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Sharp Dressed Man

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Tony lands on the pad outside the penthouse when Steve’s just finishing with the shower, and Steve wanders out to greet him without even a towel -- not quite out onto the landing pad itself, which is freezing, but through the living room and up to the door.

His lack of body modesty startled Tony when they first began sleeping together -- actually before, when Steve would walk around the gym locker room naked -- but he supposes if he’d gone through what Steve had gone through to get what Steve's got, he’d show off too. Besides, nobody else can see, this high up, except Tony, for whose benefit Steve is always obligingly willing to be naked.

The removal units don't work well with the latest model of suit, so Tony is distinctly not naked. Lately, getting out of the suit has required five to ten minutes and a torque wrench. Still, Steve is clean and undamaged, and the new suit's first trial by fire went well, so all in all, a good day. Combat was light, just a little spatial distortion and a few land-walking sharks from another dimension, nothing the Avengers couldn't handle blindfolded (Clint will be making "candygram" jokes until the end of time). Tony stuck around after to do PR and give the others a chance to escape.

Coming home to wet, naked Steve doesn't hurt.

He pops his facemask and says, "Miss me?" as Steve leans up against the cold outer surface of the armor and kisses him. In the armor, he’s actually an inch taller than Steve. Steve seems to like that sometimes.

"The others are having dinner on the communal floor," Steve says.

"Good, then they won't bug us," Tony replies. Steve leans more weight against the suit, nothing it can't handle, and kisses him again. Steve's usually either so exhausted after a battle he can barely stand, or he wants enough sex to wear them both out; apparently today it's the latter. Tony pins his head in place with a gauntleted hand, kissing deep, and then playfully holding him there when he leans back. Steve tugs a little against the hand holding his head, then stops, eyes darkening.

"Do you suppose you could pin me, with the suit?" he asks, and really, Tony had been expecting a conversation about restraints, but not in a bedroom setting, nor so soon. Not that they're in the bedroom yet, but metaphorically speaking.

"Wanna find out?" Tony asks, matching his grin. Steve presses back, away from him, body arching, and Tony's servos whirr and compress. The whole Iron Man suit shifts a little, but the arm doesn't move. "Might be a close thing. Have to rethink some of my math."

"Not right now," Steve says, pushing back into the armor, mouthing along Tony's neckplates. He doesn't have sensation in the armor, but he can feel pressure, and just knowing Steve is sucking a hickey onto his armor right now --

"Yeah, no, so many more fun things to be doing than math," Tony agrees fervently. "Grab the wrench, let's -- "

"But...you could push me around like this," Steve points out. It's getting a little uncomfortable not being naked, in the codplate anyway, but Tony cocks his head, curious. Steve is practically rubbing up on the armor, and Tony knew he liked it -- the armor is wonderful, everyone likes it -- but this is...different.

He does love an experiment, so he puts one hand on Steve's chest and shoves, gently. Steve staggers back and Tony catches him by the back of his neck with his other hand, holding him in place, like a kitten caught by the scruff. Steve's eyes are deep, deep blue.

It is rare that anyone pushes Steve around anymore, and certainly never someone he knows very well or likes at all. Maybe he wants to give up a little command, or in some way he misses being the little guy. Either way, Tony has absolutely no problem with dominance, and the idea of pinning Steve down has its appeal.

He draws Steve in close until their foreheads are touching, and murmurs, "If you say stop, we stop, no questions, no recrimination."

Steve nods, then when Tony tightens his hand on the back of his neck, says, "I understand. If I say stop, we stop."

"Good boy."

"You too," Steve says carefully, and Tony's heart skips for a second -- Steve's not calling him good, Steve's saying Tony can stop this too, and as much as Tony has enjoyed almost all of the copious sex in his life, very rarely do people give him that permission so explicitly.

"Okay," he agrees, and then guides Steve back a few inches and presses down on the top of his shoulder. Steve resists, straining a little, so Tony lifts his other hand and presses on both shoulders, and Steve drops to his knees. Tony moves one hand to his hair, which is an effective way of controlling Steve much of the time anyway, and Steve fights against it a little to lean forward, face pressed to the codplate. Tony can feel him breathing heavily against the armor for a few seconds.

Subvocally, Tony says, JARVIS, disable all weapons systems in the armor, override code T-Alpha-3577-markham.

Steve doesn't have to know, but Tony does.

Steve has memorized where all the catches on the armor are, an intimacy Tony hadn't expected but felt shockingly okay with; Steve's the only one who knows for sure how to get him out of the armor (though Rhodey could probably manage it in half an hour or so -- most of the sealpoints are intuitive if you pilot your own suit). There are large scales running down the sides of his hips and thighs, and under the third scale on either side is a sunken release screw for the codplate, relatively easy to access. Steve nuzzles the plate itself as he finds the screws, presses thumbs in and twists, and the lower abdomen and upper thighs retract away from the plate slightly as it falls loose. Steve tosses it aside with a clatter.

