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Patience and Shuffle

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For the most part – and especially when it comes to Steve – Tony doesn't try to break the rules, or misbehave. It's not usually a conscious effort to defy all authority but his own, but it tends to happen that way regardless, on his path to getting what he wants. He's never had to really wait for anything; even when he wanted something everyone else called impossible, he always knew he could find a way to make it happen on his own. He's a spoiled genius with an astronomical sense of entitlement.

So it's really a sight to behold: Tony Stark, naked on his knees, hands bound behind him, face flushed and entire body trembling. Steve secures the handcuffs, stands, and asks, "Are they uncomfortable?"

Tony rotates his shoulders, flexing his arms behind his back and testing his restraints, but instead of answering, takes a breath and looks up imploringly, "Steve-"

Steve smiles, "I'll adjust them if they're uncomfortable, or I'll get some rope or a tie if you'd rather that."

He's obviously in a fog, voice tight with arousal, "I'd rather... You fuck me." It hadn't been necessary to jack him off for five minutes before cuffing him, but it'll probably drive the point home a little better.

"You got somewhere you need to be?" Steve asks, knowing full well the answer is no. He surveys Tony in mild amusement as he squirms his arms into a more comfortable position. "I'm free all night, how long can you wait?"

It's starting to click into place in Tony's mind, and a strained smirk attempts to hide his alarm as he huffs out, "Not all night."

"No, I wouldn't do that to you," Steve cups his chin and smiles down at him, "But I think we could give it twenty minutes."

And then the inevitable question, "Why?"

Steve clicks his tongue jokingly, "Tony, you've gotta learn to be patient. Didn't anyone ever teach you that good things come to those who wait?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." He looks a little pained, a little sullen, more than a little turned on, but he's going to do it. He could stop it now if he wanted to, but he just shifts his weight a little, takes a few deep breaths, and fixes his gaze on Steve, awaiting instruction. A little rush of power hits Steve as he considers his possibilities. He settles on circling Tony's tense form, sitting on the edge of the bed directly behind him. Tony starts to twist around.

"Don't. Stay there." Steve says softly, watching the muscles in Tony's shoulders tighten. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Fuck, Steve-"

"Don't tell me you're shy, most days I can't shut you up. What did you want me to do to you before I put the cuffs on?"

Tony shakes his head once, then, "I wanted to suck your cock."

"Go on."

"Ah, fuck... On my knees, you holding my head, just... Fucking my mouth. Jesus Christ. Come on."

Steve takes a steadying breath, keeping his voice calm, "Is that all?"

"No," He forces out, his voice get a little shakier, "Wanted you to fuck me."

He makes no effort to hide the sound of his zipper being pulled down, sure Tony knows exactly what's happening behind him. Taking hold of his cock and stroking lightly, Steve prompts, "How did you want it?"

"Steve."

"Tony." Steve grins at the back of his head.

"Can I turn around? ... Please?" His voice is starting to lose its earlier frustration, and the please actually sounds sincere. Steve has no idea why everyone thinks Tony is so difficult to handle.

"Tell me how you wanted me to fuck you and I'll think about it."

"Rough... As hard as you can go. On-" His voice hitches; it's not that he's not used to talking like this, but normally Steve's cock is already in or near his ass while he's doing it, which must make things a lot easier to think about. "On my back, folded over. So I can't... Fuck." He's working himself into an impressive state already, the muscles in his back are tensing randomly, his hands clenched tight, straining and rubbing his wrists against the cuffs. Steve grips himself tighter and strokes a little harder at the thought of the marks the metal will make, marks that won't fade for a day or two and that Tony won't bother to hide.

"So you can't what, Tony?" He doesn't bother masking the arousal in his voice, knows it's doing a lot more to undermine Tony's resolve than his own. He lets go of a low growl as his hand moves faster, smiling when Tony shivers, shaking his head.

"Move... So I can't move. So you're all over me, Jesus Christ, when you do that-" He breaks off to take in a shaky gasp, let it out in a huff. "Please, Steve, please."

Steve stills his hand and tucks himself carefully back into his jeans, standing and walking back into Tony's line of vision. For a few seconds longer than he intended, he just stares. He takes in the bright pink that lights otherwise pale cheeks, the strands of dark hair just starting to cling to his forehead, the heaving chest and finally the neglected, straining cock. His entire body is begging for attention and part of Steve wants to knock him onto his back, stick two fingers in his ass and suck him off until he's sobbing. But that's not really the message he's trying to send here.

"You're missing my point if you think this is about begging for it."

Tony raises his head, but his eyes get no farther than Steve's crotch. "What is your point?" It's said through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, but there's no heat, just very obvious desperation.

