Tossing the papers to the side, Tony rubs his fingers over his agitated eyes. It’s bordering on insane the amount of paper work Pepper has forced on him since he became one of the Avengers and he hardly has time to just sit down and relax, what with all the schematics to look over, the ideals for the company’s new direction, and the possible hundreds of applicants into the new Tony Stark Apprenticeship Program. He’s about thirty two percent certain he is on his way to being clinically insane.
Technically, he should be asleep right about now, had been sleeping well the last few months all things considered, but Steve hasn’t come down to bother him and Tony hasn’t quite mustered up the courage to ask. He pushes his palms against his eyes until he sees stronger flashes of numbers and releases them. The clock ticks in tandem with the arc reactor and he sighs. It’s way too late for him to be up, but there’s a buzz in the back of his head that has nothing to do with caffeine. His fingers twitch and he suddenly realizes he wants to hit something, just go, go, go, until the numbers are a blur inside his head and the calculations are humming along with every hit he lands.
He hauls himself to his feet, groaning at the pain in his knee and the lingering throb in his back. He stretches, enjoys the pop and release of his spine before he makes his way to the kitchen, scratching at his chest. He wonders if he should grab another work out shirt, realizes the three shirts he’s already wearing can be discarded depending on his workout regime, especially at three in the morning, and grabs a water bottle. Might as well work out till he’s ready to drop.
The downstairs gym is set up to house any type of destructive force, including that of a Norse God or the Hulk. Tony has created an ever shifting set of panels that allow for different scenarios to occur, so that Clint can explode as many arrows as he wants, so Steve can bash that shield of his and not worry about damaging Tony’s home. Tony has also created a program for both him and Iron Man; his usually pertains to beating the crap out of a sandbag, numbers dancing around the edge of his fist with each cross and strike.
The lights flicker on as he descends the stairs, a dull light that Tony doesn’t acknowledge as he stretches out an arm. The numbers hum and bounce around in his head, and he wants to get his hands on that new bot he created, the one that moves and learns from Tony’s motions. He scratches at the arc reactor, wonders absently about modifications he could implement, and enters the gym.
He doesn’t notice he’s not alone until he hears the slip-slide of feet against the mat and he jumps back, hand held out in a familiar repulsor blast, but when he realizes it’s just Steve, he lets his guard down. And then he realizes it’s Steve and, holy shit, he wasn’t prepared.
Steve is stretched out in front of him, loose pants hanging off his hips and no shirt to speak of. A thin sheen of sweat catches in the soft light and Tony swallows hard, stumbling back another few steps. Steve doesn’t acknowledge him, just moves from one stretch to another, fluid, like water, and Tony doesn’t quite know how to take that.
It’s at this point that his brain gives him a swift kick and shows him the possible styles that the good Captain is using for his exercise and Tony realizes it’s yoga. Steve is doing yoga. That information is almost too much for Tony to handle as Steve stretches forward and down, back a straight line and ass in the air. Tony chokes on nothing.
Steve stands up again, reaches out, breathes in and opens his eyes. He grins at Tony, something open and flirty, and Tony shakily smiles back. Steve shifts his stance, smooth and easy, twisting to the side and dropping one leg. He reaches, pulls back, and it’s like watching someone dance. Tony feels an itch beneath his skin, something that asks him to join in, but instead he stays stock still, trapped as if in a fantasy. Steve stands again and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re welcome to join,” he says. Tony bites his tongue.
“I’d – well, I’ve never done yoga before? I mean, it looks ridiculously complex not to mention the amount of strain that puts on your lower back and have you seen what happens to me after battles? Lower back issues, all for me.” Tony stops, looks away, and tries for a smile. “I have a punch bag I can go to town on so just.” He waves a hand.
Steve is frowning at him. “You’ve never done yoga?”
“Yeah, not so much, no.”
“I’ve heard it’s the thing to do, nowadays.” Steve is moving toward him now, mouth still quirked in that strange semblance of smile that Tony is beginning to classify as slightly predatory. A shirtless Steve is a dangerous Steve, especially around Tony, and Tony still isn’t sure if he’s allowed to instigate touch, now that they have this odd thing going on between them, a thing that stems from sleeplessness and sex and Tony’s ridiculous feelings.
He gets distracted when Steve grabs his wrists, pulling him back and toward the center of the gym. Tony follows only because Steve is holding onto him, and anytime Steve touches him it’s like his brain short circuits. They stop moving, Steve stepping forward into Tony’s space again and he taps at Tony’s ribs.
“You’re wearing too many shirts for yoga. You’ll overheat and that’s not how I want this to end, really.” Steve grins.
“Well, I don’t want to rain on your parade,” Tony says back, mouth on autopilot while the rest of his mind dissects every little nuance of that sentence and if Steve really means what Tony thinks he means, then this might be fun.
