by worshipping your cock.” He smiles, because Steve’s expression has gone from remorseful to amused exasperation, and he doesn’t need apologies, doesn’t want them. That had been damn hot after all.
He wouldn’t mind an orgasm though, he’s not going to lie.
“No? Well, how about you just touch it a little bit then,” he suggests, straddling Steve and guiding his hand to where he wants it. “Yeah, just like that.” His eyelids flutter shut as he strokes him, and Tony’s a genius, because there are no signs of the hesitancy from before, just firm, even pressure, and he sighs happily, leaning down for more kisses.
Steve moans, his free hand coming up to wrap around the back of his neck, and he pulls him closer, licking into his mouth like he’s searching for every last drop, and damn, there’s a hand on his dick, and Steve is turning out to be a dirty bitch under his homemade apple pie exterior, and can life get any better than this?
Apparently it can. He blinks up at Steve from the bed where he’s been flipped, and Steve is all naked determination, his hands on Tony’s arms, pinning him in place.
“I may swoon, that was so masterful,” he says, only like seventy percent joking, because Steve can wrangle him anytime. Yippie-ki-yay.
And there’s one of those absurdly charming blushes, and he is never going to get tired of them, ever.
“It’s my turn,” Steve tells him, no sign of any embarrassment in his voice, just earnest resolve, and who is Tony to get in his way?
“If you must,” he sighs, settling back into the pillows. “I’ll just lie back and think of America then.”
Steve grins, ducking his head, and how does he do that, be simultaneously innocent and downright lewd? Tony reaches out and traces his lips with his thumb, and Steve blushes even harder, nipping at him gently before moving down.
He doesn’t have Tony’s level of skill, but the way he focuses on what he’s doing is extremely arousing, and hell, even a bad blow job is a good one. Not that Steve is bad, of course, maybe a little sloppy, but that has its own appeal, and Tony doesn’t even mind the occasional brush of teeth, little shocks of sensation that make the pleasure sharper somehow. That doesn’t mean he wants to come this way, however, especially not after seeing what Steve’s been hiding under his pants all this time—it’s like Christmas—so he grabs the lube and pries Steve’s fingers off his hip, placing it in his hand.
“Oh. Oh,” Steve says, self-consciously wiping at his mouth and chin, shiny with saliva, and Tony would tell him not to bother, he likes the debauched look on him, but it’s all about picking one’s battles, and Steve’s starting to get that pinched look again. “Tony, I—that is, you—”
“Wow, I didn’t realize how kinky you are!” he says cheerfully, purposefully misunderstanding him, and he takes the tube back as Steve's eyes go wide. He starts sputtering, denying any such tendency like it’s a character flaw or something, which means he’s not paying attention to what Tony’s doing, and it’s all about going on the offensive with Steve and keeping him off-balance. He lubes up his fingers and reaches down to open himself up, smirking as Steve almost chokes on his words. “You’re just lucky I don’t mind an audience.”
It takes a little longer than necessary—truthfully, the last finger is just because he likes the dazed expression on Steve’s face—but it’s worth it, especially when he pulls his fingers out and Steve takes over, parting his knees further apart to make room.
“You are dangerous,” Steve growls, and it makes Tony laugh, because, first, yeah, that last one really had been over the top, and second, he prefers seeing Steve full of confidence, or at least too overcome with lust to be nervous. Six of one, half dozen of the either really.
He stops laughing pretty quickly, though, when Steve slowly pushes into him, and ohhhh, it’s even better than he’d imagined. He feels stretched to his limits, already full, so fucking full, but Steve just keeps going, forever and ever it seems, and the burn spreads through him until everything is hot and shaky. Steve is being so very careful, but he can feel the tension in his body, and the threat of all that unleashed strength makes him shudder, makes him hold onto Steve even tighter as he moans and tries not to break apart before they even properly begin.
So it’s a shock, a huge, horrible shock, when Steve gasps, “Oh no," and everything stops.
He blinks. “Did you—”
“I’m so sorry,” Steve says miserably, and he’s staring at Tony with a hangdog look on his face. “It—it took me by surprise, but I can—”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says, because they’ve all been there, and okay, this time he is disappointed, but it’s obvious that even if Steve wasn’t a virgin, he’s far from experienced, so he has every hope things will eventually improve. Besides, there are other ways for Steve to make it up to him. The sooner he gets around to doing so, the happier he’ll be as a matter of fact.
“No, it’s not! You don’t have to make excuses for me, Tony!” Steve says, and his expression is awful, embarrassment and anger and even a little worry all mixed together, like he thinks Tony is going to kick him out of bed because of this. “You deserve better—”
“Steve.” He wraps his arms and legs around him to make sure he doesn’t try to get away. “There’s no way anyone could be better than you.”
