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I'll make you feel pure

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“Like what you see?” Tony asked, gesturing down at his naked form with one hand as he offered his wrist to Steve. The leather cuffs—sturdy, with metal under the leather and metal rings on them—already encircled his ankles, and his eyes had a wideness to them Steve recognized, one that made the whites stand out against his irises and the darkness of his eyelashes. He could feel the adrenaline shaking through Tony, under his skin, even as he fastened the cuff around his wrist and moved onto the next, see those minute shivers under the skin of his naked body. Tony grinned crookedly at him. “I mean, I know you’ve seen it all before, but I was thinking there might still be kind of a thrill.”

 

“I definitely still like what I see, Tony,” Steve said, and smiled at him, shaking his head at the thought that he wouldn’t before he finished with the second cuff.  There was definitely a thrill, no question about that.  He figured there always would be, no matter how many times he saw Tony naked.  “There,” he said. “All set?”

 

Tony took a deep breath, and blew it back out, wetting his lips with his tongue.  He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.  “You bet,” he said.

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.  “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

 

“Well, I’m all ready now,” Tony said, twitching his wrists up and waving his hands a bit as if to remind Steve what he’d just finished doing.  “Can’t leave a guy hanging.”

 

“Just making sure,” Steve told him. “I’m fine if you want to do something else.  And if you need this to stop at any time—”

 

“I remember how to safeword, yes, honey,” Tony said, making it sound like Steve was being ridiculous.

 

But Tony’s safety wasn’t ridiculous, and however he treated it himself, Steve was going to remember that, even if he couldn’t. Tony had . . . trouble with his boundaries, which had become pretty clear a few of the times they’d done this—not just problems telling Steve when they hit up against one, but even telling him where they were in the first place.  Even, sometimes, Steve suspected, knowing where they were, himself.  So when they were like this, it fell to Steve more than ever, even more than it did for anyone taking the dominant position, to keep Tony safe. Despite himself, at times.

 

Steve was fine with that.  More than fine with that.  Sometimes he figured that was the whole point.

 

“Good,” Steve said.  He reached for the blindfold, picked it up, holding it where Tony could see, and watched his eyes widen as he stilled, breathed out through his nose.  He gave it a minute, watched Tony get his breath back under control, shift his stance, lift his chin again and breath evenly.  “Are you ready?” he asked.

 

“Ready and willing,” Tony said, and took a deep breath, closed his eyes and stood still as Steve wrapped the padded blindfold around his eyes, making certain it covered them entirely and buckling it at the back of his head, being careful of his hair.  Tony sucked in his breath, but stayed very still, even as muscles jumped in his jaw, worked in his throat.  Steve touched his fingers to Tony’s cheek, traced them down along his beard, then brushed his thumb over his lips, just to watch them part, purse slightly to press a kiss against the pad of Steve’s thumb.  He’d known he would do that; he almost always did, and it made something warm and tight twist together in Steve’s stomach at the sweetness of it, every single time.

 

He gave it another minute, just resting his thumb against Tony’s lips, rubbing it back and forth a little, before he drew it away and dropped his hands onto Tony’s bare shoulders.  Tony startled a little, drew in another breath, a bit sharply, so Steve gave him a second.  “Kneel,” Steve said after Tony blew the breath out again.

 

“Jumping straight to the kinky stuff, I see,” Tony said, with a crooked little smile.

 

“Don’t argue with me, buster,” Steve said. “Just kneel.”

 

“I wasn’t arguing,” Tony said, but he did kneel, obediently, at Steve’s feet.  “I was making a sarcastic observation.”

 

“Tony,” Steve said.

 

“No talking back,” Tony said, still grinning a little, smirking.  “Right.” But Steve could still see those tremors under his skin, his shoulders almost rigidly square, and his hands weren’t quite flat on his thighs.

 

“You are supposed to be following orders,” Steve said, smiling a little at how difficult Tony was being.  He was always a little touchy when they started out, a little restless.  It was hard for him to settle.

 

“Sir,” Tony said, “yes, sir.” It was hard to tell whether his quiet tone was sarcastic or not.

 

“Just close your eyes,” Steve tried, and took a deep breath, “and trust me.  You know how this is going to go.  Remember what we agreed.  I’ll make you work for it, but I won’t hurt you.”

 

“In any way I don’t want,” Tony muttered, and his hands really were curled in against his thighs now, his head ducked forward a little, but Steve wasn’t going to mention it.

 

He took a deep breath.  Thinking about hurting Tony still . . . it made something anxious in his stomach knot up with shaky little flutters.  “Right,” he said.  “That’s the deal.”

 

“So how will you know if my eyes are closed?” Tony asked, smirking a little.

 

“Tony, c’mon,” Steve said.

 

Tony blew his breath out.  “Right,” he said.  “It’s . . . it’s a deal.”

 

“Are you going to be good?” Steve asked.

 

“No promises,” Tony muttered, but it sounded heavy rather than sarcastic, and his head was still ducked downward.

 

“You’ll get there,” Steve said, his chest twisting a little again at that, because he knew Tony, knew that meant he intended to try, just had no faith himself.  And honestly, that was the biggest problem every time they did this. Tony got in his own way, Steve thought, (though it wasn’t like he was entirely exempt from that problem, either). A little faith in him helped with that, though.  And Steve had that faith in him.  Of course he did. How could he not? “I know you will. Get on your hands and knees.”

 

He watched as Tony obeyed—even sightless, he moved with a kind of easy grace, and watching his naked form was . . . it was something, with him braced on his hands and knees, blindfolded and with leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. 

 

“I’m going to go into the bedroom,” Steve told him after a moment, when Tony’s shoulders were starting to tense and square up again, though he remained still, holding the position on his hands and knees, head down.  “You’re going to follow me. Don’t stand up.”

 

“You want me to crawl?” Tony asked, his head coming up. He sounded a little breathless.

 

“You’re a smart guy,” Steve said. “You figure it out.” He opened the door and walked into his bedroom, looking back at Tony to keep an eye on him but not stopping until he could lean against the foot of the bed, where he bent to take off his boots and socks, not taking his eyes off Tony.  Tony stayed where he was for a moment, then started forward, moving somewhat hesitantly with the blindfold on, though not so slowly it was obvious.  Just watching him move, from the tousled hair falling over his forehead, the muscles of his shoulders and back and the curve of his ass, to the way the movements shifted his cock between his legs, kept Steve looking at him, unable to tear his gaze away, and free to look without giving away his game or betraying his role in this, since he knew Tony wasn’t quite certain where he was or what he was doing, that he couldn’t see him.  Tony kept up a steady pace, didn’t stop moving until his hand slipped forward against the floor and brushed Steve’s foot.

 

“Steve?” he said, closing his palm over the top of his foot and looking up at him as if to ask for confirmation.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.  He didn’t say anything about Tony’s hand, still clasped over his foot, since he didn’t mind if Tony touched him to steady himself—honestly, he really liked it, wished he would more often, though that didn’t really come into what they were doing here.  He felt the urge to praise him, to tell him he’d done well, especially after the jitters, the tension, he’d seen in him just before this, but they’d just gotten started, and after Tony’s wise guy remarks, he hadn’t really earned praise yet. Steve knew he wouldn’t expect it; it would throw him out of what they were doing.  “So now you know where I am,” he said.  “Get my pants off.”

 

Tony sucked in his breath, swallowed, but he didn’t hesitate, just reached up, skimming his hands lightly, barely touching, over Steve’s slacks, until he reached the top button. He brought his fingers down the inseam of the fly, as if making certain he knew the relative positions of everything, and Steve crossed his arms across his chest, fought the urge to shiver as the movement brushed the backs of Tony’s fingers against his cock through the layers of fabric.  Tony undid the buttons and unzipped the zipper, then hesitated, his fingers barely resting against Steve’s briefs, tilting his head back to look up at him.

 

“Underwear, too,” Steve ordered, swallowing to keep his voice even, and Tony nodded a little, as if to himself, and hooked his fingers in the waistband, scooting back and drawing both sets of pants down over Steve’s thighs, being certain to carefully free Steve’s cock with one hand.  He got them down past Steve’s knees to his shins, and Steve stepped out of them, took them out of Tony’s hands to fold up and set aside on a nearby chair, following them with his shirt and undershirt.  Tony moved as if to follow him, then subsided, bowing his head again, bracing his hands against the bed, then the floor, then shifting one to fiddle with the cuff on one wrist restlessly.

 

Steve laid his hand on Tony’s shoulder on the way back toward the bed, skimmed it lightly up toward the back of his neck, and Tony sighed, and his hand dropped, loose, down against his thigh. He didn’t turn toward Steve, but his chin jerked as if he wanted to.  His shoulders eased a little, relaxing.

 

“Do you want to suck me?” Steve asked. He still felt a little strange saying things like that out loud sometimes, but it was worth it, to see Tony’s reaction, and how else was he going to tell him what he wanted him to do?

 

Tony licked his bottom lip, took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said, and he couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice, the impatience.  He shifted a little, on his heels, and he looked as if he wasn’t quite sure if that had been the answer Steve had wanted but wasn’t about to keep it back even so, cocky eagerness and anxious uncertainty warring with each other in his body language.  Steve was proud of him for that, because the first time they’d done something like this and he’d asked a question like that, Tony had instantly leaned forward to search out his cock, put his mouth on him, like he would have normally, outside of a scene like this, instead of giving Steve an answer, and so Steve hadn’t let him actually do it.  Part of the reason they did this sort of thing was to push Tony, and it was hard for him not to instantly jump ahead to what he thought Steve wanted, always trying new things and thinking of the next amazing thing to do for him, the next thing he thought he’d like. It was much more difficult for him to sit and wait for orders, which was why that was part of their rules.

 

But Steve still didn’t say anything, because it was still too soon, he figured, and he didn’t want Tony to balk at praise he didn’t feel like he deserved before they really got started, either. “Then you can go right ahead,” he said instead.  He reached up, curved his fingers underneath Tony’s jaw, cupping his palm against the side of it and tangling his fingers in the tousled dark hair (almost too short to curl, but there were still little hints of that waviness under Steve’s fingers) just beneath the band of the blindfold, taking his own cock in his other hand as he pulled Tony forward.  Tony went eagerly, opening his mouth as if in waiting instead of simply letting himself be passively guided, licking a stripe up along Steve’s cock as soon as he guided the head between Tony’s lips.  Steve didn’t stop him, just took a deep breath and let Tony lick and suck at the head as much as he wanted, his fingers tightening in Tony’s hair at the wet velvety heat of his mouth, eager and not quite sloppy over Steve’s cock. Tony moaned just a little at that pull, opened his mouth further and sucked, hollowing out his cheeks.

 

As many times as they had done it, Steve couldn’t get over how much Tony loved to give oral sex.  He acted more like Steve was doing something for him rather than the other way around whenever he did, moaning back in his throat, sensual and focused entirely on the task, his eyes rolling back in his head or slipping closed when Steve could see them, his lashes fluttering.  He would get sweaty, hot and needy, rock back on his heels as his cock hardened between his legs without even a touch, which he rarely bothered with, like he didn’t even care if he came as long as he got to suck Steve off. Steve knew from experience, though, that even if he provided no other stimulation at all aside from his voice and his hand in Tony’s hair that Tony could get himself to climax just from sucking Steve’s cock, at least, more than half the time.  Steve thought it had to be one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen.  Tony was one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen, and his sensuality, the easy sexuality he exuded and the way he could be so casual about something like being naked in front of Steve one moment, entirely focused on him like he was some kind of vital problem he needed to solve or a piece of armor on his workbench the next, would never cease to be incredible to him—the determination he brought to things like this.  Even when they were difficult for him.

 

He let his fingers card through Tony’s hair, then closed them into a fist again, controlling how far down he could sink on Steve’s cock, pulling him back as he tried to push himself down lower, even as the slick heat of Tony’s mouth made slow hot pleasure roll up Steve’s spine. Tony immediately stilled, twitched as if he’d looked up, though without moving his head.  Steve tugged his head back, then cupped his hand against the curve of Tony’s skull, fingers still twined tightly in his hair, and pushed forward, and Tony’s body relaxed as he immediately went pliant. Steve could see it as he worked his throat, then relaxed it, his head tilting back slightly against Steve’s hand as he relaxed his jaw, opened his mouth wider, just letting Steve’s cock slide in.

 

Steve swallowed.  Tony was so good at this sometimes that it was hard to believe how difficult he could be, how much he struggled with it.  But there were certain parts he liked more than others, and being used like this, as an object of Steve’s pleasure, was something he’d made perfectly clear he enjoyed.  It was harder for Steve to let go and just . . . use him like that, in the ways Tony pushed him for sometimes.  It was even harder to accept that there was a part of him that enjoyed it, too—the slack heat of Tony’s mouth right now, the times when he went unresisting and still beneath Steve’s touch or the thrusts of his body.  Tony was almost never still otherwise, and though he could be pliant, hardly ever this receptive and open for Steve.  It was as if Steve could feel the trust in these brief, scattered moments—but it terrified him, because what if he abused it? He liked marking Tony sometimes, at times he even enjoyed this, using him hard like this, harder than this, if he was honest, and Tony’s offered, willing submission sent a darkly eager heat coiling in his belly, hot and simmering.  What if he went too far?  What if he did something Tony didn’t want—what if he hurt him?

 

He traced his fingers down the side of Tony’s throat, and Tony shuddered, groaned slightly beneath him, but didn’t move. His mouth stayed perfectly relaxed.

 

Steve took a deep breath and pushed Tony’s head forward onto his cock.  Tony just let it happen, moving where he was pushed, not even twitching when Steve’s cock brushed against the back of his throat.  Steve pulled him off, shoved him back down again, a little more roughly, and Tony’s hands flexed, like they were about to come up, but when Steve pulled him back off of him, relaxed his hand in his hair to give him a chance to pull away if he needed it, he just gave a low, barely audible groan at being pulled back and his hands settled against Steve’s thighs, shifting around to grip the back of them, not tightly, but their touch very present as he swayed forward, into Steve, pressing his chest against his knees.  Not a demand, but definitely a request.  He sucked at the cock in his mouth, laved his tongue over the head, tilting his head back as if to look up at Steve even though he couldn’t see him with the blindfold.  Steve swallowed and in response firmed up his grip again, shoved Tony back down, and Tony moaned gratefully, tilted his head downward as if eager to be pushed down on Steve’s cock.  He let Steve pull him back again, though, not fighting it, and for long moments they settled into a rhythm, Steve not quite letting his cock brush the back of Tony’s throat. His mouth was so warm around Steve’s cock, warm and wet, and he sucked in rhythm with Steve’s movements of his head, somehow timing it just right, little flicks and licks of his tongue.

 

Steve was gasping after just a few more moments, moaned himself, and Tony made a soft pleased noise far in the back of his throat, one corner of his stretched lips flicking up just a little into a smile. Steve ruffled Tony’s hair a little with one hand, tried to catch his breath, and Tony tugged with his hands on Steve’s thighs, tilting his head back against Steve’s hands in his hair like an offer.

 

Steve wondered if Tony’s eyes were closed, shut tight, or open and pleading, what they’d look like without the blindfold. His lips were so stretched around his cock, rosy and slick.  He got his other hand around the back of Tony’s neck, steadying, and this time pushed forward, steady and slow, until his cock pushed into Tony’s throat, not stopping this time.  Tony’s fingers flexed a little against the backs of Steve’s thighs, but that was all, except for another moan, low, back far in his throat.