The undersuit is reinforced with a thick leather patch, not quite as strong as a cup but more flexible, and Steve breathes hot over it, one hand rising to outline the distention where Tony’s somewhat desperate-at-this-point dick is pressing hard against the leather. Steve's fingers find the open seam that Tony built into it for just this kind of situation (well, okay, and for lavatorial emergencies) and tugs the flap to one side. There’s a tearing noise as the undersuit rips open.

Tony tightens his hand in Steve's hair. "You're not even sorry you just did that, are you?"

"You won't be either when it's not strangling your -- nnh!" Steve breaks off sharply as Tony tugs his head back and holds him there, face upturned, and he can only imagine the view from Steve's eyes right now. Possibly it would look a little ridiculous, a grown man in full armor with his erection dangling out, but this suit was designed to be as skintight as possible, lithe and not overbuilt. Potentially he just looks really, really dangerous right now.

"Do not break my suit," Tony growls. Steve shudders, full body, and closes his eyes. "Are you sorry?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," Steve murmurs. Oh, God, this is enough to make him dizzy. Steve licks his lips, eyes opening, and tries to lean forward. Tony holds him for a second, a reminder that he can, and then lets him go, hand sliding around to cup the side of his head as Steve noses against his dick, kisses the bare skin just above it like an apology, and then eases his wet, very warm mouth down around him.

Steve is good at this, no gag reflex and an earnest desire to please, so Tony indulges for a minute or so, letting praise and demands out in equal measure -- Steve likes him to talk during sex, perhaps because Steve still can’t bring himself to a lot of the time -- but his mind is whirring away, working out the logistics of this.

Steve on top won't be very gratifying in terms of what Steve wants from this, and Steve on his hands and knees is never that gratifying for Tony; he likes to see his partner's face. Anyway, the bed probably won’t be that happy with Steve's two hundred and forty pounds of muscle plus a hundred and eighty pounds of Tony plus a hundred and seventy pounds of armor.

The carpeting in the bedroom has the most padding and lowest friction coefficient. Not coincidental, and Tony congratulates himself on forward thinking.

He clamps down on Steve's head, holding him with his cock deep in his mouth just for a second, and then pulls him off. Steve gasps for breath and looks up at him like he’s the best thing he's ever seen.

He rises obediently when Tony guides him up, arms going around the broad shoulder-plates of the armor, and when Tony grabs his ass with both gauntlets and lifts, Steve really doesn't have a choice but to wrap his legs around the hip plates, dick pressed up against the abdominal scales. They kiss as Tony turns them, heading for the bedroom, and Steve’s body twists and writhes as he rubs his hips against the armor. Tony slips a finger down his ass, intending to startle and tease him, but it's already slick and, when he tries, a gauntleted finger pushes easily in.

Steve planned this, that cunning fucker.

In the bedroom, he dumps him on the carpet by the windows and sets one boot next to Steve's thigh, dropping to the other knee between his legs, one hand on his chest, the three-point landing pose. Steve strains up against his hand a little, and Tony's about to start worrying about cracking ribs when Steve relaxes, head tipping back, and murmurs, "Thank you, thank you -- "

Tony hushes him and dips the faceplate down, leaning forward until Steve's face is inches from the helmet. The HUD helpfully feeds him Steve's vitals, along with a constant flashing red bar reminding him that the weaponry is disabled and another that he's lost the codplate. JARVIS, ditch the banners.

They vanish, leaving him with eyeslit visuals of Steve, a heat-sensitive camera feed, and the vitals. It should feel constricting, but Tony likes to work by feel, and he likes watching Steve's heart rate spike when he pushes two thick gauntlet fingers into him. He spreads them, and Steve whines through his teeth, struggling against the hand still pinning him.

"Steve, check in for a second," Tony says.

Steve huffs. "Keep going."

"Enjoying yourself?" Tony inquires, more amused now.

"What do you think I nnnnnnn," Steve manages, because Tony curls his fingers in the middle of his sentence. He pulls free, brushes the tips of the gauntlet up Steve's cock, and then pulls the armor's other leg down so that he's kneeling between Steve's thighs. He lifts the gauntlet pinning him long enough to haul Steve's hips into his lap, and Steve retaliates by bending up from the waist, arms rising in an attempt to wrap around his shoulders again.

The armor is fast, and on Tony's more compulsive days, he thinks it's also more precise and a lot less messy than a human body, even Steve’s enhanced body. He catches Steve's wrists in one hand, bracing his lower back with the other, and pulls them down between them.

"Nuh-uh," he says, shaking his head, and Steve's eyes glint little reflections of gold as the faceplate moves. He raises his hand holding the wrists above their heads, waiting until Steve actively accepts the pose before releasing them, and then eases him backwards again until his shoulders are on the carpet, hips snug against Tony's. Steve's thighs grip the side scales, heels pressing against the bottom of the suit's spine. The HUD says if he grips much harder his knees are going to dent the alloy, which would be impressive.

"Easy," Tony soothes, one hand under Steve's lower back and hip, the other now pressing on his abdomen, bared and vulnerable. He rubs a circle there slowly, and Steve's legs relax a little. "That's it. This isn't your call, is it?"

