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Tony has had his fair share of accidents in the bedroom – some of them documented, some of them not, but he’s not about to show you those tapes, thank you very much. He doesn’t really have any particularly gut wrenching stories, per se. No one has died. But there was that one time where that girl – Alexandra? Alexis? – had fallen off the bed and dislocated her shoulder. That had been an adventure. Tony had spent the better half of the night trying to pop it back into place without more crying than necessary. And then there had been the guy from the casino, Jonathan, who had been absolutely, jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but who had also had an actual fucking seizure right as they were getting to the good part. That had been fun. Point is, there’ve been plenty of accidents and mishaps. Tony can laugh about them now, because he’s an adult, and though he’s nowhere near as mature as most people on the bad side of their forties should be, he can handle a little bit of surprise in bed.

He’s been with Steve a long time, almost a year, which is frankly something to be celebrated, Tony thinks. They sleep in the same bed, they live together, and Steve hasn’t been in his room in the tower in ages – Tony’s starting to consider giving it over to Clint to wreak havoc in. He loves Steve, which is not a word he throws around lightly, because he can’t affordto. He’s got a hard outer shell to keep intact.

“I love you,” Steve whispers into his ear the night it happens, when he’s got Tony pushed up against their bedroom door, hands roaming his sides and fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. It’s late – Tony has just wandered out of the workshop, and Steve has just finished watching a movie with the rest of the gang, and they smell like motor oil and buttered popcorn respectively, “God, Tony…”

Steve’s mouth wanders to his neck, and Tony tilts his head back so Steve can nip at the junction between his jaw and his throat. He feels Steve’s teeth scrape along his skin, the burn that they leave behind, the hot rush of blood that floods his body almost instantly.

Tony loves him. Steve is a good man; he is brave, kind, and strong, he is funny without being mean (mostly), and he has this rather dry wit about him that Tony can’t help but encourage. He is an artist, and he is (almost sickeningly) firm about doing the right thing whenever he can. He is simultaneously a mother hen and the least overbearing of all of the team. Tony loves all of these things about Steve; the kindness, the humour, all the things that make him Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

Steve slots his hips between Tony’s and grinds them together, and Tony can’t help the groan that wrenches its way from the back of his throat.

All right. Okay. So all other things aside, this might be the thing he loves best about Steve – but don’t tell anyone.

Still half-dressed, Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and hoists him up easily. Tony tangles his legs around Steve’s middle to help him with the weight, even though he knows it’s not help that he needs. Tony is small, compact, even, but he’s not light. He can feel the coolness of the door against his back as Steve pushes him into it, capturing his lips in a kiss that is more wandering tongue and scraping teeth than anything.

“Oh, Steve,” Tony gasps against his lips when they part, carding a hand through short blond hair, “The things you do to me.”

He says it and regrets it, because it sounds ridiculous and sentimental, two things that Tony prides himself on not being, but it seems to work wonders for Steve, who jerks a little and lets out a strangled moan.

They fall into the centre of Tony’s – their – large, luxurious bed, with its silk sheets and downy soft blankets, a tangle of limbs and restrictive clothing. Steve fumbles with Tony’s shirt and pants, peeling them off of him and tossing them messily onto the floor beside them. When they’re both lying there, flush and naked and panting, Steve looks down at him reverently, like he’s something to be worshipped, and Tony actually blushes.

“What?” He asks, and he knows the answer will just embarrass him further, so he rocks his hips up to stop Steve from speaking.

“Tony…”

Steve runs his hands down Tony’s sides, palms warm and sending goose bumps down his arms and the back of his neck. He slides down his body until he fits nicely between Tony’s thighs, pressing kisses to the tender skin on the insides of them, and god, being like this with Steve is so different from any of the other people he’s taken to his bed. Tony tosses the half-empty bottle of lube from the nightstand down to Steve with little regard for where it lands, waiting only for the feel of his fingers, cold and slick, pressing against him gently.

He loves this, more than anything. The feeling right before Steve is inside of him, the pressure against his opening, the electricity that jolts along his nerve endings, making him shiver and shake against his will. It’s like nothing else he’s ever known, and Tony has felt many things in his life.

A finger slides inside of him, slowly at first, and then faster, deeper. Tony rocks his hips down against it, feeling the drag of it inside of him, that pleasant friction that just makes him want more, and he tells Steve just that. There’s a few more minutes before he gets what he wants, but Steve eventually sneaks another finger into him, scissoring them and curling them so that they touch places that make Tony’s legs tremble.