“I’m not lying! For me—for me—there is no one better.” He doesn’t know who’s more surprised at that, him or Steve, and it’s—he hadn’t really planned on saying that, didn’t know he’d felt that way, but apparently—anyway, moving on. He’ll think about it later. There are other, more immediate things to concentrate on now.
“I don’t care if you’re a little rusty! Do you really think this is some kind of hardship for me? Oh, poor Tony, he has to suffer through Steve being naked and rubbing against him while making all sorts of sexy noises. Yeah, this is the worst day ever.”
Steve squints down at him, like he doesn’t know what to think about what he just said, and Tony can’t help but smile.
“Like I said before, I’m more than willing to let you spread the joy around a little bit and—” He blinks a couple of times, contracting his internal muscles. Things are a lot . . . firmer . . . than they were before. “Are you . . . ?”
Steve kind of squirms, which is an interesting sensation all things considered. “You keep . . . wiggling.”
“Really? Two orgasms, and you’re already hard again? O frabjous day! Well then, shouldn’t you be doing some joy spreading right about now?”
Steve stares down at him for a few seconds, and Tony can tell he still wants to argue, wants to make an issue of this when, really, they need to focusing on Tony, so he snaps his fingers and gestures, saying, “Chop, chop! Get your ass in gear, Rogers!”
And the corner of Steve’s mouth turns up as he shakes his head. “Whatever you say, Tony.”
The pause in action has made him soften, but it doesn’t take long to get back to operating conditions quickly, especially with Steve moving slowly but surely inside of him. The burn has mostly receded after all the time that’s passed, so it’s just pure pleasure without the hectic edge from before, and he feels like his body is turning to liquid, everything deep and smooth. He thinks about stroking his cock, but he’s enjoying this right now, the slow buildup with orgasm a distant but growing—
Steve pants heavily against his neck, his body shivering in the aftermath.
It’s not funny, it’s not, a little frustrating maybe, but not funny. Okay, maybe a little funny. Still. It’s nothing to joke about.
But really, when has that ever stopped him before?
“Is this where I say, ‘thank you, sir, may I have another?'”
It’s a good thing that he made a point of tightening his arms and legs around Steve before speaking.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” he asks, clinging like a limpet when Steve tries to pull out. “We’re not through yet.”
“I’m not making excuses for you, okay? I’m not, but you were frozen for seventy years, Steve, and there was a war going on before that, so give yourself a break! And if you think about it, sex is like any other sport or activity you do; it gets better with practice. Lots and lots of practice. Like, we should practice all the time. Maybe three times on Saturdays.”
Steve groans and thumps his head against the pillow Tony’s resting on. “I can’t believe you even want to keep trying.”
“Are you kidding me?” he laughs, and trusting that Steve has given up on the idea of walking away, he runs his hands along Steve’s sides. The man’s muscles are to die for. “I’d be crazy if I didn’t want to.” He could probably bounce a quarter off his abs, fucking hell. “But maybe it’s time we try something different.”
He pats Steve’s shoulder, twitching when he pulls out, and motions for him to lie on his back.
“The problem,” he says as he maneuvers himself between Steve’s legs and grabs the discarded lube, “is that when you’re in the driver’s seat so to speak, when we hit these dips in the road, we have to stop the car. Now, if you’re in the passenger seat, well, let’s just say I’m good with mechanical things, and even with a pothole, I won’t have any problems getting us both to our final destination.”
“You really like your metaphors, don’t you?” Steve asked, and the sight of him waiting for Tony in all his naked splendor, cock half-hard and wet, is enough to make him slightly clumsy, the lube drizzling everywhere. Steve is a work of art. He can’t wait to mess him up.
“It’s a guilty pleasure, what can I say?” he says lightly. “Do you think you could get it up again?” It’s really a rhetorical question, because he’s already rubbing the tip of his finger against his entrance, and yup, they have a winner, ladies and gentlemen, Steve starts getting hard again.
“I think so, yes,” Steve says dryly, and Tony doesn’t know what causes it—maybe Steve finally believes Tony isn’t annoyed by the turn of events, or maybe he’s just happy because he knows Tony’s going to get to come this way (Tony’s really happy about this, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility), or maybe it’s just three orgasms, who wouldn’t be relaxed?—but he loses the tension finally and takes Tony’s fingers with relative ease, his breath hitching with every push and pull.