 

God, he was being good.  Steve panted.  It was almost too much just to look at him like this, the blindfold tight and black against his olive skin, short strands of his hair a little damp now curling against his forehead, his stretched and swollen lips slick with saliva around the pink hot length of Steve’s own cock, his working throat and loose shoulders. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, had to look away just to be able to pull out of Tony’s mouth, back far enough for Tony to take a breath, then pushed back in.  His dick slid wetly over Tony’s tongue, back into the tight, slick, fluttering heat of his throat, and then Tony squeezed his throat around him, and he groaned himself, loud in his own ears, at the feeling, the slick, tight warmth, the soft wet sound of Tony’s throat working as Steve slid out slightly and pushed back in and Tony swallowed around him.  “God,” Steve murmured, and his fingers stroked through Tony’s hair almost of their own accord.  “That’s so good, Tony, God, you’re doing so good.”

 

“Mmm,” Tony said, just a soft, muffled noise that made Steve dig his fingers into his palm, bringing it away from Tony’s neck, and bite his lip just so he didn’t come at the vibrations that sound sent through his cock. He pulled back, let just the head of it rest on Tony’s tongue for a moment. 

 

Tony didn’t move his tongue, didn’t move at all, but he started to tremble again after a moment of stillness, and Steve stroked his hair again, fucked his mouth a little with tiny shallow strokes that were more of a horrible tease for himself than anything else but kept Tony quiet, kept him easy.  Tony’s fingers tightened on his thighs again, but he stayed quiet and still, accepting the change of pace, not even moving to wipe away the saliva the deep throating had let gather on the edges of his mouth, hollowing his cheeks again, his brow creasing.

 

Steve knew Tony couldn’t see him, so, still murmuring to him softly, he brought one hand away and cupped it beneath his own balls, took a deep breath, and then squeezed until it hurt, bringing himself back off the edge.  Sure, he could come more than once; he had hardly any refractory period, but that wasn’t the point. He pinched himself roughly for good measure, and once he was satisfied he wasn’t going to come for a bit, he pulled back out of Tony’s mouth.

 

Tony didn’t even close his mouth, just left it open, as if for Steve’s cock or his come, if he had been ready to finish, and Steve had to swallow.  Hard. God, Tony’s lips were so swollen already, and Steve could see the pinkness of his tongue, the white of his teeth. He reached forward, ran his thumb along Tony’s wet, swollen, rosy-red bottom lip, he couldn’t help it, before cupping his hand under his jaw and easing his mouth closed. “You were so good,” he said.

 

Tony shifted a little, ducked his head so his cheek slid in against Steve’s palm, his shoulders hunching up, like he wanted to accept the praise but didn’t want to at the same time, like he was uncomfortable. Steve brushed his thumb against the saliva slick over Tony’s lips, along the sides of his mouth and over his chin, and Tony shifted on his knees, just a little, back and forth.

 

“Just letting me fuck into your mouth,” Steve continued, knowing his own voice was hoarse, throaty and rough. He knew he needed to say something else, push Tony a little deeper with the objectification of it, but he didn’t know what. That part of it he did struggle with.

 

“I can do more,” Tony murmured, his voice very hoarse and thick, a raspy whisper.  It surprised Steve to hear him talking, but then, he hadn’t forbidden him to, and Steve was always careful not to change the rules on Tony without warning, without telling him first.  Besides, he liked Tony talking to him, preferred to hear his voice, even though sometimes it didn’t work best for the scene.  Steve missed it when Tony was quiet, though, every time.  “Y’wanna come down my throat, right?”  He tilted his head back again, looked up at Steve, shifting restlessly on his knees again and not stilling this time.

 

“That’s my decision,” Steve said. “But your mouth is looking awful appealing right now.”  He made a split decision, bit the inside of his lip and hoped this wasn’t wrong. “Like it was made for this. Sucking my cock. Just letting me come down your throat. Taking it.  Just a nice warm place for me to get off, right, Tony?”

 

A warm flush spread down over Tony’s face, down his neck and into his chest, very red, and he moaned, roughly, bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. “Right.  For you.”  He leaned forward, surprising Steve when he leaned his cheek against Steve’s thigh, lips soft against his skin.  “For you,” he mumbled again.

 

He was trembling a little, and lord, Steve hoped this hadn’t been too much, too fast, sometimes Tony dropped quicker than others and he could never tell when it was good and when it was bad. But this still seemed good, and he couldn’t deny the way Tony’s movements, his words, made his chest tighten, the warmth that settled there.  “Yeah,” he said roughly, and rubbed a little unsteadily at Tony’s hair, tousling it badly. “This is all for me, right?”

 

Tony nodded. “Every centimeter,” he said, and took a deep, shaking breath.  “I mean, sometimes. When I’m like this. When I’m like this it’s all I want, Steve, I—I mean.  I just. You’re gonna use me, right? Mess me up?  Make me feel it?  Use me up? C’mon, Steve, make me feel it, it’s all for you, all of it, I . . . .”  He was babbling, Steve recognized it, his voice hoarse and rough, breaking in his raw throat.

 

“Tony,” he said.  “Shush up.  Shh. Quiet, soldier.”

 

Tony pressed his lips together tightly, panted against Steve’s thigh.

 

“I’m going to do what I want to you,” Steve tried, still stroking his hair.   “Yeah. And you’re going to do what I want. How I want it.”

 

Tony’s hand slid on Steve’s thigh, came around to the side, and his fingers curled in against Steve’s skin.  He pressed his nose and mouth into Steve’s skin and breathed in deep.  “Yeah,” he said, after a moment, as if waiting to make sure it was okay to talk again. “Whatever you want. Just tell me.”

 

Steve ran his fingers through his hair for another moment, gentle and slow, thinking, then took a deep breath and made himself start talking.  “You were good letting me fuck your throat,” Steve said, swallowing hard to get the words out, “but you should show me what a good job you can do on my cock yourself, without any help. Put that smart mouth to work. C’mon, Stark, show me you’re not just a pretty face and a smart-ass attitude.  Work for it.  Show me you deserve my cock in your mouth.”

 

Tony sucked in his breath, stilled, made a tight little sound that only a lot of experience with Tony and his sex noises let Steve identify as one of helpless desire.  “Oh, yeah,” he said.  “I can do that.”

 

“Any time,” Steve said.  “I’m waiting.”  He waited until Tony sat back a bit, braced his hands on Steve’s thighs and then slid them up, patting a little until his fingers found Steve’s cock and curled around it, to say, fighting against his own noise of pleasure at the touch to keep his voice even, “Oh, and Tony.  Don't come, all right?”

 

Tony ducked his head down, to the side, and grinned a little, and that was how Steve knew he’d gotten it right.  “Sure thing,” he managed hoarsely.

 

Tony guided Steve’s cock into his mouth a moment later, and while fucking Tony’s unresisting mouth was one kind of thrill (at the trust of it, the way Tony could go so limp and pliant and easy for Steve’s body), it was nothing to how a blowjob from Tony felt when he was trying to make it good.  And lord, he was clearly trying.  Steve squeezed his eyes shut, let his hand settle at the back of Tony’s neck and just held on for a bit, not really capable of doing anything else, reveling in the touch of Tony’s mouth, the slow slick slide of it over Steve’s cock, the way he knew exactly how to kiss and suck him.  He ducked down, slid along Steve’s cock until he could lick and suck and kiss at Steve’s balls, then came back up, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base, licked down to the tip, kissed him there, and then opened his mouth to take him in again. He sucked, slid his mouth down over Steve nearly to the root, then back up.  Steve just gasped and held on for as long as he could, then when he was getting close, pulled back, caught Tony’s chin in his hand as he tried to lean forward to get his mouth back on his cock.

 

Tony gave a hoarse noise, more demanding than a moan. “Steve,” he said, but Steve held him firm, stroked his thumb gently over Tony’s bottom lip. Tony parted his lips for it, brought it into his mouth between his teeth and swiped his tongue over the pad of it, sucked on it for a moment, but then opened his mouth again, turned his head to the side. “You didn’t come,” he said, hoarse and low.

 

“That’s true enough,” Steve said.

 

“I can do better,” Tony panted. “I can make you come. You were close, you’re close. You can come down my throat. Steve, please—”

 

“You did just fine,” Steve said, soothingly.

 

“You didn’t come,” Tony said again.

 

“I’m saving it, that’s all,” Steve told him. “I’ve got more plans for you.”

 

“But you can go again after,” Tony said, “you can always go again, why would you pull out?  You don’t have to wait.  It’ll be way more fun to come in my mouth, right?  Why not?” It was the same reasonable tone he used in the field, when he was trying to make his points, argue his viewpoint. He shifted again, a little. “Was it not a good enough blowjob?” he asked.  “Do I not deserve your cock?”  His hands opened and closed restlessly.  “I can do better,” he said, “you know I’m good at sucking cock.”

 

“It was very good, Tony,” Steve said. “Settle down.”

 

“I can make you come, Steve,” Tony said. “Really.  You can get it back up, come on.”  He rubbed at Steve’s thigh with one hand, leaned in, breathing hotly over his cock until Steve was trembling.  “Let me?” he asked in a throaty murmur.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, firm, making his voice snap a little.  “Sit back on your heels. Hands behind your back.”

 

Tony hesitated a moment, his breath rasping in his throat, his chest heaving, but then he did it, obedient, though his chin was up, jaw jutting stubbornly.

 

“What did you just do?” Steve asked.

 

Tony took a deep breath.  “Whatever it was, wasn’t good,” he said wryly. He shifted a little, clasped his wrists with his hands.

 

“Tony,” Steve said.

 

“I keep telling you,” Tony said, his head tipping down now, to the side, mouth tugging crookedly.  “I’m bad at this.”

 

“That is absolutely not what we’re talking about,” Steve said.  “You’re fine. Take a deep breath. Put your head down.” He waited until Tony had done it, trying to release his own frustration, his own feelings of guilt, upset that Tony was upset, that he had done badly himself, had let Tony get into his own head, screw himself up like this.  That he hadn’t given him something he’d wanted.  “See?” he said, after a moment.  “You can be obedient.”

 

Tony slumped a little.  “I don’t want to be a pain in the ass,” he said after a moment, and Steve had to smile a little.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, making sure it sounded teasing, warm with it.

 

Tony bit his lip.  “Not right now,” he muttered.

 

“I know that,” Steve said.  “But if this were easy for you, where would the challenge be?”

 

“It’d be more fun for you,” Tony said. He seemed to be looking down at his knees, now.  “You’re a lot more . . . you’re less . . . when you do this, you’re so good, so perfect for me, I’m such a . . . .”

 

“You think too much, is all,” Steve said, cutting that sentence off before he could finish it, whatever it was. “Tony.  That is all.  Here. C’mere.”  When Tony shuffled forward on his knees, a little uncertainly, Steve put his hands on his shoulders, drew him in close, letting him rest between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.  Tony rested his head on Steve’s thigh, the fabric of the blindfold cooler against Steve’s skin than the rest of Tony’s face, and took a deep breath.  “Stay here for a second,” Steve said.  “Take it easy. Deep breaths.”

 

“I’m really all over the place,” Tony said after a second.  “Sorry.” He traced what felt like math equations, numbers, down over Steve’s leg, with his fingers and thumb. “Tony Stark, crappiest sub on the planet.”

 

“Well, we don’t usually do this,” Steve said. He closed his hand on the back of Tony’s neck and shook him, just a little.  “And stop that.  You are not crap.”

 

“Sure I’m not,” Tony muttered.

 

“You’re just fine,” Steve said. “If I’m not complaining, you don’t get to.  Now shush your damn mouth for ten seconds.”

 

Tony sighed.  “I’m being bad,” he said.  “Right now, and I can’t help it, Steve, I just—”

 

“You just need to be quiet,” Steve said, and after a minute, Tony nodded and just stayed there, breathing unsteadily against Steve’s leg.

 

“Sorry,” Tony said after a second, again.

 

“Tony,” Steve said.  “Do you know what quiet means, genius?”

 

“Mmm,” Tony said.  “Right.”  Steve slid his fingers back into his hair, stroked through the tousled strands, and at that, finally, Tony went quiet and began to calm.

 

They stayed there like that for what felt like a while, a long while, until Tony’s breathing went softer and a little more unsteady against Steve’s skin and he hunched down a little more, burying his face against Steve’s thigh as his shoulders relaxed, moving down from around his ears, his spine evened out, went liquid again.  Steve let it go for a moment, let those long seconds stretch out, still stroking his fingers lightly through Tony’s hair. It was only then, after that, after Tony had had time to sink into that relaxation, to really feel it, let it wash over him and sink deep into it, that Steve moved his hand down, curled it against Tony’s jaw and tilted his head up, gently.  “What did you do wrong?” he asked.

 

Tony swallowed, ducked his chin down to press his face against Steve’s hand, just a bit, for a moment before he answered. “Argued,” he said softly. “Talked back.  Pushed.  I do that.”

 

“That’s right,” Steve said, swallowing a little, still sick at heart at Tony’s distress.  “And sure, you do.  That’s why we have rules. What happens when you try to take over?”

 

“I get punished,” Tony said.  “However you decide.”  His muscles were winding tight again, and Steve ran his other hand down over his shoulder, rubbing at his back.

 

“That’s right,” he said.

 

“You’re gonna hurt me?” Tony asked, swallowing.

 

“Now,” Steve said, grinning a little, “how would that be fun?”

 

Tony’s brows rose, enough that Steve could see them clearly behind the blindfold, but he didn’t ask the questions that were clearly burning at the tip of his tongue, and Steve rubbed the back of his neck a little more for that, slow and affectionate.

 

“Pretty sure that’s not how punishments work,” Tony said, after a moment.

 

“You’ll see,” Steve told him.

 

“Oh,” Tony said, softly.  He seemed to consider that, then nodded.  “Okay.  Yeah. Hit me.”

 

“Tony—”

 

“Like . . . lay it on me,” Tony said, “not, like, uh, slap me.  Not.  Um.  Yeah.”

 

Steve had to smile at that.  “I wouldn’t hit you even if you asked for it,” he said, “I give the orders right now, not you.  Right?”

 

Tony smiled a little.  “Yeah,” he said, and sighed, long and slow. “Right.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said, and put his hands beneath Tony’s elbows, coaxing him up a little.  “Stand up.”  Tony did, instantly, though he did wobble a little, and needed Steve’s hands on his waist to steady him. Steve stroked them there, lightly, remaining seated on the bed.  “You talk a lot about how beautiful I am,” he said.  He ran the back of his thumb down Tony’s chest, to where the trail of hair started above his groin.  Tony’s body was well-sculpted, well-groomed and beautiful with it despite the beatings he’d taken over the years (the scars around the RT in his chest), and Steve knew he tried hard to keep himself in shape, worked for every inch of his lean, strong musculature, even if he was too slender at times—he was a little thin just now, but he was still beautiful.  “But you’re beautiful yourself.”  Tony opened his mouth as if to say something, but Steve tapped his hip lightly. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “Quiet.”

 

Tony shut his mouth.  Steve curved his hands around to his behind, squeezed lightly, and Tony bit his lip.  “You really are attractive,” he said.  “You must know that, you show-off.  So let me enjoy it.”

 

“All yours,” Tony murmured, after a moment, bit his lip again, and went quiet.