“Oh, Steve,” he murmurs, voice muted. Tony tosses his arm over his eyes, content to cover his face and focus on the sensations running through him, “Oh. More, please, Steve, I—”

The fingers slip out of him, and for a moment, Tony feels like he’s just been robbed, like he’s missing an integral part of himself. He whines, a keening, high-pitched sound, and Steve rolls his eyes so hard that Tony’s sure they’re going to fall out of his head.

“I love you,” Steve says again, leaning down to kiss him. Steve’s lips are soft and pink, nothing like Tony’s, chapped and red and kiss bruised, “So much, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, and his dismissal is less of an actual dismissal and more of a plea for more, “You too. Please fuck me.”

Steve laughs, actually laughs, which Tony isn’t sure annoys him or makes his heart flutter. He can be demanding at the best of times, and Steve’s favorite game is to see how long he can draw things out, how long it takes before Tony actually begs. Tony doesn’t like this game. Steve doesn’t much care.

He’s on his back, so he can see Steve as he reaches for the lube to slick up his cock, quick, harsh strokes up his length, and the sight is so teasing that Tony can’t help but wrap a hand around his own dick and treat himself to a few slow, languid pumps.

“Quit it,” Steve swats his hand away, holding it down with the one he’s not prepping himself with. He leans back down and kisses Tony’s jaw, nibble on his earlobe. When he speaks next, the words send shivers down Tony’s spine, “I want to hear the way you sound when I’m inside you.”

Sometimes, Steve can talk dirty with the best of them. Tony likes those days in particular.

The first press of Steve’s cock inside of him wrenches a moan from the back of his throat, raw and rough and broken, and Tony pushes back down against Steve, reveling in the stretch and burn that accompanies the thrust. Steve bottoms out eventually, settled inside of Tony as deeply as he can be, and Tony pants below him, breathless and wanting and shaking.

“Come on,” Tony says, looking for air that isn’t coming, “Don’t leave a guy hanging.”

Steve laughs, and grips Tony’s hips.

It’s all going well. Really well, even. Steve is still, waiting for Tony to adjust, but he’s shaking with the effort of not moving, settled nicely between Tony’s legs. Tony is flushed, his head pushed back onto the pillows, panting and gasping, keening a little bit, and Steve is pretty sure that’s mostly for show, but it’s a nice ego boost anyway.

As far as sex goes, it’s great. A good experience for everyone involved. Steve brings his hands away from Tony’s hips and brings them up to his ribs, running them down his sides again, but this time with the tips of his fingers, light, gentle, featherlike touches.

Tony squeals. It startles both of them so much that Tony jerks away, twisting himself away, and Steve retracts his hands like he’s been burned, afraid that he’s hurt him somehow.

“What happen—”

Nothing,” Tony insists, shaking his head and turning back so he’s lying flat on his back, “Nothing, not a thing, it’s fine, please fuck me Steve.”

Steve does not comply. Instead, he looks down at Tony with narrowed eyes and runs his hands back up in the same fashion, then back down against Tony’s ribs. He squeals again, and this time it’s accompanied by choked laughter. Tony twists away, and Steve is still inside him, even now, feeling the way Tony clenches around him. It’s enough to make him want to moan, but he doesn’t, because Tony is—

“Are you ticklish?” Steve says, astonished, because they’ve been together for almost a year and this is something he feels like he should have known. He can tell that his eyes are wide and full of something that he doesn’t want to admit might be delight.

“Nope,” Tony says, entirely too quickly, “No, I am not, and I would really like to keep going here if that’s okay? Unless you want me to go to bed unsatisfied, which I know goes against all of your scrupulous morals, so come on, soldier.”

Steve looks at him, level and with no expression on his face. The delight has left his eyes and he’s just looking now, watching Tony and wondering what move to make next. Tony looks back, but he’s not exactly good at deadpanning, and he’s sure he just looks very hopeful.

“Steve?”

He thinks he might get away without having to explain this, because Steve grabs Tony’s hips again, rubs his thumbs along the lines of his hipbones gently. Tony closes his eyes and waits.

Steve eases out of him, slowly, so much so that at first Tony doesn’t even know he’s gone until he feels the emptiness, the way he feels unsatisfied and incomplete. His eyes flash open and the look he gives Steve is positively scandalized.