Steve shakes his head against the carpet, eyes closed. His hands clench and unclench, but his body stays relaxed, exactly as Tony posed him, so Tony rewards him by hitching them closer, pressing inside him. Steve's body rolls in a wave, adjusting, and then he sighs softly.

Kneeling, Tony can't really get that much leverage, but that's okay for now. Every shallow thrust into Steve pushes the plates of the suit up against Steve’s inner thighs. Steve's hands eventually lower to grip his wrists, which Tony allows because it's obviously not a control thing — Steve’s fingers explore every seam and joint of the armor from his knuckles halfway up his arms, aesthetic appreciation at its finest, and anyway Tony can only hold him down on so many points when he's fucking him this way.

Tony has plans, though, and eventually, when he figures Steve has gotten used to this, he locks the legs of the armor in place, bends forward, slides his arms under Steve's shoulders, and lifts just enough to get him off the ground before locking the rest of the suit.

Now Steve is suspended, back held up by the suit's arms, chest pressed to the suit's chest, hips tucked in the fold of Tony's body and legs neatly pinned by the edge of the chestplate and the top of the thigh plates. He twists briefly, and Tony bucks hard into him. All of Steve's breath leaves him at once. He tries twisting the other way and Tony tightens the tension on his legs just a little.

Like this, with Steve suspended and the armor frozen around him, but with most of his midsection free, Tony can do exactly what he wants. He bucks hard, again, and Steve cries out, head dropping back. Steve's heels drum against the armor's spine and his hands scrabble against its shoulderblades. Tony ignores it, pounding into him with all the intensity he restrained earlier, watching in glee as Steve's heart rate and respiration, blood pressure and brain activity all fly upwards. It's like watching the mathematical curve of an orgasm in real time, and Tony shifts one of his arms to the middle of Steve's back so he can release the other one and bring it between them, gripping Steve's cock tightly. Steve tries to thrust into the sweat-slick metal but Tony just holds his cock, one final restraint, and Steve thrashes against the armor.

"You can stop this," Tony says, managing to make it sound conversational, even though he's also gasping for breath, sweat dripping inside the helmet. "Just say stop, Steve, you can make it all stop."

Steve struggles but he doesn't say stop — he breathes Tony's name, two and then three times, and claws desperately at his helmet.

"Let me, please let me," Steve breathes, hips struggling against the weight of Tony's hand. "I need to, Tony -- "

"No," Tony says, and Steve's cry of desperation is like a jolt straight to his brain, pushing him roughly into orgasm. His body locks up inside the suit, and he pops the faceplate purely so he can gasp in fresh air. Steve, wild-eyed, stares up at him desperately, and Tony grins and lets go, fingers stroking up along his cock. Steve comes with a harsh indraw of breath, eyes rolling back in his head. His hands grip down, and there's a creak as the neckplates on the back of the suit dent inward.

Tony presses their foreheads together and kisses him, and then very, very carefully lowers him to the carpet again, sitting back and tugging his helmet off. He can get the catches to the gauntlets off himself, and then retract the upper arms into the shoulders, enough to rest a much gentler hand on Steve’s heaving chest. Steve registers it, covers it with his own hand, and smiles, eyes still closed.

"Well," Tony says, after a few seconds. "That was intense."

"That was great," Steve says. "Thank you."

"Believe me, that was not a hardship, Steve."

Steve shrugs against the carpet, opening his eyes. "I didn't know if you'd like the idea. I thought you might laugh. Or, you know. The suit's a weapon, not a sex toy, I don’t -- "

"If you don't think my cherry-red-and-gold flying suit of armor is just a little bit of a sex toy, you've been fucking the wrong man," Tony answers. Steve sits up, grimacing at the mess on his stomach, and kisses Tony again.

"I wouldn't laugh at you," Tony says, more seriously. "I might not be into something, but I wouldn't laugh."

"Let me clean up and I’ll get the suit off you," Steve says, using Tony's shoulder to lever himself to his feet. Tony stands and removes what parts he can while Steve wets a cloth in the bathroom and cleans himself up. Steve comes back with a torque wrench -- Tony grins at the visual, a naked soldier with a wrench, like something off a great nudie calendar -- and lets Steve release the chestplate, the spine, the backs of the thighs and the boots. He strips out of the undersuit, and Steve sighs at the rip he caused.

"Didn't actually mean to do that," he says. Tony picks up the collarplate and shows it to him. "Oh, my God!"

"You're an animal," Tony informs him, and then starts laughing. Steve takes the dented collarplate ruefully and sits on the bed as Tony digs out a t-shirt and some jeans.

"You coming down to dinner naked?" Tony asks, eyebrow raised. Steve catches the clothes Tony throws at him, setting the metal aside as he dresses too. He takes Tony's hand on their way to the elevator, which is sweet, and also embarrassing.

When they reach the main floor Steve lifts his hand to his mouth, kisses his bare knuckles, and lets him go, slinging an arm around him instead as they walk out into the roaring chaos of an Avengers meal post-triumph.