 

“You’re right,” Steve said, squeezing his rear a little more, pulling him closer.  “That’s what you said, isn’t it?  All mine.” He pressed his lips to Tony’s chest, trailed them downward, and Tony sighed, shifted a little. Steve licked at his chest, along a sensitive place on his ribs, and Tony’s hands flexed at his sides. Steve rubbed his hands at Tony’s rear, squeezed a little more, feeling the give of the muscle under his hands, then slipped them down to rub and squeeze at the backs of his thighs. Tony shivered, shivered harder as Steve kissed down the flat planes of his stomach, still rubbing his hands at the back of his thighs, then just held them there as he kissed lines over Tony’s pelvis, along his hipbones.  “Remember what I said,” he said, biting teasingly at Tony’s hip.  “Don’t come, all right?”  And he settled his mouth over Tony’s cock.

 

“Oh,” Tony said, a low, surprised little grunt. There was comprehension in it. His hands twitched up, hovered in the air for a moment before they dropped again.  Steve sucked, and Tony’s hips jerked, arched up into it. “Oh,” he said again, on more of a groan, his chest heaving.

 

Steve grinned and licked a stripe down the bottom of Tony’s cock, enjoying the way he groaned and shook, flushing warm down past where Steve’s hands were clamped against his thighs.  He slid his tongue around, skimmed his lips up the side, then settled his mouth over the head again, sucking at it. After a moment, he teased his tongue in a circle just under the head, and Tony made a choked noise. “Oh, God, Steve,” he said.

 

Steve pulled back just long enough to take a breath and grin.  “You can hold on,” he said, reached up and took Tony’s hands, guiding them to his shoulders and closing them tightly against his skin before he patted them and returned his hands to Tony’s thighs.  “Hold on tight,” he murmured, and took Tony’s cock into his mouth again. It was hot, smooth, slenderer than his own but still a very present weight in his mouth, against his lips, hot and velvety, and tasted salty and clean and warm on his tongue. He sucked again, and could hear the way Tony’s breath hitched, the way it was starting to go heaving and heavy.

 

Tony had already been mostly hard before Steve had even started, and it wasn’t long before his fingers were digging in desperately tight to Steve’s shoulders and his breath was dragging out of his throat as he trembled, hot all over beneath Steve’s hands.  Steve just kept sucking at him, slow, even passes of his mouth sliding down over Tony’s cock.  It tasted of Tony’s body, the hot and musky flavor of his desire, precome smeared over the head now, slick welling at the tip even as Steve licked and sucked at it. Tony moaned, trembled, locked his knees and held on tight to Steve’s shoulders, panting heavily. It took longer, longer than Steve had expected, for him to start to tremble hard enough that Steve was worried about his knees actually giving out.  He pulled him into his lap, after a bit of clumsiness caused by Tony’s blindfold, and put his hand on his damp cock.  Tony made a desperate gasp, almost sob, of a noise into his shoulder and clutched Steve tighter, his knees going tight against Steve’s hips. He didn’t complain, though, even as Steve stroked his hot, wet cock slowly, from tip to base, and his movements became more restless, little aborted twitches back and forth. Steve stroked one hand slowly down Tony’s back in time with the slow drag up along his cock of the other, feeling his muscles working under his hand, and Tony’s breath almost wailed in his throat, with barely any sound.  He buried his face in Steve’s neck, panting desperately, pressing soft wet kisses along his jaw like it helped distract him, which knowing Tony, it probably did. His face and chest, his shoulders, were very hot now, almost as warm as his cock under Steve’s hand, and he could see the hot red flush beneath Tony’s skin.

 

Steve kept at it until Tony was really shifting over him, back and forth like he wasn’t sure whether to push into Steve’s hand or pull away or what but was trying to keep himself still and just couldn’t, and his hands were digging in tight against Steve’s shoulders, so tight they would probably leave bruises at least for a while, even against Steve’s resilient skin.  He was shaking and shuddering, a sweaty, trembling mess in Steve’s arms, limp but still restlessly moving like he just couldn’t stay still, and Steve’s other arm around his back was all that was keeping him up, Steve suspected, because he couldn’t keep his knees under him.  Tony’s breath was whimpering in his throat, but he just lay there, not fighting it or begging, despite his desperate gasps into Steve’s shoulder like he couldn’t breathe. There was pre-come smeared all across Steve’s palm and wet against his fingers, but Tony still hadn’t come, despite what had to feel like overstimulation by now, especially with the blindfold cutting off his sight, making every touch that much more intense.

 

Steve stroked him a while longer, and then took pity on him when his breaths were so close to helpless moans as to make no difference, and stilled his hand, still holding his cock loosely. “Had enough?” he murmured against his ear.

 

Tony gasped.  Panted.  Moaned. “It’s,” he finally managed, his voice breathless, slurred and cracked.  “S’ up to you.  Y’ decide if I’m done. Had enough.  Not me.”  He shifted uncomfortably against Steve’s hand.  “Oh, God,” he said, sounding desperate.  “Steve.”

 

“Shh,” Steve said, cupping his hand against the back of his neck.  He moved his hand away from Tony’s cock and Tony almost sobbed, his hands clutching at him more tightly, but he didn’t protest.  “There,” he said, curling his hand loosely against Tony’s hip.  “That’s good.  That was a good answer.  That was the right answer.” Tony gave a tiny, broken sigh of relief. “Shhh,” Steve said, soothing. “You’re done.  You did well, you took that so well, Tony. So well.  You’re done.”

 

Tony slumped against him in relief. “Thanks,” he slurred. “I . . . did? Mmm.  Thanks.” Steve half expected him to ask if he could come, but he didn’t, just rolled his head loosely against Steve’s neck and stayed where he was.

 

“I know you won’t give me more than I can take,” Tony panted after a moment, as Steve stroked his back, soothing him further, wondering at the heat of his skin, “but . . . but hell, Steve, I . . . .”

 

“You took it,” Steve reminded him. “You did good. Shh.  Just stay there for a second.  Okay?”

 

Tony nodded and relaxed even more against him, going limp. His cock smeared along Steve’s belly, but Tony didn’t mention it, didn’t even rub against him, as if he weren’t even interested, just lay boneless and limp against Steve’s chest, in his arms, his legs splayed wide over Steve’s thighs.

 

“You know how good you did?” Steve murmured, stroking his back again, because he didn’t just want to leave it at that, wanted to give him a little more.  “You did so good, Tony, so well.  You know how beautiful and—and overwhelmed you look right now?”  He swallowed, because Tony did look incredible, overwhelmed, overheated, pulled apart.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said.  He turned his face against Steve’s neck, pressed his forehead against his jaw, breathing through his mouth.  When Steve kissed his forehead, rubbed gently at his cheek, along his jaw, he smiled slightly, just a little curve of his lips, shivered a little as Steve cupped his rear with his other hand, but didn’t move or protest. His hands lay limply against Steve’s shoulders, one sliding down to rest against his chest but not moving after that.  Steve could feel how wound up he still was, though, the heat jumping under his skin, the way he made soft, barely audible sounds in his throat whenever Steve shifted against him, his cock desperately, probably achingly, hard and drooling precome against Steve’s stomach, the way he shook just a little under his hands.

 

“So,” Steve said softly, after a moment, nosing in against Tony’s ear, “are you going to be good?”

 

“Do my best,” Tony mumbled.

 

Steve swallowed, but he knew that was as good as a promise from Tony—it was a promise, the best one he could give when he never had any idea if he was being good or not.  “Good,” he murmured against Tony’s ear, and felt him relax still further.  “And talking back?” he asked, stroking the back of Tony’s neck again.

 

“Try’n keep my mouth shut,” Tony murmured.

 

“Good enough,” Steve said.  He didn’t usually try to keep Tony quiet in bed, and he wouldn’t have preferred it—he liked his mouth.  But he’d been babbling, anxious, and he was hoping Tony might be able to concentrate on them, on what they were doing, on something good, on enjoying it, if he didn’t keep winding himself up tight that way. He kissed Tony’s cheek, just because he couldn’t help himself, then cupped one hand under Tony’s beautifully rounded rear end and lifted him a bit, back away from Steve’s chest.

 

Tony shivered, but didn’t protest, though his hands did come up over Steve’s chest, and he did say, “Steve?”  Steve was willing to bet that under the blindfold his eyes had fluttered open.

 

“Shh,” Steve said, setting him down so he could straddle Steve’s thigh.  Tony went willingly enough, and didn’t even try to rub down against him, though he shifted a little, rolling his hips as if he wanted to.  “Close your eyes.”

 

Tony tilted his head at him, but then nodded, murmured, “All right.”

 

“Are they closed?” Steve asked.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said.

 

“Keep ‘em that way,” Steve said. He reached forward, tilted Tony’s head down slightly, and loosened the blindfold.  Tony sucked in his breath, but he didn’t protest or move as Steve unbuckled it and drew it away, and, just like he’d said they were, his eyes were closed, and they stayed that way, though his eyelashes jumped against his cheeks once or twice.  “That’s good,” Steve said, setting the blindfold to one side, and Tony shuddered a little, blew his breath out.  Steve thought about it a moment, then leaned forward, rested both hands on Tony’s jaw, murmured, “Keep them closed for me,” and then kissed him. 

 

Tony was still for a moment, as if processing the movement, what Steve was doing, and then his mouth opened, gave way easily, eagerly, soft and warm beneath Steve’s.  His hands came up, paused as if he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do, then settled at the back of Steve’s neck, and he leaned into the kiss. The feeling of the cuffs around his wrists on Steve’s shoulders, against his neck, made him shiver a little, pleasantly, pull Tony closer into the kiss, though he was careful not to rub against his cock, provide any friction that might push Tony back into that desperate state of want, overwhelmed, over-stimulated pleasure, he’d been in just before.

 

They kissed for long minutes, Steve licking slowly into Tony’s mouth, sucking lightly.  Tony’s responses were eager, passionate but still somehow soft, open under Steve’s lips and tongue, even as he slid his fingers up into Steve’s hair, leaned into him.  It was hard to pull himself away from that open-mouthed eagerness, the sweetness of Tony’s kiss, the way he ducked his head down after Steve pulled away to press warm, dragging kisses along Steve’s jaw, down his neck.  Steve curled his fingers around the back of his head, couldn’t resist pushing them into the soft, dark, damp strands of his hair, thick and curling a bit against his fingers with sweat now.  “Tony,” he said.  “Knees, on the bed.”

 

“Yeah?” Tony said, a bit breathlessly, looking up, eyes still squeezed closed, then nodded.  He swung his leg over Steve’s and shuffled forward slightly to kneel on the bed.

 

“And get down,” Steve said, leaving his hand firm on the back of Tony’s neck, heel of his hand between Tony’s shoulder blades as he pushed him downward.  Tony bent easily, putting his head down and supporting himself with his forearms on the bed. “Good,” Steve said. “Stay like that.” He stroked his hand up along Tony’s spine, then shifted, reaching for something he’d left in here, on the bed, earlier—a leather collar, not too heavy, but sturdy, one that matched the cuffs, complete with metal ring.  They’d talked about it earlier.  Something to help Tony settle into what they were doing, he figured, even without the blindfold. He slid it under Tony’s throat, buckled it at the back of his neck, and Tony sucked in his breath.

 

“Oh,” he said, low and guttural, rough. Steve hooked two fingers in the back of the collar and tugged, just lightly, testing the fit, and Tony gave a throaty little grunt that sounded like desire and surprise mixed together and shifted, rocking on his knees just a bit.  “Ah,” Tony said.

 

Steve leaned forward, kissed the back of Tony’s neck, right beneath the collar, just over the knob of bone of his second vertebra. “You can open your eyes,” he murmured against his skin.

 

Tony’s eyes opened immediately, he could tell, practically snapped open, and then he sucked in his breath, and blinked.

 

“Stay like that,” Steve said.

 

“With my ass in the air?” Tony asked. He sounded a little snarky, but more breathless.

 

“Yep,” Steve said, and reached back to rest his hand against the rear in question and squeeze.

 

“You’re such an ass man,” Tony muttered breathlessly into the covers of the bed.

 

“It’s a nice one,” Steve said, a little surprised, and amused, that Tony was still teasing him, even after all that. “Just giving it the appreciation it deserves.”  He ran his hand over it more slowly, stroking, kneading a little, and Tony shivered just a bit. Steve shifted back, leaned down to press his lips against the curve of it and grinned as Tony jumped, gave a short gasp.  “Hey,” he said. “Be still, now.”

 

“Mmph,” Tony said, but he went still. Steve cupped the other cheek of Tony’s rear in his hand and squeezed, moving his lips up to press them against the hollows of Tony’s hip, the small of his back.  Tony shuddered beneath him, made a low sound and shifted, and when Steve looked up at him he could see that he’d lowered his head to his arms, which were crossed beneath his forehead, his fingers linked into the cuffs around his wrists and curling tightly.

 

Steve ran his hand down Tony’s spine again, feeling the warmth of him, the velvety heat of his body, pushed his shoulders down, watching with a sense of wonder as Tony willingly curved his back, pushed his behind up, presenting himself willingly for Steve’s gaze. He let Steve put his hands on his hips and arrange him there, too, gently push his knees apart, though he was breathing heavily by the time Steve was finished and trailed his fingers down the inside of his thigh.

 

“What’s next?” Tony rasped after a moment.

 

“You stay where you are,” Steve told him, shifting and reaching for the tube of lube he’d left under his pillow before they started this. It was full; he didn’t believe in skimping on the lube when they did this kind of thing.

 

“I’m staying,” Tony said quietly, and Steve stroked his back, soothing him, because he was.  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then impulsively opened his mouth, bit at it lightly, and watched Tony flush and shiver.

 

“Ah,” he said.  “Steve.”

 

“I’m going to fuck you,” Steve said, deliberately, at least half to watch the tremor travel through Tony’s body at him saying the word fuck so matter-of-factly.

 

“Please,” Tony said, simply, his voice rough, and it sounded genuine, hoarse and needy.

 

“Oh, I’m going to,” Steve said. “So get ready for it.” He opened the lube with one hand, squirted it onto his fingers, giving it a few moments to warm up against his skin, then slid his fingers down over Tony’s bottom, between his cheeks and over the entrance to his body.

 

They actually didn’t do this that often, Steve penetrating, that was, and certainly not that often with Tony in this position, face down and rear hiked up for Steve’s access.  With Tony’s love of giving him oral sex and Steve’s own hesitance to do this sort of thing because of his size and his strength, whatever Tony’s disregard for those factors, they usually didn’t bother to put out the time and energy to prepare for it.  Which was why Steve thought it would be a good idea to do it now, because it would feel special, unusual, and the rawness of getting fucked might be something Tony wanted when he was like this.  (He hoped it was, anyway.  He really hoped so, that this was right.  They’d talked about whether he could fuck Tony like this beforehand, and Tony had told him he’d cleaned himself out earlier in the day, but talking about it and actually getting to it in the context of the moment were two different things, and Tony had had struggled before with things he’d thought, or said, at least, he’d be fine with, the few times they’d done this.  He hoped that wasn’t why Tony’s anxiety over being good like this had built up like it had, like he’d shown earlier, but he had the depressing suspicion that it was exactly why, that as many times as Steve told Tony that having limits was fine, was expected, Tony would still blame himself for what he saw as any sort of failure.)

 

Steve trailed lubricant down from Tony’s tailbone, sliding his finger down along the line of his body, between the curves of his behind, until he could feel his clenched, puckered hole beneath his finger, and Tony let out a low breath.  Steve stroked over it with one knuckle, then kept moving his finger down, let it press in against the same place right behind his balls that Tony often pressed his fingers against when he was playing with Steve.  Tony shuddered, and Steve let his fingers curl gently against Tony’s balls, stroke and squeeze them, before he skimmed his slick finger back up to the dusky clench of his hole, stroking it back and forth, not pushing it in against him.  Tony gave a harsh, stuttering breath and shifted on his knees, not pulling away or pushing back, just moving, and Steve could see a shiver roll through his shoulders. He swirled his finger in a slow circle, still not pushing; he wanted Tony to be worked up before he started anything, too hot to get tense, and leaned forward to brush another kiss against Tony’s lower back, bringing his other hand up to cup his cock, play with his balls, still stroking his finger gently in the same place.  Tony gasped and twitched again, squirming a little on his knees and giving a low grunt.  “Steve,” he said roughly, and pressed his face against his arms.