“Whoa, wait, what are you doing?” He asks, scrambling for Steve. He’s still above him, blond hair mussed and out of place, eyes blown black with lust, “No, seriously, why are we stopping?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just put his hands under Tony’s ribs and goes to town. There’s a lot of kicking and screaming at first, and frankly, beyond his pained laughter and shrieking, Tony is more than a little offended. Steve’s fingers find their way up and down his body, tickling and oh my god Tony is going to kill him when he’s regained all of his faculties.

“Steve!” He manages, kicking Steve in the shin so hard that he’s sure it will bruise for a couple hours. He’s laughing, and he’s not sure if he actually means it or not because really, the whole situation is kind of funny but also he is furious, and there’s a lot of emotions happening right now and Tony is terrible at processing, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop!

He doesn’t, but he does ease up a little to make sure he’s not hurting Tony, which he isn’t – Tony’s mostly just whining because this is not what he had expected when Steve had pushed him against the wall and stripped his clothes off.

“I cannot believe,” Steve starts, grinning like the Cheshire cat, “that you didn’t tell me you were ticklish. How could I not have known?”

Tony tries to answer him between bouts of laughing and squirming, “I don’t make – Steve! Jesus fucking – it a point to tell people – st-ah-ah-p it! – my weaknesses.”

He really hopes Steve plans on letting up soon because surprising as it sounds, Tony is still hard, and he really wants to have sex, and if Steve doesn’t stop tickling him he is going to pee on everything he loves.

“Quit it! Mercy, uncle, whatever, oh my god stop tickling me,” He gets the words out all in one go and bursts into giggles again, and suddenly Steve stops and rolls over onto his back.

Tony doesn’t think he’s ever felt relief like that before – in some ways, this is even more satisfying than waking up on the broken streets of New York and realizing he was still alive. This is instant gratification, immediate relief, and he looks over at Steve as he tries to control his breathing.

“I cannot believe you,” he starts, gasping, “You are terrible, all I wanted to do was have sex, this is literally worse than the time that guy – what the fuck was his name, Adam? Whatever, this was worse than the time he gave himself a concussion trying to take my shirt off, you are a disaster, why am I sleeping with—”

Steve rolls onto his side and kisses Tony, cutting him off swiftly and effectively. Tony moans into the kiss, muffled by Steve’s lips, and the spark there sends an interesting wave of pleasure south.

“That was great,” Steve says, and he sounds sated, like this was some kind of activity better than an inevitably mind blowing orgasm, and that does not sit well with Tony at all, “You are incredible.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you don’t think you’re getting out of this without thoroughly fucking me, Captain,” Tony says, making his voice sultry and silky, and Steve cannot ignore Tony’s use of his rank, “I think I deserve it, frankly, for that torture.”

Steve thinks about it. The room is quiet save for their breathing.

“Hey, Tony?” He says tentatively, propping himself up on his side to see Tony’s face. Tony rolls his eyes towards Steve and eyes him curiously.

“The next thing out of your mouth better be you asking me where the lube fell.”

“I knew I’d get you to scream my name tonight.” Steve says it smugly, so smugly that Tony is immediately reminded of Steve’s terribly dry wit, the sense of humour he fell in love with.

He rolls out of bed, naked, cock still hard and curving up towards his belly. Tony stands there at the end of the bed, looking down at Steve scornfully before he retreats towards the bathroom. Steve bursts into laughter, the silly sounding giggles that Tony usually finds contagious but can’t be bothered to reciprocate, because fuck you Steve, Tony had not wanted for his sexual escapades to end up being a solo affair tonight.

“Aw, Tony,” Steve says between laughs, “Come on. Come back!”

“I’m going to go finish myself off in the shower,” he says, and he’s not mad, but he can’t let Steve know that, “Keep your tickling hands to yourself! That’s got to be some kind of crime, really.”

In the bedroom, Steve laughs again, “Come on, baby. I’ll let you pick the position.”

Okay, so Tony is a superhero, but god help him, he is a weak, weak man, and Steve is easily the most tempting thing that Tony has in his life. He peeks his head out of the bathroom door and catches Steve’s eyes.

“If you touch me, I will kick you out of bed forever. You hear me?”

Steve laughs, “Pinky promise, spoil sport.”