When Tony’s finished struggling off the other two shirts, leaving himself in just a normal black tank, the arc reactor a faint glow in the room, Steve steps behind him and reaches out to grab his wrists again. Tony shivers, resisting the urge to lean back into Steve’s warmth, and allows Steve to guide him into the first pose, their movements bringing them together and then further apart.
By the time half an hour has gone by, Tony’s shirt is sticking to his chest and back and he can feel every brush of heat coming from Steve behind him. Steve’s hands are warm on his wrists, slickened by sweat, and Tony kind of wants to see what would happen if he messed up one of the poses, actually got up and personal in Steve’s space. He bites at his lip and falters in the next set of movements. He bends forward, forcing Steve to follow him, and god, Steve is up all along his back, half-hard cock pressed heavy against Tony’s ass, and Tony can’t stop the shudder.
Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat, gripping Tony’s wrists tight and he jerks them both upright. Tony breathes out a stutter when he feels lips on his neck, a sharp bite against his skin, and Tony’s world goes a little fuzzy around the edges.
“You did that pose three times before, Tony. What made you fumble this time?” Steve asks, breath warm against Tony’s ear and Tony can’t help but grin.
“Not sure, Cap. You just weren’t showing me it right this time.”
“Tease,” Steve murmurs against his ear, tongue careful against the cartilage. Tony shudders, starts fighting the hold Steve has on his wrists.
And then Steve spins him, catches his mouth in a fierce kiss that wipes the formulas from behind his eyes. Tony groans into the kiss, still tugging at Steve’s hold, but Steve doesn’t relent, just presses further into him, keeping Tony balanced with just his hands on Tony’s wrists and Tony bites at his lips, sucks on his tongue, and Steve pulls back with a soft moan.
“This isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing.” Steve holds Tony back with too much ease and Tony just wants to get his lips on Steve, maybe his hands, maybe his entire body, and this would be so much easier if Steve wasn’t holding him back.
“I beg to differ. Unless you have some interesting yoga poses that include you fucking me, this is exactly what we should be doing,” Tony says. Steve’s ears flush red, but his smile turns filthy.
“There are a few that could lead there, yeah.”
“Seriously?” Tony blinks at him as Steve releases him and points to the floor. Tony is a little shell shocked, a lot turned on, and he sits on the ground. He watches, curious, as Steve kneels in front of him, shudders when Steve drags his hands up Tony’s thighs and catches at Tony’s hips. He digs in his fingers, light, and Tony spreads his legs to accommodate Steve’s bulk. He watches as Steve rearranges his legs, shifting him around until he’s almost doing the goddamn splits, and the burn is something he’s never felt before. He breathes out when Steve does, watching Steve brush fingers against the inside of his thigh again, this time with a much clearer intent.
“There are a number of poses in yoga that can lead to sex,” Steve says, leaning close. He brushes his lips over Tony’s nose and Tony glares at him. “This one for instance –”
“Don’t care,” Tony says, grabbing the back of Steve’s neck and hauling him forward into a desperate kiss. Steve responds, taking control of the kiss before Tony can react, and Tony surrenders to it easy. Steve sucks at his tongue, taps his fingers down over Tony’s ribs, and then hauls Tony’s shirt up and off.
Tony keeps his fingers in Steve’s hair, dragging his hands against the grain and relishing in the short groan Steve gives him before they’re kissing again. It’s faster than before, their mouths clashing together in something bordering on painful. Tony whimpers, tugging at Steve until they’re laid out on the ground, Tony’s legs burning from keeping up the yoga pose.
Steve keeps their mouths locked together, distracting Tony with teeth and tongue and suddenly Steve’s hand is in Tony’s pants, fingers tight around his cock and Tony shouts into the kiss, body arching as he kisses harder, almost frantic. Steve keeps his pace slow, tight and thorough strokes, and Tony is trying to ignore the numbers behind his eyes that inform him he has fifteen seconds till he comes.
Pulling away almost kills him, but Tony manages, getting sidetracked when Steve goes for his neck, sucking bruises where he knows the collar won’t hide. Tony’s past caring. There was a point here.
“Steve, Steve, fuck, your hand,” Tony pants, “I’m going to come in ten seconds if you don’t – ah, ah – take away your hand.”
“Good,” Steve says, licking a stripe up Tony’s neck to his ear. “Maybe I want you to come first.”
“Unfair,” Tony groans. “No, no, stop.”
Steve heeds his request, but slowly, like he’s waiting for Tony to change his mind. The pace stills to nothing and Tony groans, tossing his head back. The numbers mock him behind his eyes and he breathes out sharp. Steve sits back and hauls off Tony’s sweats, pushing him back into the yoga pose that Tony is beginning to get used to, and moves forward to kiss him again.
Tony arches his back, hauling Steve closer and relishing in the contact. Steve sucks at his lip, keeps him distracted with the sharp bite of teeth, and it becomes too much, too much sensory input that Tony has to pull away to gasp into the open gym air. Steve grinds against him, soft cotton hard against Tony’s cock, and Tony fights to get Steve’s pants off, bucking up in hopes of reaching down. Steve pins him easy, and Tony can’t bite back the groan.