"Patience, Tony." He ignores the muttered 'Fuck.' "We both know you can control yourself enough to wait, you've just never had to." He steps forward, cupping Tony's face in one hand. Tony nuzzles it, sighing. But Steve pulls away when a scheming tongue darts out, attempting to capture a finger and draw it into his mouth. Trying not to show the ripple of arousal that courses through him at Tony's whimper, he moves toward the door and smiles reassuringly. "It's a good lesson. I'll be right back."

He doesn't really have anywhere to go, but he wants to see if Tony will be able to reign himself in if left to his own devices. So Steve walks down stairs, gets a drink of water, takes a quick look at the paper sitting on the counter; it's not his intent to be cruel, but Tony doesn't really respond to subtlety. Steve keeps an eye on the clock and gives him about seven minutes to calm down before walking back upstairs.

He can actually hear the panting before he pushes Tony's bedroom door open. The view has gotten, if it's possible, even more inviting since he left. Tony's slumped, sitting back on his heels, hanging his head and squirming ceaselessly. He doesn't seem to notice Steve's presence until he's standing right in front of him. He raises his head, fixing dilated pupils on Steve's face. "Steve-"

"Tony," Steve is torn between pity and unbearable arousal, trying to keep his voice even, "You couldn't calm down."

"If you hadn't..." He bites his lip and cuts off the accusation, and shakes his head, and could that be embarrassment? It's hard to tell. "I can't stop thinking about it," His eyes dart down Steve's chest, then lower, and he swallows hard, "About your cock... Fuck, ple-" But he holds back on his instinct to beg, falling silent and meeting Steve's eyes again, hopeful and desperate. Begging is what he defaults to, shamelessly, every time; he wants something and begging is how he gets it.

It's not the ideal note to end on, but he's obviously trying, and Steve has to be proud of that. He wouldn't try with just anyone. "You were good." Steve says softly. It's true, and Tony's mouth quirks up just a little at the praise. That's all he wants.

Steve undoes the button on his jeans then pauses, considering. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny silver key. "Do you want them off first?" The game is over, so it's Tony's call. He watches as Steve's free hand pulls his zipper down, and shakes his head quickly. "No?" Steve smirks and replaces the key, pulling himself out of his jeans as he does so.

Tony's breath catches audibly at the sight of Steve's cock, sitting up, lips parting. His balance is restricted, so Steve gets a firm grip in his hair as he guides the eager mouth onto his cock.

Whining, Tony fights against the hand limiting his movement; Steve takes it slow, stopping when he feels the back of Tony's mouth. Tony can take it – he's a pro, but when it's up to him, he tends to choke himself regardless. He'd be begging right now if he could. He makes a noise that could be a deliberate hum or just a moan, surging against Steve's grip, and Steve has no choice but to loosen it or risk hauling his hair out.

Tony pants fast and hard through his nose as the head of Steve's cock pushes at his throat, eyes shut tight, moaning shamelessly, swallowing, fucking hell. "Jesus Christ, Tony." Steve groans. He tightens his hand again, using both now to anchor Tony's head as he pulls back. Tony flicks at the tip with his tongue then flattens it again as Steve thrusts back in.

It's tough to establish a rhythm when Tony is constantly fighting for deeper and faster, but he manages to rock his hips at a pace that eventually satisfies, Tony relaxing, going obediently still as Steve fucks his mouth. His moans get deeper as the thrusts get harder, and Steve starts to recognize the sounds of impending orgasm, amazingly, despite a complete lack of contact with Tony's cock, with his hands still cuffed at his back. It's been a long night for him.

Steve pushes in once more, enjoying the sight of his length disappearing between Tony's wet lips, holding himself deep in Tony's throat. He could come, too – maybe not as soon as Tony, but he's not far off. But that would be a sad waste of need and desperation; Steve wants to make the most of this.

Tony makes a noise of confusion and protest when Steve pulls free of his mouth, a quiet "No!" escaping. He drops back onto his heels immediately when his hair is released, he'd been relying completely on Steve for balance.

Steve is a little dizzy, and his heart is beating wildly in his chest, but he takes a deep breath. Lifting Tony under his arms, he pulls the trembling man unsteadily to his feet. He lets Tony lean on him as he fishes the key from his pocket again, reaches around Tony's back and works blindly at removing the cuffs. Not an easy task, and made quite a bit more complicated by the fact that Tony is attempting to hump him.

"Slow down... Stop that-" Steve grunts in frustration as Tony grinds against his cock, causing Steve's hands to tremor slightly. "Do you want these off or not?"

Tony whimpers, nuzzling Steve's neck, licking and biting, "I don't care."

Well, Steve cares. With gritted teeth and remarkable concentration, he manages to open one of the cuffs. The moment his arms can move again, Tony's hands fly to Steve's neck, the cuffs dangling from his left wrist, bouncing against Steve's shoulder blade. He moves in for a kiss that ends up being more of a violent crushing of lips and teeth, but he seems to enjoy himself, rocking his hips harder when Steve snakes his tongue into Tony's mouth.

