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After he hears the sound of the shower turning on in the morning, it takes Tony less than thirty seconds to make it across the room and slip in through the bathroom door. Steve has his back to him. The golden skin of his broad shoulders and firm ass is obscured by frosted glass. It doesn’t matter that Tony tasted and kissed his share of it last night. He wants more. He’s Tony Stark; he’s always going to want more.

Steve turns around in surprised delight when Tony joins him, and he only gives a very quiet mumble of complaint when Tony pushes him back against the cold tiles and then kisses him thoroughly. Tony coaxes Steve’s mouth open and then moans in delight when Steve lets him in, giving him the freedom to explore and to chase every little sound from Steve’s lips.

His hands start to trace over the wet, warm muscles of Steve’s chest and arms. Perfect specimen of humanity. They got that right. He pushes his leg up between Steve’s legs and loves the way that he shivers in response, a frantic groan slipping from his lips. “God, I want to fuck you again,” Tony states: both because it’s true and because it makes Steve swallow in surprise. “Turn around?”

Steve turns around and braces his arms against the tiles near his head, the water flowing over his body. It’s enough of a sight that Tony wants to lean back and leave him to it for a while - but with a view like that in front of him his cock doesn’t want to waste any time.

He pushes inside with little to ease the way, but Steve can take it - Steve can take anything. The water pours over them as Tony pants and works his way into Steve’s hot, tight body, barely able to breathe from the intensity of it: it’s like this every time. He rests his forehead between Steve’s shoulder-blades and hopes that he never gets used to it, to the way that Steve opens up just for him, not for anyone else. He’s not willing to share. When it comes to Steve, he’ll never have to.