There’s a tear of fabric and suddenly everything is so much better. Tony whines, low in his throat, fingers scrambling at the slick mats for purchase because Steve is everywhere, bearing down on him and keeping him pinned in the most delicious way. Tony switches tactics, licks a line up Steve’s throat and digs his fingers into his hair, groaning when Steve’s breath catches.
“You’re insatiable,” Steve breathes into his ear and Tony grins.
“Wasn’t sure if you were up for it – ah, there, yeah – tonight,” Tony says, his thighs shaking from keeping the position. Their cocks slide together and Tony tightens his fingers in Steve’s hair. “Come on, Steve, harder.”
Steve bites at his ear, grinding down hard, and Tony retaliates with a sharp nip against Steve’s throat. Steve pulls back, then, reaching for his pants and pulling out a thin tube of lube. Tony grins at him, stroking lazily at his cock as Steve slicks up his fingers. He strokes harder when Steve circles his hole, thrusting his hips back in hopes of Steve hurrying the fuck up. Steve catches his gaze and then moves, lightning fast, catching up Tony’s wrists in one hand and pining them above his head. Tony arches in surprise and Steve pushes two fingers in, all in one go.
It’s electric, almost too much, and Tony writhes, trying to get away from the sensation of Steve rubbing mercilessly at his prostate and the feeling of Steve’s fingers tight around his wrists, keeping him in one place.
“Fuck, fuck, ah, Steve, please, come on, I’m ready,” Tony pants, but Steve ignores him, adds another finger, and kisses at the skin around the arc reactor. Tony gasps, sensitivity charts stalling behind his eyes, and he wants so badly for Steve to kiss him, to feel Steve blanket him and god, he wants Steve’s cock, now. He fights against the hands holding him pinned, fights by wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and grinding down, and Steve circles a nipple with his tongue, bites at the skin near the top of the arc reactor, and Tony is almost blind with want, body a hot wire.
“If you don’t – ah – if you don’t fuck me now,” Tony starts and Steve pulls his fingers out and replaces it with his cock, quick and with no build up and Tony tapers down a wail. He’s about three seconds from coming, arching hard, and Steve is merciless, doesn’t allow him time to adjust and just keeps shoving in and out, lips caught at the skin on Tony’s collarbone and fingers leaving bruises against Tony’s wrist.
“Do you have any idea,” Steve starts, bites at his throat, thrusts hard. Tony tries to pay attention. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? The noises you make? The way you move?”
Tony jerks against him, a whimper caught in his throat as Steve thrusts harder, deeper, grabbing under Tony’s knee and pushing it up and out. Tony throws his head back, teeth catching on his bottom lip and he wants to reach for his cock, wants to jerk himself off, but Steve still hasn’t released his wrists and a small part of Tony really wants to come from just Steve’s cock, from having Steve all around him, in him, with him. He sucks in a desperate breath when Steve shoves into him and stays.
“Oh, no, no, Steve, why are you doing that, don’t stop,” Tony pants, twisting. Steve just watches him, breath coming in sharp bursts, staccato and brilliant. He presses his lips against Tony’s throat, scraping with his teeth. Tony tries to buck, tries to get any leverage, but Steve is bearing down on him, pinning him with his weight and his cock and his strength and oh, Tony can’t. He can’t catch the loud moan before it leaves him and Steve reacts.
He drives into Tony, sharp, almost vicious movements, and Tony wails, his body shaking apart without his consent. He tests Steve’s hold, but Steve doesn’t relent, doesn’t allow Tony any leeway, and Tony comes, numbers blurring together behind his eyes into a black mess of nonsense and Steve. He’s shaking still even as Steve continues to thrust into him, his movements turning jerky and Tony shudders when Steve comes, flexing his fingers in hopes that Steve will let him go. Steve breathes out against Tony’s ear and Tony sighs, knowing his body can’t react that fast but he wants it to.
Sucking in a breath, Tony says, “Was that how you wanted the night to end?”
Steve laughs against his throat. “If you hadn’t ruined that last pose, I think I could’ve survived long enough to get back to our room.”
There’s warmth in Tony’s chest at Steve’s possessive tone and he grins, unabashed. “I regret nothing.”
Steve shifts, just enough to brush against Tony’s prostate and it surprises a groan out of him, deep and wanton, and Steve stills. He lifts his head, catches Tony’s gaze and Tony can feel Steve hardening inside of him and shit, that’s way too hot to be ignored. Tony lifts his hips and Steve’s breath stutters in his chest.
“Think I can ‘screw up’ some other poses as well?” Tony’s head falls back when Steve begins rotating his hips. “Because I’m all aboard that plan. It is a good plan. Watch.”
“You are just,” Steve starts, releasing Tony’s wrists. Immediately, Tony loops them around Steve’s neck, tugging him close. He grins, tapping Steve’s nose with his own.
“Round two, baby. Go.”