The cuffs clunk their way along Steve's back as Tony's hands find their way to the jeans that Steve doesn't realize are frustrating him until Tony starts tugging them down. Breaking the awkward mashing of mouths, he pants hard across Steve's cheek as he walks them towards the bed. He falls back on it when he gets there, but stays sitting up, intent on finishing the task of getting Steve completely naked. "You gotta fuck me... Like, now."

Steve holds back on the teasing, 'What's the magic word?' because Tony's had enough tonight, and Steve has no intention of refusing him now no matter how he asks for it. He steps out of his jeans and Tony lies back, squirming up to make room, knees bent, legs open.

Grabbing the ever-present tube of lube from the bedside table, Steve settles himself between Tony's thighs, reaches down and touches Tony's hole with two slick fingers. "See?" Steve grins, watching him squirm, "You were patient and now you're getting what you want."

Normally that might have gotten a comeback or a joke, but all Tony manages is a nod, hands moving to Steve's shoulders and clinging. He groans as the fingers slip in, tensing all over. "Ye-aahhh..."

Steve lets him rolls his hips a few times, adjusting, then slides his fingers out, shoves them back in, feeling Tony tremor beneath him. He thrashes and bucks, shakes and moans with every little movement, every stretch. It's not long before the moans are punctuated by whispers of 'That's enough,' and 'Come onnnn.' Steve usually likes to drag this out, loves watching Tony lose all higher thought, break down and sob for it just from a few fingers – but now, unfortunately, is not the time.

Tony always has a moment of confusion and protest when Steve pulls his fingers out, the moment before he realizes he's finally getting what he asked for. Steve lubes himself hastily; he hates that this amount of preparation is needed, but not enough to risk hurting Tony. Pulling Tony's legs over his shoulders, he leans down, folding Tony in half while he enters.

Tony loves this part, he loves the edge of pain that no amount of experience gets rid of, and if there's ever a question of Tony's sexual endurance (there rarely is), it's during these first few moments. He's so close to coming, brows furrowed, lips parted, panting out monosyllabic words of encouragement, 'Yes', 'More', 'Steve.' So Steve takes it slow at first, pushing Tony's knees closer to his chest as he pushes in, until Tony can barely squirm and Steve's in as far as he'll get, and they're both panting.

"Don't stop, fuck me, come on," Tony's babbling, clutching Steve's neck, cuffs dangling between them. Steve hasn't got the heart not to oblige, pulling out and slamming back in, and Tony chokes on what limited air he has when he's folded over like this. Once more and he's almost sobbing already, trying his best to lift his hips, to get more.

Steve sets a brutal pace, one that'll probably add a complementary limp to the harsh red cuff marks on Tony's wrists. Tony's whole body rocks with it, the whole bed, and his cries drown out even the sound of the headboard assaulting the wall. With anyone else, Steve might be worried about demanding so much, being so rough, but he knows Tony's limits just as well as he knows his buttons. And he knows Tony's buttons better than anyone.

"Fuck-" Tony pants, moaning as Steve pulls his hands from around his neck, pinning them to the bed. "F-fuck, can't- gonna-" Steve gets the idea through the broken words, but doesn't release his wrists, doesn't reach for Tony's cock; it's not like it's needed. Instead he just slams in, as deep as he can, all his weight crushing Tony into the mattress.

Tony tenses and stills, then breaks apart, shaking his head and sobbing as he comes, spilling onto his chest and stomach, and Steve drags it out, not slowing down, driving into him, sending tremor after tremor through his weak form. "Tony..." He growls, letting up on one wrist to push a hand underneath his head, pull him up for a kiss. Tony's still whimpering, breathy and constant into Steve's mouth, muscles tensing with overstimulation as Steve pounds into him, finally letting the blinding clenching on his cock finish him off. Tony echoes his groan as Steve explodes, free hand flying back to his neck, clinging so hard that Steve might have some marks of his own tomorrow.

It's a long time before Tony lets go, his grip eventually loosening as he starts to drift off. He stirs a little at the loss when Steve pulls out carefully, lets Tony's legs down and rolls to the side – but it's only enough to sigh, reach up, and pull a pillow under his head.

"Tony." Steve says softly, watching his body go slack with exhaustion. "Tony." He's not going to answer, but at least Steve can say he tried.

Tony'll sleep for half an hour or so, dead to the world, then wake up, ask why Steve didn't make him clean off, and pull him into the shower. And he'll want Steve to fuck him again, because he's spoiled (and Steve spoils him), and he's needy, and he's Tony fucking Stark. Patience, Steve thinks, is a valuable lesson, but some things shouldn't (and will never) change.