 

“Like I said,” Steve said, smiling a little, “you have a nice behind.”

 

“Behind,” Tony mumbled, “Christ, Steve, you can call it my ass.”

 

Steve pressed another kiss into the hollow of Tony’s back, another against the curve of his rear, still stroking his finger against Tony’s hole, almost petting.  Tony shivered again, groaned and pressed his face tightly against the bed. “I’m not going to call it your ass,” Steve said, teasing in a different way too, now, “if I don’t want to. It’s a nice rear, though.” He bit lightly at the curve of it, just to hear Tony laugh and gasp at the same time.

 

“O-okay,” Tony said, sounding breathless. “Whatever you want to call it.” His fingers clenched in the blankets beneath his head, curling in the coverlet.

 

“Thank you,” Steve said, smiling again. He pressed a line of soft kisses down the curve of Tony’s behind, down to his thigh, curling his knuckles in against Tony’s hole, rubbing them there.

 

“Steve,” Tony said roughly, quietly.

 

“Right here,” Steve said. He reached for the lube again, poured a bit more on his fingers until they were wet and dripping with it, then slid his fingers down over Tony’s ass again. “Don’t worry, Tony, I’m right here.” He turned his hand, pressed just his lube-slick thumb against Tony’s hole, pushed in against it.

 

“I know,” Tony said, and then gasped, “I—” his breath shuddered, “—know that, Steve.”

 

“Good,” Steve said, softly, “relax,” and then Tony took a deep breath and did, and Steve’s thumb sank into him, past the tight ring of muscle. He pushed it further in, stroking lightly, and Tony made another rough sound low in his chest and rocked slightly on his knees, but otherwise stayed still. Steve stroked his free hand down the outside of his thigh, soothingly. “Good work,” he said, and Tony made another sound, this one lower and softer, and his fingers scrabbled at the cuff around one wrist, tightening against it. His body felt very warm inside around Steve’s slicked up thumb, hot and smooth.

 

Steve kept at that for a few moments, moving his thumb back and forth, sliding in an even rhythm, until Tony sighed and started to relax, his muscles unwinding and his head tilting further down against the bed, butting up against his arms so that his hair trailed over them. That was good, Steve figured, so he poured more lube onto his fingers, pulled his thumb out and pressed his forefinger in in its place. Tony just made another low noise, breathed. Steve took his time, easing his finger in, not rushing him. “You feel good,” he told Tony, because it was true, despite the tightness of his body, the little nervous shudders that went through him and made him clench up around Steve’s finger in waves.  He knew they’d pass, if he gave Tony a bit; he just needed time, and he still felt good, hot and somehow soft, even as his muscles worked and jumped, squeezing Steve tight.

 

Steve didn’t mention it, just kept up the movements of his finger until Tony sighed and his muscles began to loosen, then pulled it out, poured even more lube on his fingers, and slid two into him, just the tips at first, in to the first knuckle, pushing the lube into him and circling them teasingly, and only when Tony let out a rough huff of breath sliding them in farther.  He kissed Tony’s skin again, ducked his head as he left small kisses over the curve of his rear even as he stroked him inside, pulled his fingers apart to stretch him. Tony shivered and shifted again, but not enough that Steve felt any need to still him.

 

“Do I?” Tony got out after a few moments. “I . . . I . . .” he breathed out. He dropped his head a little further against the bed. “Good,” he murmured.

 

“Very good,” Steve promised, not stopping the constant rotating movement of his fingers, even as Tony began to shake and shudder, gasping more regularly now. Steve was avoiding his prostate as best he could, but Tony’s still-hard cock was still twitching a little, spattering little drops of pre-come against the bed whenever Tony squirmed or it leapt against his stomach. Tony just made another small grunting noise when Steve added another finger and even more lube, and he was relaxed now, enough that his body felt eager around Steve’s fingers, the fluttering muscles beginning to feel like they were clinging to him, pulling him in instead of pushing him out. By this point, enough lube and slickness had gone into him that he felt very wet and slick inside.

 

Steve knew his cock was bigger than three fingers—sure, he had big fingers, but he had a big cock—so he didn’t want to rush, still stretching his fingers outward, scissoring them, working them in Tony’s body. He didn’t want this to hurt at all, wanted Tony to be easy and ready for it, and with his submission and quietude he was getting a chance to make sure he was completely, entirely ready that he didn’t normally get when they did this, considering how eager and impatient Tony got, how little use he had for carefulness even if that meant it hurt.  Steve kept pressing soft kisses over Tony’s lower back and rear, noticing that though his skin was very clear in general, he had a mole just against his tailbone Steve’d never noticed before, the way his behind didn’t flush visibly but did get very warm against Steve’s lips.  His thighs felt hot, too, when Steve laid his mouth against them.

 

Tony was muttering something to himself now that sounded like math, breathless and a little scattered-sounding. Steve was familiar with that, the way sometimes Tony’s mind would skip tracks, almost, when he was far, far gone in bed, and what he wanted to say would come out in equations and numbers rather than words. As far as Steve could tell, it made perfect sense to him either way; he might as well be speaking English.

 

Tony was so smart it awed him, sometimes. Hearing him mutter equations in bed always gave Steve a weird kind of thrill, that this incredible genius had decided to sleep with him, trusted Steve to take that brilliant mind and reduce it to its component parts, sensation and pleasure and animal instinct, that he’d let him do this even once.  He curved his fingers in, grazing them against where he knew Tony’s prostate was, and Tony jolted, his head coming up as he gave a near-shout of some garbled phrase.

 

“Easy,” Steve murmured. “Head down,” and he knew Tony was far under because he just nodded shakily and murmured an assent, dropping his head back down obediently, pushing his shuddering shoulders down against the bed and arching his back, presenting himself again, instead of teasing Steve for sounding like a soldier. “Almost ready,” Steve murmured against the small of Tony’s back, licking at the beads of sweat gathering there, feeling the damp vivid warmth of Tony’s skin.

 

Tony moaned a little, and Steve was fairly certain his toes curled against the blankets, but he didn’t complain, didn’t even jerk back on Steve’s fingers, even though he almost always did, tried to hurry him along. He was being good for Steve, so good Steve was a little awed by it.

 

After another moment, he pulled his fingers away, and Tony moaned, shifted back a little for the first time, really, before he stilled himself again. Steve considered, thinking, and then wiped his lube-slick fingers off on the inside of Tony’s thigh. That got him a shuddering groan and a shiver, so he knew it had been good, and relaxed. “You’ll get what you want in a second,” he murmured, smearing lube down over his own cock, making sure it was wet and dripping with it, down over his balls, pooling at his groin, then slid his thumb into Tony’s loosened hole, pulling it open slightly before he got his hand under his cock and lined himself up.

 

He took a deep breath and pushed into Tony’s body. Tony gasped, and his body tightened, clenched down around Steve hot and slick and tight inside. He shuddered, dropped his head down, shoved back against him, hard, one knee slipping down, splaying out, so that Steve felt himself slide in much deeper than he’d meant to, the sudden jerk and the tightness of Tony’s body suddenly gripping, squeezing down around him, heat and pleasure tight around his cock, so tight and intense it was almost painful. He dropped his hand to Tony’s hip and gripped it firmly, stilling him even as the unexpected heat and friction sent pleasure slamming through him like a punch in the gut, good, so good, but vivid, overwhelming, so much so it left him panting.

 

“Tony,” he panted, trying to make it firm, when he’d gotten his breath back, and squeezed his hip warningly. He wasn’t sure if Tony had genuinely slipped, or if he’d been trying to take control of the pace—it had felt like a genuine fall, though.

 

There was a long moment of silence. “S-slipped,” Tony panted after that moment passed, and his shoulders were tense, his face tight against the bed, though his body was relaxing again around Steve, as if he was trying very hard to keep himself open, to relax, let Steve in.

 

“Got it,” Steve said, more evenly, and felt a sudden warm, soft swell of pride that Tony hadn’t tried to tough it out, pass it off, had actually explained himself, offered a real excuse. He hadn’t done the best at that in the past, and Steve had talked to him about it before, tried to get him to see that it was perfectly okay if he explained what had happened if something went a little wrong, that Steve wanted him to.  And he did get it, he knew this was a lot, and Tony’s legs had to be trembling, his balance off-center.  It was honestly more surprising he hadn’t slipped badly somehow before now.

 

He reached up, ran his hand gently over Tony’s shoulders, trying to smooth the tension, those tight little tremors away. He rubbed his palm gently over the back of his neck, and Tony let out a breath, dropped his chest down against the blankets a bit more.  His body loosened slightly around Steve’s cock.  Steve took a deep breath, trying to focus on something other than Tony’s heat and smooth tightness, the fluttering clench of his muscles around him, give him a moment to get used to the deeper than expected thrust.  He didn’t want to take it too easy, though, Tony wouldn’t thank him for that, and he knew it, so after a moment he gave a shallow little thrust in before nearly pulling back out, moving his hand back to support Tony’s hip.

 

Tony gasped, gave a little, bitten off hint of a whine, his cuffed wrists knocking against each other.

 

“You good?” Steve asked, rubbing his thumb into the dimple at the small of Tony’s back.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said.  He turned his head a little so it pressed his cheek against the bed and took a deep breath.  “Yeah. You’re . . . you’re big, though, you know that?”

 

“There’re bigger out there,” Steve said, a bit sheepishly, still rocking slightly into Tony, shallowly in and out. Tony was so hot inside, the friction tight against Steve’s cock hard to resist, but he could feel the way Tony’s muscles fluttered and squeezed against him, still tight, resisting him, and didn’t want to push.  He took a deep breath to cool himself down, wiped his face against his own shoulder.

 

“They’re not in my ass right now,” Tony mumbled. “And I . . . I don’t want bigger. You’re pushing it as it is.” He shifted a little, slid one foot back and knocked it lightly against Steve’s thigh, gasping as he did, and Steve could see him look back, grin a little crookedly, loosely, at him. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

 

He was luckier, Steve thought, to have Tony’s trust. He just hoped he was living up to it, doing this right, giving Tony something that he wanted, rather than something he had to endure.  Sometimes it was hard to tell.  He wanted to say that, something like that, but he doubted Tony would accept it, even like this. Instead he reached down, took Tony’s ankle in his hand and squeezed it lightly.  “I’m taking my time,” he said mildly.  “You stay still, and make sure you tell me if you’re not doing good.”

 

“Mmm,” Tony said, but it sounded obedient, and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his wrists again. It was anyone’s guess if he actually would, but at least he sounded like he might be in the headspace for it. Steve turned his attention back to what he was doing, keeping his thrusts shallow and steady. Every time he did this, he felt an overwhelming urge to be careful with Tony, one he knew Tony wouldn’t appreciate one bit, because he wasn’t fragile, as he would have reminded Steve with vehemence.  And Steve knew that, knew it intimately, in fact, but rocking into the heat of Tony’s body, feeling the curve of the bone of his hip under his hand, the slenderness of his ankle, it was hard to forget how gripping as hard as he could might hurt him, how strong he was even compared to the strong man beneath him.  Tony would have told him he could take it, whatever he could dish out, to give it to him, he knew that, and he knew Tony didn’t mind when Steve left him a little sore, with bruises in the shape of finger-marks all over him. He’d made that completely clear. Sometimes Steve enjoyed that—to be honest, he enjoyed it a lot—but he couldn’t defeat the part of him that said it felt wrong, like Steve should have been more careful, that it was wrong to be like that with someone who meant so much to him, wrong to be like that with anyone.

 

There was more to it, too.  Tony didn’t trust easily, but even more than that, it was hard to get him to talk about what he wanted or didn’t want. He didn’t really like pain, Steve was sure of it, whatever he told Steve—he could take pain, but it didn’t get him hot, not really at all. Steve wasn’t quite sure of the reasons behind Tony liking to be fucked hard and bruised sometimes, left so he could feel it (put away wet, Tony would have said with a lustful grin, but that still made Steve flush a little, even when Tony was saying it about him), but he was certain it wasn’t the pain of it, because anything harder than that and Tony sort of tensed up, shut down, like he needed to get through it without giving anything away.  Steve had worked for the way Tony trusted him now, in bed—enough that he’d even tell him when something had gone wrong, that he’d slipped!  He wasn’t going to scare him off, not now.  He wasn’t. He was going to be good for him.

 

And there was something that Steve liked about going slow and keeping things this shallow and easy at first. Sure, it was hard to fight his body’s urge to just thrust deep into Tony’s tight warmth, desire and need coiling hard in his belly, his groin, flaring hot under his skin with every little twitch of Tony’s body, the clasp of it around just the tip of his cock, but the steadiness of the pace he’d set for himself, the restraint, even the slow feeling of pleasurable torture, was something that made Steve feel even warmer, settled hot and oddly satisfied inside him, even as he sweated with the strain of it, ached to go deeper, harder, faster.  That combined with how Tony groaned, his body unclenching around Steve until the slide into him was much easier, slick and welcoming, the play of muscle in his back slowly loosening, relaxing, the way he stayed still despite the little movements he made—rocking on his knees, panting against his arms—like he desperately wanted to let himself move, to be more involved in the action, made Steve feel hot all over.  He rubbed his hand over Tony’s hip, knowing his sweaty palm was slipping and sliding against Tony’s skin, but he could feel Tony relax beneath it and so didn’t stop.

 

He kept at it, slow and easy until the clutch of Tony’s muscles again felt more like his body was clinging to his cock rather than trying to push him out.  Tony felt slick and hot around him, smooth and velvety inside.  Steve leaned forward, pressed another kiss to the small of Tony’s back, tasting the sweat that was gathering there, the salt of his skin. “I’m going to go harder now,” he said. “Get ready.”

 

Tony’s hands dug in against the cuffs again, but he nodded, blew his breath out, and the hitch backward of one shoulder seemed more impatient than anything—his body didn't tense, if anything loosening up further.  Steve gave it one more moment, and then Tony twitched his hips, slightly, mumbled, “’m ready,” against the bed.

 

It was instinctive for Steve to reply, but he bit back the words of teasing or praise that wanted to come and instead just said, “Good,” tightened his hand just slightly on Tony’s hip, and shoved into him.

 

Tony’s knees bit hard into the bed, and Steve could see the thrust jolt through him, the raw gritted noise he made that sounded pushed out of him on his accompanying gasp, but it was through the haze of pleasure that shot through him when he pushed deep inside him, the slick slide and hot clasp of Tony’s body, the tightness around his cock.  Tony groaned, and Steve reminded himself firmly that this had to last, because no matter how fast he could get it up again, the point of this was a continuous rhythm that would pull Tony into it, get him just thinking about the beats of it and nothing else.

 

He slid out, pushed in again, fairly certain that he was sliding over Tony’s prostate on both strokes, at least from the way he gasped and shuddered and his back arched, pushing his behind up into Steve. So he held that position, thrusting in and out, going a bit deeper each time until he was sliding into Tony up to the hilt, and Tony was gasping on every thrust, panting against the bed, his cock splattering the bed with pre-come with every thrust that jolted him forward.