The first slide into Steve is amazing, hot and slick, and he can feel Steve constrict around him as he gasps, arching his back as Tony goes deeper. He squeezes tightly enough that for a second, Tony has to stop, and he has new sympathy for Steve coming before he was all the way in, because fuck. Then Steve moans, the vibrations from the sound buzzing against Tony’s chest, and he sinks in further as Steve’s body gives way to his cock.
“Tony, Tony,” Steve whispers, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Tony grinds down until he’s as far as he can go, Steve’s come dripping down his leg, the ache he left in his body making everything better.
Steve’s incredible like this, muscles shifting as he moves in time with Tony’s thrusts, his body glistening with sweat and other things, and he keeps making these surprised little grunts that drive Tony absolutely wild, make him want to fuck Steve harder and harder until he’s covered in his own come, absolutely drenched in it.
He moans at the thought, a shudder running through his body, and he picks up speed, angling his body to best effect and reaching between them because he’s a contrarian, and while before he wanted Steve to slow down, take his time, now he wants him to come as fast as he can.
Steve grabs onto his arms, crying out, and oh, he’s fucking magnificent when he’s coming apart under him, overwhelmed and completely shameless in his pleasure, and Tony wants more, needs more.
He keeps going, fucks Steve right through his orgasm as he pants and shakes, and he doesn’t even feel guilty about it what with the way Steve’s cock rises to the challenge, his expression going from that’s enough to huh, that kind of feels good to oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop.
And he doesn’t stop, he can’t, not when Steve clutches onto him just so, when he arches into Tony’s thrusts and welcomes him into his body with each gasp and moan. He’s never seen anything like it, the way Steve shatters from one orgasm after another, his body convulsing as they build off each other, leaving him an utter ruin. It’s lucky he’s more than human, because Tony doesn’t think his heart could take it otherwise. Not that he’s jealous. Much. It does make him curious, however, if Steve could learn to keep fucking him through his orgasms until Tony can’t move anymore, until he’s sore and exhausted and filled to the brim with Steve’s come.
He has to stop thinking about it pretty quickly, however. He wants to come—fuck, does he want to come—and his libido does not need any more ammunition at this point.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Steve finally says, “I can’t, Tony,” his voice raw, his body covered in sweat, in bite marks and bruises, and Tony can’t stop staring, hopes they never fade. He’s lost count of how many times Steve has come at some point, but maybe that’s an experiment for another day, when he can drag him down to his workshop and keep a running tally, use one or two inventions to make up for when his body fails him.
“One more,” he begs, and he means it, he does, just like he had the last time and the time before that. “C’mon, Steve, you can take one more.”
“I can’t,” he groans, his knuckles white from his grip on the headboard, the wood creaking from the strain. Tony suspects he’s going to have to buy another one, but it’s the least of his concerns right now, because Steve’s body is already making a liar out of him, his cock hard and slippery with come in Tony’s hand.
Even in the midst of victory, however, he can sense his own defeat, his body’s demands clamoring to be met. It’s a miracle he’s held off as long as he has—for all his excess, he’s good at denying himself—but he’s only a man in the end. Tony needs to wring this last orgasm out of Steve before he gives in though, has to hear more of those lush, obscene sounds he makes as he fractures apart, and he shuffles up until Steve’s resting almost on his thighs, reaches down with his free hand to cup Steve’s balls and rubs a little behind them.
“One more,” he whispers and takes Steve’s whimper as acceptance. Too much friction will be the end of him, so he rocks gently instead, knows the location of Steve’s prostate like the back of his hand by now, and uses just about every last trick in his repertoire to force another orgasm out of him, Steve’s back bowing off the bed as he comes, gasping and incoherent.
It’s a relief to follow him down, to let go of control and take his own pleasure, and he pounds into him, his breath coming in harsh pants, Steve’s body twisting like he’s not sure if he wants to get away, the intensity almost too much to handle.
He kind of collapses on his side afterward, dazed and wobbly, and wonders if he could take a week off work to recuperate.
“So three times on Saturdays?” Steve asks, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, practically radiating energy while Tony is almost comatose on the bed, and he groans, covering his eyes with his arm.
“It’s okay, Tony," he says, patting him on the shoulder. "Sex is just like any sport or activity really. You just need to build up some endurance. It’ll take practice. Lots and lots of practice, but I’m sure that if you—”
"Isn't sarcasm against the Boy Scout code or something?"
“I can design some exercises for you!" he says, warming to the subject. "And I bet JARVIS can create a diet tailored to your needs with a regimen of vitamins and—”
"I dislike you so much right now," he mutters into his pillow, and Steve laughs, tousling his hair.