 

Steve knew Tony had good self-control when he worked at it (which was almost always), but even for him, straining not to come had to be difficult at this point.  But he wanted Tony to feel like he was working for it, to feel that deep bottomed out thrust of Steve’s cock almost aching inside him, the slide over his prostate, for a while longer before Steve gave him the clear to come whenever he wanted. And if maybe the sweat beading on Tony’s shoulders, the way he gasped and groaned and shook, was one of the most amazing things Steve had ever seen (or at least it felt that way right then), that was how he was supposed to feel, wasn’t it?  Awed as Tony shook and struggled and fell apart just for him.

 

He thrust back and forth a while longer, feeling the heat building, twisting in his belly, the tighter warmth in his chest from watching Tony as he moaned against his arms, pressed his cheek tight to the bed and gasped, then slid into Tony as deep as he could go and held there, for a moment, two, until Tony gave a low, needy, helpless groan. “Steve,” he said, and looked back at him, his eyes blown and pleading, glassy.  Steve could see pink marks on his cheeks from where he’d pressed his face into the bed, against his cuffs, a clear dusky pink line where the cuff had pressed into his skin just beneath one cheekbone.  His lips were wet.  “Steve.” He was panting, shaking more obviously now.  He shoved back into Steve a little, but Steve’s hips were already flush against the sweet curve of his ass, and all he could do was roll himself helplessly back against him.

 

“Shh,” Steve said, and Tony panted, made a helpless sound in the back of his throat, but quieted, went still. Steve reached up with one sweaty hand, stroked it through Tony’s equally damp, sweaty hair. Tony gasped, and Steve hadn’t expected the way he went limp under him, practically melted under his touch. He curled his fingers in a little more, stroking gently over his scalp, and Tony’s chest dropped down against the bed like the wind had been knocked out of him, so only his knees were holding him up, back against Steve.

 

Steve always wanted to be gentler when Tony got like this, wanted to wrap his arms around him and press kisses between his shoulder blades and hold him close and stroke his hair for hours, but he knew that wouldn’t be right, they were doing something else here.  So all he did was lay his hand possessively over Tony’s stomach, right above his cock, not touching it even with the brush of his fingers, and say, as steadily as he could, not shifting at all inside Tony, doing his best not to give him any further stimulation at all, “You can come if you want.”

 

Tony gasped again, made a low, desperate noise, a groan, almost angry, his eyes squeezing shut, and rocked back against Steve a little as if seeking something, more friction, before he stilled again. He panted, his back shading an even deeper red beneath the olive tone of his skin, and Steve had to swallow at the sight of that desperate flush, couldn’t help himself from following the path of it with his fingers, his palm, down over Tony’s back. Tony shuddered, quietly, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was out of desperation or agony or bliss, but he knew the last thing Tony would want him to do was check.  He stayed that way, just for a moment, counting the seconds with the throb of his cock in Tony’s tight heat, the way he felt like it was pounding with the same heartbeat he could feel loud in his own ears.

 

“Do you want to come with me fucking you?” Steve asked, after a moment of Tony trembling, jolting minutely back and forth and then stilling again, gasping against the bed and his crossed wrists.

 

“Yes,” Tony rasped.  “Steve.  Yes.”

 

“Then what do you say?” Steve asked, tightening his grip on Tony just slightly, still not moving.

 

“Steve,” Tony said, shifting slightly in his grip.

 

His name was good, but not exactly what Steve was looking for.  “Ask for what you want,” Steve whispered, leaning down to place a kiss just beneath Tony’s ear, partly because he just couldn’t help himself any longer, partly because of the way it changed the angle, shifted him inside Tony.  Tony’s hair slid damply against his nose, feathered wet along his cheek, and when Steve’s breath huffed against his ear, he twitched, jerked all through his body; Steve could feel the squeeze of it around his cock.

 

Tony felt very warm beneath him, and he could feel the slight shudders as he breathed.  Tony made a soft sound and raised his head, and Steve didn’t think he was asking for a kiss, but he brushed his lips against the side of Tony’s mouth anyway, and Tony gave a quiet gasp that was almost a whimper and turned his head into it, parting his lips.  Steve shifted his balance, moving so he could bring one hand up, curve it around Tony’s jaw and tilt him into the kiss.  Tony moaned a little, moved eagerly into it, and Steve kissed him, deeply, for long moments before pulling away, giving him a look over.  Tony’s eyes, open again, looked dazed, like he was barely tracking. Steve licked along his bottom lip, kissed his chin just beneath his mouth, over his beard, and gently pushed his head back down.  Tony sighed, his breath trembling a little, little twitches Steve could see rippling over his back and shoulders, could feel under his hand, and went willingly.

 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Steve asked again, reminding because Tony seemed so hazy.  “You need to ask.”

 

There was another moment of silence unbroken except by Tony’s panting breaths, and then he twisted his wrists, pushed them up slightly over the bed, sliding them against the covers, and gritted out, “Please, Steve.  Please fuck me. I want to come with you, with you fucking me. Hard. Steve.”  The words sounded like they were torn out of him, gritty and rough, and they hit Steve harder, because they sounded honest, not rehearsed. Sometimes Tony sounded like he was trying to guess what Steve wanted him to say when they did this, like he was choosing from a script, but there had been no rehearsed note in those hoarse, stuttering words.

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, just to tease, straightening back up and skimming his hands back down over Tony’s sides.

 

Tony shuddered.  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, and his voice broke a little, roughly. “Yeah, I’m sure. Please.”

 

“If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get,” Steve said, trying not to let his voice go too gentle, stay stern, firm, with shades of Captain America, though it wasn’t as if Tony usually jumped to obey Cap, either.  He took a deep breath, put one hand on Tony’s back, careful to brace himself with the other so that too much of his weight didn’t go onto Tony’s body.  Tony groaned, and his body shook beneath Steve’s hand all the same. Steve took another breath, pulled out of him halfway, and then shoved back in.

 

He didn’t leave his hand on Tony’s back for long because he needed to grip his hip, hold him steady for each thrust. Tony was braced on the bed, his knees digging in hard and his arms holding him still, but Steve’s thrusts were still moving him too much to get in deep, so Steve gripped his hip tightly, put his other hand down on the bed and concentrated just on pounding him hard, pulling out and then in again, trying to nail his prostate with each roll of his hips. It felt good, of course it did, made pleasure spark and crest all through him, but that wasn’t the point, not right now; he wanted Tony to come.  Tony gasped and groaned under him, groaning on each thrust in and the muscles in his arms bunching, tightening, on each slide out, like he wanted to grab Steve and hold him there.  Watching that made Steve’s breath come even shorter, seeing the strength in Tony’s arms, his muscles working, and knowing that he was staying still because Steve had said for him to be.  Normally Tony talked a lot in bed, hot, breathless praise, random observations, jokes, dirty, filthy compliments, even sweeter things, warm and sometimes half-embarrassed, you name it, but right now he was just moaning on each deep thrust, his pleasure clear in the way he shivered, panted and didn’t quite writhe against the bed.

 

Steve knew that after the amount of teasing he’d given him, how long he’d had Tony hold off his climax, no matter how hard he was, how close to the edge, he still needed to be worked up again, brought back up to orgasm, even if it felt like too much, too much pleasure, too much stimulation—Tony really could get in his own head, make it almost impossible for himself to come, and he was going to need that extra push after all that, no matter how hot and desperate and overtaxed it made him feel. Steve wasn’t going to leave him exhausted and unfulfilled after working him this hard, with nothing to show for his hard work or his efforts at obedience.  He wasn’t sure Tony could get off without a hand on his cock, something to provide friction, it was hard for him to come simply from anal stimulation, but he thought he’d give him a chance first, after how long he’d kept Tony on the edge.

 

After a few moments of that, Tony’s gasping groans a near-constant now, Steve reached down, rubbed his hand up over Tony’s spine to squeeze his hand against his neck, massaging it lightly but steadily. Tony made a sound, and a tremor shuddered through him, his muscles loosening against Steve in the wake of it, his hips going lax, relaxing under Steve, though not enough to drop him down against the bed. 

 

At that reaction Steve made a quick decision, gave into his impulses to hold Tony close, put his arms around him, though he didn’t stop the rhythm of his thrusts.  He pulled Tony back against his body until Tony’s knees were back behind Steve’s thighs, splayed over his legs, leaned forward and moved his hand off Tony’s neck, getting it under him instead, against his chest, and replacing it with his lips on his neck as he leaned forward, pressing close over his back. Tony gasped, gave a choked little moan, and Steve kissed his way over his shoulder, then up his neck to his ear, nosed in against it, bracing himself with one hand against the bed. “Go on,” he muttered, and closed his teeth lightly on the lobe of Tony’s ear.

 

He could feel it all through him as Tony tensed, his body tightening as his eyes squeezed shut, and then came, gasping out a groan that was more of a full-voiced breath than anything, his body spasming almost helplessly in Steve’s grip.  Steve held him as he shook with his arm tight under his chest, even as Tony’s come splattered across the bed and his own chest.  Some of it hit Steve’s hand, and that made his cock twitch even as he rolled his hips slowly, working Tony through his climax, and Tony gave a low, helpless noise, bent his head back, panting, then dropped it down again, still breathless and trembling and his cock leaking come slightly.  Steve just watched him, moving his hips in slight increments, awed by that, Tony coming at Steve’s words in his ear, gasping raggedly as Steve worked him from the inside out even as he shook and shuddered through the aftershocks, open and willing for him and far gone on sensation, completely at his mercy, trembling and shaking and trusting himself to Steve’s hold. He closed his eyes after a while, buried his face in Tony’s hair, the rough softness of it, the warm skin of his neck, just behind his ear, while Tony was still too lost in pleasure to make much of the gesture.

 

He was so incredible.  So amazing.  Steve couldn’t believe it sometimes.  Coming at Steve’s word?  Hell. Just . . . goddamn. After all that, to have it be Steve’s voice that tipped him over.  And Tony thought he wasn’t good at this.  The hell with that.

 

When Tony was trembling slightly less, though his breath was still coming in hard, heavy pants, Steve carded one hand through his hair, stroking it lightly, then used it to turn his head to one side. He made sure Tony’s hips were firmly propped against his and he was held, pinioned securely in the position he was in, then slid the hand on his chest away, brought his come-spattered hand up to Tony’s lips.  Tony’s eyes slid open, very blue between the dark, heavy lattice of his eyelashes, and then without being prompted more than that, he leaned forward, began to lick his come up off of Steve’s hand.  The sight of that, Tony’s tongue red and wet against Steve’s skin, the come spattering it, made Steve bite his lip against a groan and move his hips restlessly, helplessly against Tony.  The way Tony groaned himself at the movement, and his breath hitched, but he pressed his rear back against Steve as if in encouragement, spread his thighs over Steve’s—Steve felt his cock throbbing inside Tony’s heat, even as he opened his hand, let Tony slide his tongue over his palm and lick up the rest of it.

 

Once he was done, Tony closed his mouth, let his lips press in a kiss against the center of Steve’s palm, casting a glance sideways up at him through his lashes.  Steve smiled at him.  “Good,” he said. “That was good.” He brought his hand up, ruffled Tony’s hair, and then pushed his head back down, lightly.  “Now you hold still for me like a good boy. You’re not done yet. I still need to come.” He prayed that was right, the right thing to say, even as his heart jumped and pounded in his chest like it was running five times faster than normal.

 

Tony just moaned, his eyes sliding closed. He whispered, “Yessir,” and let his head go back down, unresisting.  His body was slack, pliant against Steve’s as Steve moved him back with both hands on his hips, arranged him, pushing him forward a bit, then pulled out nearly to the head of his cock, and God, the sight of Tony’s dusky red, fucked-out hole stretched open around Steve’s cock, slick and glistening with lube—Steve swallowed and pushed back in, slow, to watch his cock disappear into Tony’s body. Tony groaned a little, but didn’t struggle, even so much as twitch, despite the way his breath quickened. His body stayed lax, limp, relaxed and a slick, easy slide around Steve’s cock, hot and supple, the curved, strong muscles of his thighs loose over Steve’s.  Steve imagined Tony was sore, raw from overstimulation a bit, but he just groaned, panting into the bedcovers, his body still relaxed and easy, and when Steve pulled out again and slammed himself back in, he just grunted into the bed, hands clenching a bit, but rocked with the thrust, not tensing at all in pain, only the tiniest involuntary wince.  Normally even that slight wince would have had Steve stopping immediately, but Steve knew this was about more for Tony than the pain, so he didn’t stop, just kept going, using Tony’s body even after he’d come, the way he knew he’d want him to.

 

Steve took a deep breath, let himself rest against Tony’s back again, knowing he was heavy (he hoped not too heavy), and pressed his lips against his shoulder blade, down his back, even as he started setting his own pace, no longer worrying about Tony’s good spots so much as seeking his own pleasure, and hoping this was right, that this would send Tony just that extra bit further down into it.  His fingers slid over Tony’s skin before he hooked them around his hip, clenching tight, pressed his face into his back, and lost himself in the rhythm of his cock fucking into that warm wet heat, the smooth slide of it, the friction, the knowledge that this was Tony here with him, here beneath him.  He could hear Tony’s rasping breaths and found himself matching his thrusts to them instinctively.  Tony was so wet and hot and still gripping just tight enough around him that it wasn’t long before Steve felt like he’d turned to all heat and pleasure and sparks, felt it twisting and welling inside him, the heat and pulsing pressure in his dick, and then came with a shout that he muffled in Tony’s skin.

 

He stayed like that for a while, panting into Tony’s back, groaning a little, and Tony just lay there, shifted his hips just a bit, but that was all.  After what felt like a long time, Steve felt like he’d come back down, drifted back to earth, almost, half-shaking and shivery, and opened his eyes, reached around Tony’s hips, feeling for his cock.  He was a little hard, though not hard enough to justify bringing him off again, his cock very hot and raw against Steve’s fingers, and Steve squeezed him gently, feeling him all sticky and damp with come.  He jerked him once or twice, kissing his shoulder, until Tony gasped, gave a rough whine and shifted under him, his thighs trembling.  Steve just cupped his cock in his hand, his palm against his balls, holding him. Tony made another soft throaty sound, pushed his hips forward, into Steve’s hand, then slid back, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do between Steve’s softening cock in his rear and the steady grip against his own sex.  After a moment, Steve stroked him a little more, enjoying the sticky, already wet feeling of his cock only half-hard and flushed and hot against his hand, listening to the trembling of Tony’s breath in his chest.

 

When that breathing became too harsh and Steve was almost slipping free of Tony anyway, he pulled out of him, mourning the loss of that heat and pressure.  Tony made a rough sound, as if he, too, was missing Steve’s heaviness and weight inside his body. A few drops of come slipped free, sliding down after Steve’s cock to slip over Tony’s balls as he pulled out, before Tony rocked forward slightly on his knees, canting his rear up, seemed to try to clench his hole closed.  Steve let his thumb settle over Tony’s red, puffy hole, swallowed, and then pushed it inside, something in his stomach thrilling at how easily his thumb slid into him. He felt very slick and wet and hot inside, and Steve fancied to himself that he could feel his come inside Tony, slicking him up.  He let his thumb swirl inside him in slow, lazy circles, pressed a kiss to the curve of Tony’s rear, still holding his cock lightly, sliding his thumb back and forth—thought about how it was stopping him up, keeping Steve’s come inside him, and had to swallow hard. His own soft cock twitched. Tony let out his breath, moaning low in his throat, spread his legs, rocked back against him, bending his knees slightly, lowering himself down against the bed, against Steve’s hands. He was starting to shiver again.

 

Steve pulled his thumb away, a bit regretfully, and Tony gave a bit of a whimper, lifted his head.  Steve stroked his thumb down the inside curve of Tony’s ass, down his thigh, tearing his gaze away with difficulty from the slick rim of Tony’s hole, the fluttering clench of it when he pulled his thumb away.

 

“Shh,” he said.  “Easy.”  He put one hand on the small of Tony’s back.  “Turn onto your side.”  He knew he himself could go again, easy, knew Tony would let him, even encourage him, but Tony was counting on him to know when to stop, and that had been intense—it wasn’t that Tony wouldn’t be able to take another round, just that it wouldn’t be as fun, and he’d be exhausted, flattened by the end of it.  That wasn’t what Steve wanted, not for this go-round, at least.

 

Tony nodded a little, breathed in, a deep shuddering breath, then straightened one arm, brought his knees up and turned over. Steve let his hand rest on his hip, noticing that there were red marks there in the shape of his fingers, angry looking enough that they would be bruises for sure later. He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a pang of guilt twist in his stomach.

 

“You can straighten out,” he said, and Tony did, and then Steve settled onto the bed beside him, hooked his finger under the collar around Tony’s neck and pulled him forward into a kiss. Tony made a noise, leaned in, opened his mouth for Steve, and Steve kissed him deeply, slipping his tongue over Tony’s bottom lip, back into the heat of his mouth.  Steve kissed him for a long moment, then pulled away, pressed his lips against the side of his mouth, the corner of his lips, then let them rest against the soft rasp of his facial hair, despite Tony’s gasp, the way his eyes flicked open, pleading, the way he tried to turn his head toward Steve as if to kiss him again.  Steve didn’t move his finger from where it was pressed against Tony’s throat, feeling the jerk and bob of his Adam’s apple, the way his throat worked, the dampness of his skin, but he ran his other hand down over his side, found one of his hands and pulled it over to rest against his side, clasping his own fingers over the leather cuff.  “You can move your hands,” he murmured.  “Here.”

 

Tony shivered, then shivered harder, and Steve clasped his hand tighter, pressing it closer against his own skin and not letting go, lacing their fingers.  “Easy,” he murmured one more time, and kissed him again.  This time Tony was a more eager participant, clutching at Steve’s back, licking into his mouth, panting against him, pressing close into Steve’s arms, his free hand flat against Steve’s back before he stroked it down, dragging it over his skin.  Steve let go of his wrist, let his hand shift down as Tony slid it toward the small of his back, moved both hands up to cup Tony’s jaw, stroking his fingers back into his hair, the heel of his palm against his neck as he cradled his face in his hands. Tony clutched him closer, and Steve could feel his trembling easing, felt him relaxing even further, the excited energy in his kiss now more familiar, closer to how Tony normally kissed as his fingers dug in against Steve’s spine.

 

Steve kissed him for another long few moments, losing track of time in the touch of his mouth, the way he tasted. He slid his hand down over Tony’s shoulder, cupping his other hand at the back of Tony’s neck as he skimmed his palm down over his back.  Tony made a hungry noise, moved in even closer against him, and Steve closed his eyes and just let Tony kiss him with that ardent, giving heat for long moments, let him explore his mouth with his.  He felt his hand flex against Tony’s skin, pull him in close, as if from a long way away, his head swimming with the warmth of it, how Tony felt against him, the intensity of . . . all of it, everything they’d done together, everything Tony had let him do, and this softness after all of it.  He felt loose and easy in his own skin, warm and satisfied, and now Tony’s mouth was on his, clever and insistent and generous and hot, and Steve just wrapped his arm around him and hung on, reveling in the kiss.

 

There were still things he had to do, though, and so eventually Steve got his mind back together, forced himself to pull away from Tony’s generous mouth.  He blinked his eyes open to see Tony in front of him, his eyes closed so that his eyelashes were flat and dark across his cheeks.  He found his eyes drawn to the slick swollenness of Tony’s lips and swallowed, told himself to focus, met Tony’s eyes just as they were fluttering back open.  They looked a little bit more aware, but still dazed, hazy, blue slits beneath thick dark eyelashes.

 

This part was always tricky.  Steve didn’t want to make Tony feel like he needed to come up from that hazy place where he was drifting too fast, because he would push himself, he always did, and he wanted . . . he needed this to end differently, not Tony shrugging off Steve’s attention, acting tough, like he didn’t need anything, any help, because he did, after something like this, and that didn’t mean anything about how tough he was, or how strong.  Steve knew that if Tony did that it would end up with him trembling, cold, almost shaking himself apart in his workshop on his own and pretending like his mood wasn’t plummeting like a rock someone had tossed out of a helicopter, knew it because he’d seen it, and every time he felt the same sick, twisting lurch of guilt, of failure, of knowing he’d put Tony there and hadn’t been able to catch him, soften the fall like he should have, how wrong it was to push him down if he wasn’t going to be there to help him up.

 

So he had to take it slow, not give Tony a reason to push him away.  No coddling, Steve told himself.  He’s tough, you both know it. Treat him like normal, just . . . gentler.  But don’t be obvious about being gentler.

 

Just don’t treat him like a goddamn teddy bear or a china doll, Rogers, and everything should be fine.

 

Steve swallowed, told himself firmly that Tony wasn’t fragile, that as far as he could tell the man was made out of steel and titanium, and definitely not glass, and said, “Hey,” low and soft, smiling a little.

 

Tony blinked at him, swallowed, swiped his tongue against his bottom lip in a move that made Steve’s stomach twist up with heat at the sight of it, the slick red of his tongue over the damp puffy softness of his lips, framed by the dramatic dark slashes of his facial hair. “Hey,” he said, hoarsely, rough and low and just a little questioning.

 

“That was good work,” Steve murmured, bringing his hands up again and kissing Tony’s cheek as he cupped them against his jaw, then moving his lips up to his forehead.

 

“Yeah?” Tony murmured hazily, and smiled.

 

“Very good,” Steve said, traced his hand down over Tony’s chest, over his side, keeping his hand firm, gripping him tight, possessively.  “You held off so damn long.”  He brought him in closer, grazed his mouth over Tony’s cheekbone, down over his skin, over his beard, to his jaw.  “I sure as hell enjoyed that, watching you.”  He held him tighter, brought his hand down over his hip, swallowed, feeling uncertain of his footing again.  But he couldn’t let that stop him, not now.  “Using you.”

 

“Glad to be of service,” Tony said, slurring the words a little, that smile still soft and lazy, going all crooked. So it had been right. Tony leaned in, wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, the back of his neck, cupping his own elbows loosely with both hands.  “We endeavor to give satisfaction,” he said, grinned some more, that soft, sloppy little private grin, and kissed Steve’s jaw, nosing in against his neck. Steve’s heart leapt, squeezed and turned over and performed all kinds of athletics, because he was pretty sure that smile was just for him, when they were like this, and it gave him little flutters in his chest and stomach every time he saw it.  Tony’s muscles felt loose and relaxed under his hands.

 

“Well, I’m definitely satisfied,” Steve told him, pressing his face into Tony’s hair, still holding him tight.

 

Tony gave a quiet little laugh against his neck. “Don’t want a refund?” he murmured. His voice sounded lazy.

 

“Nope, I’m good,” Steve said. He traced his hand down over Tony’s back, was surprised by how limp Tony went, how he relaxed still further.

 

“Good,” he said softly, not moving his face from against Steve’s neck.  “You’re, uh, you’re sure?  You’re done?” He moved his hands down over Steve’s sides, brought his knee up between his legs, the suggestion clear.

 

“I’m sure,” Steve said.

 

“I could go again,” Tony said, pressing kisses down over his shoulder.  “Well, I mean, I’m probably done, but that’s not a big deal.  You could go again, if you wanted.”  His voice dropped a little, got low, soft and husky. “I’m here for you to use, right?”

 

Steve smiled a little, smoothed his hand down his back again, stilling him.  “Sure,” he agreed, easily, “that’s the deal.  But I’m done for now.”  He kissed Tony’s lips, lightly, ducking his head down to the side to find them. “You were good. You felt good. Looked great.  Gorgeous.  Every second.” He couldn’t get his mind off how Tony had looked, face down and behind up in the air, the sweet curve of his rear and the way his body had felt around him, the way it had looked, Tony stretched out and flush on his cock, taking it all, everything Steve was giving him—the way Tony had looked earlier, mouth slack and open on his cock, lips spread wide around him, how he had looked while Steve was driving him to the edge, desperate and flushed.

 

That in particular.  Steve had a feeling he was going to remember that for a while.

 

Tony smiled a little more, Steve could feel it against his lips, tilted his head to one side, looked down a little, smiling crookedly.  “You liked that?” he said.

 

Steve blew his breath out.  “Yeah,” he said fervently.  “You were,” he fumbled the word a little, not sure if it was too much, but it was the truth, “wonderful.  You held off so long—you were so good.”  You let me push you so far down, he thought, but didn’t say, tracing his hand down over the muscle of Tony’s arm, rubbing lightly.  Sure, Tony had struggled, but Steve had never got that sense of trust from him so easily before, with so little back and forth.  He was still awed by it.  “You let me do whatever I wanted,” he murmured, a less over the top way of saying the same thing he’d been thinking.

 

Tony’s smile went a little more lopsided. “Well,” he said. “It’s the name of the game, right?” But he still sounded pleased, gratified by that.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.  “That’s what I’m saying.  You worked hard, and I loved every second of it.  You were so good, Tony.”

 

“All for you,” Tony mumbled. Steve pushed his sweaty dark hair back off his forehead, stroking his fingers through it, against his skin. He wanted to say that it was the same for him, that all of this was for Tony, but he knew better than that, knew that Tony would balk.  Instead he just grinned at him.

 

“Thanks,” he said, simply.  “I had a lot of fun.”

 

Tony grinned, and his cheeks pinked up, not quite a real flush, but close.  He looked happy and loose and dazed and relaxed, and Steve had to fight the impulse to pull him close, squeeze him and hold on tight.  Instead, he rolled over on his back, knowing that Tony would follow him if he tugged, and he did, settling onto Steve’s chest, resting his cheek there when Steve stroked his hair, tugged his head down onto his chest. They stayed like that for a long moment, quiet, Tony still collared and cuffed, breathing in low, easy breaths, the warm air puffing over Steve’s skin as Steve stroked his fingers slow and soft through his sweaty hair.  Tony was lying in between Steve’s legs, and Steve had felt him this relaxed before, this loose and free of tension, like not even his mind was struggling at anything, but not often.  Tony was drawing on him again, but it wasn’t the more usual equations and diagrams, it felt more elliptical, uneven, still like math, but interspersed with weird, fantastical shapes. Steve thought it felt great, even as he rubbed his fingers against the back of Tony’s neck, curled them through his hair.

 

“It really was good?” Tony breathed after a long time, his voice a low rasp that croaked and broke a little over the words, like his throat was a little raw.  His fingers stilled, then firmed into a fist, and he pressed his face further into Steve’s skin, against his chest. 

 

Steve’s fingers stilled instinctively, and then he consciously started them moving again, stroking evenly. “I said it was,” he said. More to the point, he’d said Tony was. “Didn’t I?”

 

“Well, yeah, but . . .” Tony hesitated, sighed. “There were . . . a few speed-bumps.” It wasn’t quite a question, but it wasn’t not one, either.

 

“I had fun,” Steve said, more firmly.

 

“Okay,” Tony said.  “Okay, you had fun.”

 

“So you don’t go down easy,” Steve said, “whatever made you think I don’t like a challenge, mister?”

 

Tony grinned against him that time. “Got a point,” he said.

 

“’Course I do,” Steve said, still firm. He hesitated a moment, knew this was going to be too much, but the hell with it, some things Tony just needed to hear.  He wasn’t going to pussyfoot around them because he was scared. If Tony pushed him away for it, well, he’d cross that bridge when it happened.  He got his hand down, pulled Tony’s head up with one hand along his jaw. Tony blinked at him, looking surprised. “It’s you that matters to me,” Steve said, and he could hear his voice, too emotional, full with it and a little unsteady, but still firm, even and soft. “I like that you’re a challenge, sure, but most of all I like that it’s you.  That’s what this is about.  Don’t get it into your head that just because you’re great at sex that anything we do, ever, is about the best fuck I can get out of you.”  He said it deliberately, watched Tony suck in his breath at the crude word, let him turn that over in his head for a second, watched his lashes shift downwards and his throat start to work and close up, his mouth tighten, and then said, smiling to lighten to mood and show that he was teasing now, “Hell, if that was all I was after, Tony, I’d hire a professional. I know how to work the internet.” He swatted at Tony’s rear a little, lightly. “And we both know that you’re almost a pro at these things, but you’re not quite there.”

 

Tony’s face was an amazing thing, would have been hilarious if Steve felt like laughing, shocked and amazed and not quite sure whether he was flattered or insulted, still a little flushed and raw and emotional. “Oh, my God, Steve,” he said, sounding a little strangled, and then put his head down and laughed, big deep laughs that sounded real and awkward and wonderful, and Steve put his arms around him and snickered helplessly himself, like the switch for him to laugh, too, had been triggered just by Tony’s honest laughter, so deep and real he was almost gasping for air. “I don’t know whether to be insulted you just said I was almost a prostitute or insulted you think I’m not quite that good,” Tony wheezed after a moment.  “I could be an escort, Steve, I would be such a—” he snorted another laugh “—a great escort, I—you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

 

“Well, that’s probably true,” Steve said dryly, “I was under the impression I couldn’t afford you already,” and that made Tony laugh again, until he was shaking against Steve’s chest and stomach.  Steve nosed into his hair, just above his ear, murmured, “You’re an expensive guy.” Tony snorted, and Steve curled his arms around him a little tighter, held him, grinning into his hair, until Tony’s laughs tapered off, until he was just chuckling a little against Steve’s chest. He let his breath out, slowly—he was so glad that had worked.  He’d wanted to distract Tony a little, not let him dwell, but he hadn’t wanted to insult him, or seem like he was making fun in a bad way.  He was glad it had put a grin on Tony’s face, made him laugh.

 

“Yeah, you’re lucky you get this all for free,” Tony murmured.

 

“I am,” Steve said, seriously, “lucky.” He reached down, tilted Tony’s face up toward him a little, again.  “Very lucky,” he told him with pure honesty.

 

Tony’s face twisted a little, his mouth pulling to one side.  “Yeah, well,” he said, but he didn’t really argue, to Steve’s slight surprise, instead putting his head down against Steve’s chest and sighing, blowing out his breath long and slow. “So am I.”

 

“Well, hell, thanks, fella,” Steve drawled, just to make Tony laugh again, which he did, pressing his face in against Steve’s shoulder.  They stayed there for a few more minutes without speaking, or even moving—Steve didn’t want to end this, to have Tony come back up to the surface too fast, before Steve had a chance to make sure he was all right, but he also didn’t want to rush him through this, do anything to break into the way Tony had relaxed into him. It wasn’t often that Tony just . . . let Steve hold him like this, rest one hand in the small of his back and run the other over his side, and just lay there, head pillowed in Steve’s shoulder, his eyes lazy and half-lidded as one hand moved slowly over Steve’s collarbone, down his chest.  Steve felt . . . good, so good, so warm and overwhelmed with pleasure and satisfaction, with affection for Tony, that he felt like he might be glowing with it. With Tony sprawled out over him, breathing evenly and slowly, and how good, satisfied and sated, Steve felt himself . . . he didn’t want to move.  He knew he should, that he needed to clean Tony up, get him something to eat and drink before he really started come back to himself, to chafe under Steve’s attempts to take care of him, started to push back against him, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to move yet, to end this. He felt like he was melting under Tony’s weight, soaking down into the bed.  He ran his fingers along the back of Tony’s neck, rubbing firmly, and Tony sighed. Steve could feel him smile lazily against his skin.

 

They stayed like that for a long time; Steve wasn’t certain how long, but it was a while.  Tony’s eyes gradually drifted closed, and Steve wasn’t sure how awake he was, though his fingers were still moving over Steve’s chest, stroking drowsily along his collarbone, down over his pectorals.  He was starting to shiver, though, and hard, shudders pulling his shoulders tight, though he didn’t seem to notice how badly he was shaking, and he felt tacky with dried sweat beneath Steve’s fingers, sticky and hot despite the shivers.  Reluctantly, Steve pushed himself up, sliding Tony off of him, and onto the bed. Tony roused a little, blinking his eyes open and pushing himself up on one elbow questioningly.

 

“You stay there,” Steve said, running his fingers over the cuff on Tony’s wrist.  “While these are still on you’re still mine, right?  So stay there, like a good boy.  Wait for me.”

 

Tony nodded wordlessly, laid back down, though he was shivering harder now. 

 

Steve snagged the blanket he’d left folded up over the headboard, expecting it might be easier to reach for that than get Tony under the covers if he needed to warm him up after, and shook it out, laying it over him.  “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said and twitched his hand at Steve a little, as if to say that he should shoo.  Steve smiled at that, a little, fondly, though a bit worried—Tony pushing him away had been a bad sign before now—and started off for the bathroom.

 

He used the facilities quickly and washed his hands, wiped himself down with a soapy cloth and then a wet one, before he went and found the refrigerator Tony kept in the other room.  He’d put a few snacks in there to wait, and a bottle of fruit juice, expecting that he’d want Tony to eat afterward to keep his blood sugar up (and that he’d want to have something to eat himself, he usually—okay, almost always—did).  He put the snacks and the juice on a tray, then detoured back into the bathroom to run hot water over a washcloth and collect a towel.  After that, he returned to the bedroom, glad of his ability to balance multiple objects at the same time.

 

Tony was still lying where Steve had left him, sprawled out over the bed, his head pillowed on his arms now, though his eyes opened again when Steve came back in.  He put the food on the night table on the other side of the bed where Tony wouldn’t really be able to see it, then picked up the wet cloth and moved to sit beside him, folding the blanket down and tightening his grip on the washcloth just over Tony’s skin so that warm water dripped down over Tony’s neck, between his shoulders, without much warning.  Tony jumped, sucked in his breath.  “Yikes,” he mumbled.  “We don’t all have eyes in the back of our heads, super-soldier.”

 

“That’s an excuse, mister,” Steve said, chuckling, as he smoothed the warmth cloth out and brought it down over Tony’s back, over each shoulder and then down the column of his spine.  “You know how I feel about excuses.”

 

“Okay, I admit it, I don’t expect to have water dripped on me in the middle of quiet time in the bedroom, I have failed in the constant vigilance expected of an Avenger by my lover—I mean, did I say my lover? I meant my drill sergeant,” Tony said. His eyes were sparking with mischief when he met Steve’s gaze from where he was still pillowing his head on his arms.

 

“God, the lip I get from you,” Steve said, grinning at him.  He swatted his behind lightly, just hard enough that Tony could really feel it—and he could tell he did because he made a soft sound, twitched slightly.  At the same time he brought the cloth further down over Tony’s back, wiping up the sweat that had gathered and dried at the base of his spine and then letting it rest there, the warmth seep into Tony’s muscles until he grunted a little and his posture went a little bit more relaxed, easier, against the bed, shivering less obviously.

 

“Drill sergeant,” Tony said again, but more lazily, this time, his voice sounding sleepy and lax, “we all know it. You can take the army out of the boy . . . .”

 

Steve let his hand rest on Tony’s rear, rubbing lightly, and using the chance he got to look him over with a critical eye, trying not to get distracted by the silvery streaks of come and lube over Tony’s thighs, the way his hole still looked well-used, like Tony had just been fucked hard. Which of course he, well, he had. But nothing seemed wrong, and Tony was still relaxed, not complaining and not tense at all.  “But I’m your drill sergeant,” he said, playfully, reclaiming the cloth and running it down over Tony’s behind, cleaning him carefully but not too intrusively. He hoped, anyway.

 

“Mmm, well,” Tony said.  “I guess that’s true, isn’t it?” He sounded like he was smiling, still relaxed and a little blurry, his voice lazy and slow, and he didn’t so much as twitch at Steve’s ministrations.

 

“It is true,” Steve said, more quietly, still smiling to himself as he brought the cloth down over Tony’s thighs, being certain to clean between them, bringing it down further over his legs. “Who taught you how to fight?” He finished with that and tapped Tony’s side lightly with the palm of his hand.  “Turn over,” he said.

 

“Happy Hogan,” Tony said, and then rolled over, and Steve knew he’d said it just to be a pill because of the smile he could see on his lips.

 

“Fight, Tony, not box,” he said, running the cloth up over his chest now.

 

“Well, you’re the expert,” Tony said, grinning up at him now.  “But mostly I remember you teaching me how to fall.  And, you know, the falling.”

 

“Which probably saved you about a hundred broken bones over the years,” Steve pointed out.  He took Tony’s hand in his, curled the fingers over, arranging them into a proper fist, fingers tucked behind his thumb, then brushed a kiss to his knuckles. “And I taught you how to throw a punch that wouldn’t break your wrist.”

 

“I can’t deny that,” Tony said, letting his hand drop, and his voice had gone raspy and low, the way he looked up at Steve soft, and, well.  There was emotion in his face, and affection—a lot of affection.  Steve swallowed hard, and then leaned in and kissed him, even as he slid the cloth up over his clavicle, over the hollow of his throat. Tony’s lips parted beneath him, soft, wet heat, and then Steve was really kissing him, deep and slow. The kiss lasted for a while before Steve pulled away, going back to his task, turning the cloth over to run it down over Tony’s arms, over his wrists, then down to his hips, cleaning his cock carefully, trying not to stimulate him too much. Tony hissed in his breath, pushed himself up on one elbow to watch him, even after Steve squeezed his hip warningly, signaling him to be still.  He finished cleaning his balls, and looked up, only to feel his face flush slightly at the way Tony was looking at him, hot and soft at the same time, his eyes very dark.

 

“What?” he said.

 

“You looked so focused,” Tony said. He smiled.

 

“You were sticky,” Steve said, blankly, a little embarrassed. He shrugged.  “I didn’t want to rub at you too much, uh. Get you all worked up again. You said you were probably done.”

 

“You’re a sweetheart,” Tony said, softly. It sounded like he meant it for more than just Steve cleaning up his cock.

 

Steve grinned a little sheepishly and looked down, shrugging one shoulder as he finished wiping Tony down.  “Sure,” he said.  “What a hardship.  Helping my guy out after a round of fantastic sex.  How will I ever manage to endure something like that?”  He snagged the dry towel, tossed it to Tony, grabbing one end of it and helping Tony by drying off his back for him, then sat back.

 

Tony snorted.  “And you say I give you lip,” he said, rubbing the towel over his chest, down his arms.

 

“You do,” Steve said, and grinned, flicking his finger against Tony’s bottom lip, just slow enough that Tony caught it with his mouth, pressed a kiss against it and made something fluttering and warm settle in Steve’s stomach again.  “And I have to say I like the way you do it.  If you know what I mean.”

 

“If that was a pun,” Tony informed him, another smile curving the corners of his mouth, “I feel obligated to tell you that it was really awful.”

 

“Good thing I’m not a comedian, then,” was all Steve said, still smiling to himself even as he pulled the towel out of Tony’s hands.

 

“Or a crossword puzzle writer,” Tony said.

 

“Maybe I should take that up,” Steve said, still grinning.

 

“You’re incorrigible,” Tony said on a groan. “How did you get so incorrigible?”

 

“Born that way,” Steve said, grinning even wider. “Though I gotta admit some of it’s practice.”

 

“I can tell,” Tony informed him.

 

“Good,” Steve said cheerfully. “Then it’s not going to waste.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes at him, but he was smiling even more widely than before, and he willingly let Steve push him back into the bed and kiss him again, sliding his hands up over Steve’s arms to curl around his shoulders, the back of his neck, and leaning up into it. Steve braced himself on the bed beside Tony and kissed him long and slow, and Tony kissed him back eagerly.

 

After a long time, Steve pulled away, rolled onto his side beside Tony, laid one hand on his chest, then sat up in the bed beside him.  “I brought us something to eat,” he said.  Tony blinked. “You know how hungry I always get,” Steve said, and offered Tony a hand as he pushed himself up, crossed his legs and sat up straight.

 

Tony’s face relaxed a bit into a crooked smile. “Yeah, you’re a bottomless pit,” he said, lifting his head to look around.  “So where’s this food?”

 

Steve leaned in, curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck and pressed a kiss to the side of it, then bit there, lightly, against his skin, down against his shoulder.  “What if I said it was right here in front of me?” he asked, teasingly, scraping his teeth lightly down over Tony’s skin even as he reached behind them for the food.

 

Tony laughed and shoved at him with one elbow. “I’d say that I’m not going to taste particularly good,” he said.  “All worn out and stringy.”

 

“Now, that’s not true,” Steve said, leaning over to press a kiss against the hollow of Tony’s throat.  “You taste good to me,” he murmured, moving up to brush a brief kiss to Tony’s lips before moving away and bringing the tray of food over between them.  “But I admit, I did bring something else.  After all, I’ve already devoured you enough for one day, right?”

 

“God, Steve, the puns,” Tony said, but he did take the bowl and the fork Steve handed him as he set the tray down between them. “Spaghetti?” he asked, looking down at the bowl in his hand.

 

Steve had actually called the Italian restaurant Tony had taken him to no less than five times on dates, and at which he was clearly a regular, and asked what Tony ordered most often when he came by himself, then ordered it special.  But that was the kind of detail that would rub Tony the wrong way for sure, get his back up, so Steve just said, “Yeah, carbonara, I like the bacon.” Tony liked Italian food, Steve knew, not just from observation, but because Tony had once mentioned that the few times his mother had ever cooked at home, pasta and lasagna were some of the only things she’d ever made.  Luckily, Steve liked pasta, too—flavorful, easy to make, and heavy on the carbs his enhanced metabolism devoured like air, it was one of the things he found himself eating a lot of just by default.  Steve was hoping this would read as more romantic than anything, and as such took a bite of his own pasta before he poured the bottle of expensive apple juice into two cups and handed one to Tony.  It was really more something he’d done because after doing stuff like this he wanted Tony to eat something, to give him the blood sugar boost and because who knew how much he’d eaten during the rest of the day—the last thing he needed after a scene was to have any lack of nutrition futzing with his mood. But it bothered Tony if Steve acted too much like he was looking after him, so compromise it was.

 

And Steve really did get ravenously hungry after sex almost every single time, so there was that, too.  He took a few bites, sipped his apple juice, then held a forkful out to Tony.

 

“You know, I have my own,” Tony said, twisting his lips at him wryly, but he opened his mouth and closed it carefully over Steve’s fork anyway, and Steve grinned.

 

“I hear it’s more romantic when someone feeds it to you,” he said.  “Tastes better, too.”

 

“It tastes exactly the same,” Tony argued.

 

“Nope,” Steve said.  “Sure doesn’t.”

 

“All right, fine,” Tony said, picking up his own fork and holding a bite out to Steve.  “You try it and tell me if it really tastes any different.”

 

Steve leaned forward and took the bite, tilting his head to brush his closed lips gently against Tony’s wrist, against the leather cuff that still encircled it, right over his pulse, before he chewed and swallowed it.  “Yep, tastes better,” he said, and grinned at Tony.

 

“I walked right into that one,” Tony muttered.

 

“You sure did,” Steve agreed, taking more bites of his own pasta.  Tony wasn’t eating as quickly—he never did—but at least he was eating, which was something. After a while, Steve shifted around to the other side of the tray so he could scoot in against Tony’s side, put his arm around him, and moved the tray to rest over his legs. Tony gave him a sideways glance, but he eventually relaxed into Steve’s side, and they traded bites of their food, complete with teasing and nudging each other with shoulders and elbows, for a while.  When they were both finished, Steve stacked the bowls and glasses on the tray and set it to the side again, over on the nightstand, turning back to find Tony leaning into him. He kissed Steve’s cheek, smiled at him a little, then laid his head down on Steve’s shoulder, curling one arm laxly around his other shoulder.

 

Steve felt a wave of relief wash through him, relief and affection that was so deep and real that he felt his chest twinge a little.  He had more than half expected Tony to get up after he’d finished eating, retreat into his workshop or his office.  He’d done it before, and Steve was sure he’d do it again.  But right now he was lying right here at Steve’s side, body pressed warm and solid against his (and naked, impossible to ignore that), and so Steve focused on that, curling his arm around his shoulders in return and turning his head to press his lips into Tony’s still damp, desperately tousled hair. Tony smiled a little against his shoulder, skimmed his hand lightly down over Steve’s chest. After a moment, Steve linked his finger through the metal ring on the collar Tony was wearing, tugged on it lightly, turning his head to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Let me know when you want all this off,” he said.

 

Tony went still against him for a moment. “You can take the cuffs off,” he said in what was clearly an attempt to keep his tone light, easy, laying his hand out against Steve’s stomach, offering his wrist, ducking his head down and not looking up at Steve, “but I’d like to keep the collar on for a while.”

 

Something in Steve’s chest clenched, seized up a little, warm and liquid and painfully tender.  Steve had been nervous about including something as . . . dramatically symbolic as the collar in the first place, and for Tony to say he wanted to keep it on—it meant that he wasn’t quite ready for this to be over, that he wanted a mark of this for at least a bit longer, that he wanted . . . this.  That he wanted Steve. It meant he wasn’t going to pull away—even if he did, physically, he wanted something of this with him. On him.  “Sure,” Steve said, easily, after a swallow to clear his throat. “No problem.” 

 

He reached up, unfastened the cuffs on Tony’s wrists easily, first one, then the other, rubbing them lightly after freeing them from the leather, though there were no marks and the cuffs hadn’t been tight enough to really bite into Tony’s skin at all.  That finished, he sat up a little more, leaned forward to unfasten the cuffs on Tony’s ankles, too, as Tony spread his legs, lifted them for Steve to get at, then set all the cuffs aside, on the night table beside the plates.  When he leaned back, he reached up, slid his finger through the ring on the collar, and brought Tony in for a kiss, making sure it was long and slow, just forceful enough that he could feel the well-kissed puffiness of Tony’s lips soft under his as they slid open to welcome him in, explore the warmth of his mouth. Tony tasted like food and apple juice, and as far as Steve was concerned, that was just about perfect. When Steve pulled away, Tony smiled at him crookedly, slid his hand up to rest against Steve’s neck, and kissed him again, tugging him back down into it with some insistence.

 

Steve grinned a little, to himself, and turned onto his side, slipping his fingers just under the collar, against Tony’s throat, and kissing him more deeply, closing his own eyes to lean into it. Tony made a low noise and pressed into him more demandingly, sliding his tongue into Steve’s mouth, one hand tugging at his hair at the back of his neck.  Steve slid his fingers along his throat, to the back of his neck where the collar snugged in tight against his skin, then moved his hand down over Tony’s shoulder and back to wrap both arms around him.

 

They stayed there, kissing, for a long time. Steve lost track of time again, just concentrating on the radiant warmth of Tony’s back under his hands, the lean muscle flexing under his fingers and palm, the vivid heat and lean, solid strength of his body pressed up all along his own, the slide of his tongue and the touch of his lips, the brush of his facial hair. Steve was perfectly content to stay there just like that, arms curled around Tony and trading slow, wet kisses, until Tony saw fit to release him, and so he did, until Tony slid his hands up into Steve’s hair and pulled him back away from his mouth with enough force that it met a wet noise.  Steve panted, blinked his eyes open, gasping a little, to see Tony smiling at him, the smile fond and satisfied and a little breathless.

 

“You’re warm,” Tony said, after a moment of looking at each other, shifting to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder again, tilting it back enough to look up at him.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.  “Is that good?”

 

“Mmm,” Tony said.  “Just an observation.  It is nice, though.”  He grinned a little. “My own personal heater, right here.”

 

Steve reached for the blanket anyway, draped it over both of them, leaving his arm around Tony’s back.  If Tony was mentioning him being warm, he was probably feeling the cold on some level at least, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. Tony didn’t protest it.

 

“You have anything else you’ve got to do today?” Tony murmured against his neck.

 

“Nope,” Steve said.  “Rest of the day’s yours.”  He looked down at him, a little bit uncertainly.  “If you want it.”

 

“Well,” Tony said.  “I might have to take you up on that.”  He pressed a kiss against Steve’s shoulder, against his skin, stayed silent for a moment.  “Thanks,” he said then, after a second, and there was something strange in his voice—he sounded almost achingly sincere, but also vaguely uncomfortable.  Tightly controlled.

 

“Sure,” Steve said.  “Like I said before.  Such a hardship to spend time with my gorgeous, sexy sweetheart, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself.”

 

Tony elbowed him lightly in the stomach. “Smart-ass,” he muttered.

 

Steve grinned.  “I have the time to spend with you,” he said.  “Doesn’t happen that much.  Of course I want to stick around.  Long as I can.”

 

“Sure,” Tony said, but he sounded less than confident. “But I’m probably just going to fall asleep on you.  Not that interesting.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Steve said, settling himself further into the bed.

 

“If you’re sure,” Tony muttered.

 

“Totally sure,” Steve said, tugging Tony down against his side.  “It’ll be nice. I’ll just lie here and relax.”

 

“You’re going to draw pictures of me naked,” Tony said with a grin.

 

Steve laughed.  “Maybe,” he allowed.  “Can I?”

 

“Sure,” Tony said.  “Go to town.  As long as I can see them afterwards.”

 

Steve felt himself blushing a little. “Yeah,” he said. He guessed it was only fair. “Okay.”

 

Tony laughed a little, reached up with one hand to run his fingers over the blush.  “What, it’s not embarrassing to draw naked pictures of me, but if I see them it is all of a sudden?” he teased.

 

“Pretty much,” Steve said, because it was true, turning his head to brush a brief kiss against the heel of Tony’s hand.

 

“Ha,” Tony said.  “Okay, honey.”

 

Steve shrugged.  Tony didn’t really understand.  He drew, but he did technical drawings.  It was different.  When you did a drawing, it wasn’t just reality you tried to capture—how you saw the person was an important part of what ended up on the page.  And that was . . . well, how Tony looked to him was the sort of embarrassing part.  Or at least, he wasn’t quite sure what Tony would think of it.  He never really was.  He wasn’t even sure exactly what he was drawing when he drew Tony, sometimes. Just that it was real, and he saw it in Tony, and he . . . felt what he felt.  And that there was a lot of that.  Those feelings.

 

Which sounded kind of dumb even in his own head. That was why it was embarrassing. How many drawings he’d made of Tony was also a little bit embarrassing, but most of them were bits and pieces, studies of his hands, of the joints of the suit, of his expressions, small quick full-body sketches, because it was hard to find the time to do a whole study. “You can see ‘em,” he said, anyway.

 

“Now I’m pretty curious what you’re planning on drawing, I have to admit,” Tony said, smiling a little.  “Anyway,” he waved one hand a little, “yeah, standing invitation, don’t worry about it, feel free to draw me naked while I sleep.”

 

“Tony,” Steve said, laughing a little.

 

“That’s what you’re going to be doing, isn’t it?” Tony asked, his eyes laughing.

 

“You don’t have to make it sound quite so . . .”

 

“Pornographic?” Tony suggested. “Inappropriate? Indecent? Stalkerish?”

 

“Shush up, you,” Steve said.

 

Tony grinned at him.  “It’s okay if it’s pornographic,” he said. “You drew those other pictures of me—well, us.  Those were gorgeous.”

 

Steve was really blushing now. He knew exactly what pictures Tony was talking about, and . . . well, he supposed if you looked at them that way, they had been pornographic, but that hadn’t been how he’d seen it. He liked drawing him and Tony together, but it was about capturing something of the way it felt when they were like that, electric and strong and . . . sometimes soft, warm, sometimes charged and fiery.

 

But they had been pictures of them having sex, so . . . there was that.

 

“You’re adorable,” Tony said. “You’ll do it without blinking an eye and even show me without a blush in sight, but I talk about it later and you turn bright red.”  He smiled a little more. “Like I said.  Adorable.”

 

“You like to make me blush,” Steve muttered.

 

“Guilty,” Tony said easily.  He grinned up at him.  “Who wouldn’t?”

 

“A lot of people, I hope,” Steve told him.

 

“I guess that’s fair enough,” Tony said. “I’m kind of possessive of your blushes, anyway.  I want to be responsible for them myself.”  He smiled a little more softly.  “I guess that’s a little weird.  That can be my weird thing—okay, one of the thousand, don’t say a word—so anyway, don’t blame me for it too much.” He reached up and set his hands on Steve’s jaw, leaned up to press a kiss against his still-hot cheek.

 

Steve smiled at that, though he knew the heat was flaring in his cheeks again, reeling Tony in close with his arm around his waist. “No humiliating me in public, and I don’t mind,” he said.

 

“Not interested in that kind of blush,” Tony said.

 

“Well, then we’re good,” Steve said. “It’s not fair, though.” He brushed his knuckles against Tony’s cheekbone, over his clear olive skin.  “You hardly ever blush.”

 

“Sorry,” Tony said, unrepentantly.

 

“You’re not sorry,” Steve told him, smiling at that.

 

Tony smiled back.  “You’re right,” he said.  “I’m not.”

 

“You can make it up to me,” Steve said.

 

“See, that sounds good,” Tony said.

 

“You don’t even know how I’m going to want you to do that yet,” Steve pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but I trust you,” Tony said, and Steve’s breath caught at how easily he’d said that.  Tony smiled, more softly.  “Besides,” he said, “I just gave you blanket permission to draw me naked. That’s got to count for something.”

 

Steve laughed.  He pretended to think, pursing his lips.  “Yes, well, there is that,” he said.

 

“I’m a generous guy,” Tony said with a teasing smile.

 

“You are,” Steve replied, more sincerely, because Tony was.  Just letting Steve have this—giving him this trust, this kind of power over him, even if only for a short time, so completely, it was incredible.  And yeah, he’d done this with Tony the other way around, put himself in that position, but that didn’t change the fact that Tony’s willing submission to him made him feel warm and amazingly lucky.  He leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Tony’s forehead.

 

“Getting mushy on me again,” Tony muttered.

 

“Yep,” Steve told him, unrepentantly, despite his twinge of worry that he was pushing Tony too far with the affection, making him uncomfortable.  He still didn’t regret it. Tony deserved some affection, and he deserved to know how amazing he was, even if he didn’t want to hear it. Maybe especially then, sometimes.

 

Tony just smiled, though.  “Sap,” he said affectionately.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, unable to deny it, feeling his smile go a little bit sheepish.  “Guilty as charged.”

 

“I guess I can forgive you,” Tony said. “Maybe.”  His eyes softened.  “I mean, I should have expected it, honestly.  You’re such a good guy.  What else can I do? Besides, you show me a damn good time; it’s not like I can complain.”

 

“I try,” Steve said, leaning in to stroke his fingers over Tony’s jaw, find his lips with his own.

 

Tony kissed him back, leaning into it even as he snorted a laugh.  “Try,” he muttered against Steve’s lips, “are you kidding me?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Steve said with a slight smile, moving his fingers up to brush Tony’s hair back off his forehead, down along the side of his face.  “I do try. I’m glad it worked out this time, though.”  He smiled. “That’s a big relief,” he said, and it honestly was.

 

Tony just stared at him for a long moment, eyes a little questioning, then narrowed them at him.  Steve just brought his fingers down over Tony’s jaw, down over the side of his neck, not looking away, and after a few seconds ticked by, Tony swallowed.  It clicked audibly in his throat, and then he turned his face down, pressed his lips against the heel of Steve’s hand, trailed them up along his hand to his fingers. A moment passed.

 

“It really was good,” he murmured after a minute, his mouth still pressed against Steve’s skin.  He moved closer, pressed his lips against the center of Steve’s palm. “I mean . . . it really worked for me. So, yeah.  It was good.  And, you know. Thanks.”  He gave an awkward little laugh, half a sigh, and looked down. “I mean, obviously it was, but I felt, I . . . you got it.  I felt like you really . . . had me.  Like I was . . .” he shifted, uncomfortably again, and his voice dropped, going low and rough, “I was yours.”  He took a deep breath, shifted his shoulders.  “It really clicked for us, this time.  I just hope you felt the same way, or I’m going to feel pretty stupid in a few seconds, but . . .” he shrugged, looked up at Steve again.  “Thanks,” he said.  “I know you did this because I asked, so yeah . . . I feel like some thanks are in order.”

 

Steve had to swallow, had to take a deep breath, steady himself before he was ready to reply.  He wasn’t even sure how he felt, just that for a moment the sincerity in Tony’s voice had honestly made it hard for him to breathe, like he had asthma all over again.  Eventually he managed to swallow past the tightness in his throat, and then he could breathe again. “I did feel the same way,” he said. “It . . . clicked. Yeah.”

 

“I just felt like I should say something,” Tony said, almost apologetic, that wry crooked smile tugging at one corner of his mouth again. “I know you . . . you know, had the jitters a little.”

 

“Hey,” Steve mildly, but he couldn’t protest too much—it was true, after all, though he decided not to mention how obviously Tony had had the jitters, as he’d put it, himself.  Tony nudged him a little with one elbow, smiling at him with a rueful kind of awareness.  “I did,” Steve admitted, finally, “a little.  So I’m glad . . .” he took a deep breath, blew it out “. . . glad it went okay.”

 

“Better than okay,” Tony assured him fervently, and Steve let himself start to smile.

 

“All right,” he said.  “Better than okay.”

 

“Much better,” Tony muttered, and let his arm settle loosely around the back of Steve’s shoulders as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Steve’s neck, then lay back against the pillows. He closed his eyes. After a moment, Steve dropped his hand down and stroked it through his hair.  Tony made a quiet, appreciative noise and turned his head toward Steve, letting him continue to stroke his fingers back over his head, along the back of his neck. They stayed just like that for a few moments, Steve noticing that Tony’s hair really was stiffening up with sweat under his fingers, still damp in places—it was going to be a mess when he woke up, and they could both probably still use a shower, but they were clean enough for now, he figured.  He sank his fingers firmly into Tony’s hair, pressing them in at the base of his skull and feeling the softness of the short dark hair there against his fingers, stroking them firmly but slowly over Tony’s head, then carding his hair back from his forehead, slow and gentle.  He kept it slow, rhythmic, realized that it was calming, almost hypnotic, for him, too.  Tony turned toward him a little more, let his face rest against Steve’s shoulder, and gave a long, slow breath, let his arm settle over Steve’s chest.

 

“Tired?” Steve asked, still stroking his hair.

 

“I told you I was,” Tony muttered.

 

“You did,” Steve allowed.  “But I guess I was more asking if you were going to go to sleep.”

 

“We’ll see,” Tony said, with a grin that Steve could feel against his skin.  “Keep that up and you can bet on it.”

 

“Does it feel good?” Steve asked, not stopping, still moving his fingers slowly through Tony’s hair, massaging his scalp a little.

 

“I think you know the answer to that already,” Tony said.  “Fishing for compliments, are we, Rogers?”

 

“Hey, just making sure I’m not bothering you,” Steve said with a smile.

 

“Like that could ever bother me,” Tony murmured. He pressed his lips lightly to the skin of Steve’s chest.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Steve said, and he was—to be honest, he liked stroking Tony’s hair almost as much as Tony seemed to enjoy having his hair stroked, feeling the softness of Tony’s hair beneath his hand, the simple, uncomplicated affection of it, the feeling of Tony relaxing under the touches.

 

“Mmm,” Tony said.  He closed his eyes, turning his face in to rest against the skin of Steve’s chest more solidly, apparently content to use him as a pillow. Steve wondered if they should move under the covers and then decided not to bother with the trouble of moving and maybe making Tony wake back up to full awareness again. He was perfectly content to stay where he was, naked and all, and Tony seemed content, too.

 

As far as Steve could tell, it usually took Tony a long time to fall asleep, not to mention how late he stayed up out of his bed working most nights.  He tossed and turned, lay awake staring at the ceiling, shifted around even the times Steve managed to get him in bed in what for him was some kind of decent hour. Tony wasn’t exactly prone to falling asleep after sex, either, so Steve knew he must have really worn him out when Tony’s breathing evened out after only a few moments of shifting around under Steve’s arm, sighing and twitching.  His head, the weight of his body, grew heavier against Steve, and finally he gave one more low, quiet noise, curled closer, half-snuggling in against Steve, to be perfectly honest, and seemed to go to sleep.

 

Steve smiled down at him, still stroking his hand through his hair.  “Good night,” he said quietly—or at least, he hoped Tony would sleep through the night. It was already late evening, or so, anyway; he could see the sun setting outside Tony’s tinted windows, so it might be late enough for them just to relax, have a lazy night. Steve couldn’t say how relieved he was that they hadn’t gotten any alerts this time—it was always a risk in doing this, that an Avengers alert would come in while they were in the middle of it all, while they were both in a headspace that made it hard to snap into action and to respond.  It had happened once when Steve was subbing, and he had been jumpy and shaky and miserable afterward for hours before Tony had managed to get free of after-fight business and got to him, stayed with him, brought him back up when Steve still hadn’t figured out what was even wrong with him.  Steve was certain it would happen to him again, to both of them sooner or later, and he was just glad it hadn’t been this time, for Tony.

 

He stayed there a while longer, still stroking Tony’s hair, looking out the window, then let his hand settle on the back of Tony’s neck for a few moments.  He could feel the easy, slow rhythm of Tony’s breathing, the damp warmth of his breaths against the skin of his chest, the beat of his heart in his neck, beneath his ear. The RT was slick and flat against the skin of his side, and he could feel the tingling prickle of energy from it, but even the metal and hard surface of it was warm now from the heat that had built between their bodies.  Eventually he pulled his hand away and sat up a bit, letting Tony slide onto his side, his hand still resting on Steve’s chest, and just looked down at him a few moments before getting up to get his drawing supplies and pull on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.  He sat down again beside Tony and started to draw, sketching in the lines of his body, his easy slump against the bed, the way he’d curled his knees up and in, the tousled dark mess of his hair against the sheet—Steve nudged the pillow under his head, tugged the blanket up over him a little more—the loose curve of his arm, then started focusing on his face.  It wasn’t too often he got a chance to see Tony looking so peaceful, let alone draw him like that, and while it wasn’t usually how he pictured Tony—it was something he wanted to remember.