The first time Tony said it was in the lab, and it struck Steve then, too, because his voice changed when he said it, just a little bit. He was working, they were testing something out with the shield, Steve was hefting it on his arm, giving Tony pointers about the weight, about the way the vibranium handled, and Tony looked up at him and nodded, pen in his mouth, then took it out and said, in all seriousness, “You’re the boss.”
It surprised Steve—more than a little, if he was honest, surprised him a lot, to hear those words out of Tony’s mouth, not mocking or teasing at all, but sincere, and about something like the stress points of metal, which was definitely Tony’s area of expertise rather than his. It surprised a stutter out of him, and he could feel his cheeks heating up, but he swallowed it, tried to push it down, focus on the task at hand. It was just . . . nice to hear. He hadn’t thought Tony thought of him that way. As the leader, as his leader. He thought Tony still, even if they’d gotten closer and Steve maybe Tony might think of him as a friend, thought of him as a little big for his britches, throwing his weight around. And the fact that he particularly wanted to impress Tony, maybe, didn’t make that any easier, made Steve feel like a real idiot, showing off like a kid in school or something, like Tony would see through him and think even less of him for how desperate Steve was for a second look. It wasn’t . . . real reassuring.
So it stuck with him, a little, the way Tony hadn’t sounded smart-mouthed or mocking at all, had sounded like he meant it. Tony didn’t call him that a whole lot, or anything, but Steve started to realize that . . . well, maybe things had shifted between them. Tony would look to him in a fight, follow the orders he gave without a big fuss (unless he thought they were really questionable). “However you like it, boss,” he said flippantly in the kitchen one morning, bending over to start Steve’s coffee for him in the oddly futuristic coffeemaker he kept in the Tower’s kitchen, and Steve found his attention caught not just by the words, but by the curve of Tony’s rear end as he bent over and stuck it out. It was a really nice rear, and—okay, so Steve was definitely attracted, but it wasn’t his place, to look at Tony like that. He was his team leader and—and Steve wasn’t sure about where Tony's relationship with Ms. Potts was at, but he was certain it wasn’t something he should be shoving his nose into. He was just. Looking. It was a really nice rear. Tony had a really nice—
Steve firmly dragged his thoughts away from Tony’s really nice everything and thanked him as politely as he could for the coffee. Tony gave him a bit of a strange look, blinking a little, and his mouth twisted, just a bit, and then said, “Sure thing, champ,” and turned away. Steve sighed, looking down at his coffee.
The thing was that after a while Tony said it kind of a lot. On the field. Cooking breakfast for dinner and asking how Steve wanted his eggs done, humming to himself and shaking his hips in a way that had Steve’s mouth going dry and made it hard to answer the question. Asking Steve about alterations to his armor. When Steve told him what he wanted to watch that night. And that was another thing—they’d started to sit together, some nights, a tradition, kind of, and watch a few episodes of a TV show, a movie. Sometimes Tony would work while Steve watched, or Steve would draw or read while the television ran on, but it was nice, to have the company, the noise in the background, to hear Tony’s rambling commentary about the show, or have him fire back or tease Steve over his reactions. Steve got a kick out of making his comments drier and more and more sarcastic, just to see Tony’s eyes light up.
As it turned out, Tony and Ms. Potts maybe hadn’t been broken up, or it hadn’t been permanent, or . . . something, because then there was the time it turned into a really serious calling it quits, which Steve realized then he couldn’t possibly have missed, not the way Tony reacted. Steve didn’t get in on it at the beginning, he’d been out all that day and hadn’t picked up on anything having happened, and he felt guilty for that when Tony missed dinner and Steve went looking for him, only to find Tony engineering drunk in his workshop—the others warned him to stay away, that Tony had been in a hell of a mood all day, but Steve didn’t listen. He wasn’t having any of that, Tony could throw him out himself if he wanted to. He brought Tony’s dinner with him. He’d noticed that Tony forgot to eat a lot (and then stuffed his face to make up for it, it couldn’t be good for him). Besides, Tony needed dinner. He just . . . did.
He got down there to realize that Tony was up to his armpits in something, absolutely covered in grease, which had gotten rubbed all the way through his hair and all over his face. Steve wasn’t sure what it was he was working on; clearly one of his projects that would probably go right over Steve’s head—it wasn’t obviously an engine, or obviously part of the armor, and that was about the extent of what Steve could usually make out. Tony didn’t seem all that aware of his presence at first, so Steve knocked loudly on the interior wall, and then Tony’s head jerked up with a startled exclamation, and that was when Steve could see how drunk he was, with the exaggerated motion of it, and he groaned a bit internally. But he was here now, and he wasn't backing down. “Brought you some dinner,” he said, then, more pointedly, “since you missed it.”
“’s dinnertime already?” Tony slurred, blinking unfocusedly, and brought his hand down over his face, smearing grease even further over himself, then looked straight at Steve and said, “I didn’t know attendance was mandatory, Cap, am I gonna get a demerit?” all slow and drawling, and Steve sighed. So it was going to be like that.
He took a deep breath, though it was tempting to let his temper boil up, and walked across the room to set the plate down on the table near Tony’s head. “It’s not,” he said, “I just wanted to make sure you got some.”
At that, all the fight seemed to go out of Tony, and he tossed a wrench listlessly onto the floor and scrubbed pointlessly at his arms, gloved hands just smearing grease further over himself. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Thanks.” Before his head dropped downward again, Steve thought he saw a glistening sheen in his eyes, and swallowed hard, startled by the idea that he could have made Tony cry, with a slow sickening churn of guilt in his stomach, before he came to the realization that of course whatever had upset him was why he was down here, drunk, working like a maniac. Hell, Rogers, it’s not all about you, Steve told himself dryly.
“So . . . what’s going on?” he asked, squatting by Tony on the floor, and Tony gave a long, heavy sigh.
“Yeah, no,” he said. “You can take your . . . your team leader shtick and get out of here, I’m not up for icebreakers today.”
And that . . . it hurt, was that really how Tony saw their—their time together? Steve had thought they’d been friends. “Is that what you think I’m doing with you?” Steve demanded, and then took a deep breath, as Tony’s shoulders twitched, rounded in, then squared up, his chin setting mulishly. He gentled his tone purposefully. “Because I’m not,” he said. “I was—I was hoping we were friends.”
“Well, that’s a shitty plan,” Tony mumbled. “You should just chuck that one right out. Terrible plan, Cap. You don’t want to be friends with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Steve demanded.
And so that was how it all came out. The very, very final, definite, no breaks, no second chances breakup. Tony vacillated from not saying much at all and definitely sharing far too many details, only to flush and quickly retract them, and he clearly wasn’t in much of a state at all for talking. It was just as clear that he blamed himself for the failure of the relationship, which Steve wasn’t in a position to call. God knew Tony could be a difficult man to be around (or, well, in love with, and Steve hadn’t had that thought, he sure hadn’t, or he wasn’t going to look at it, anyway), but Steve found himself wishing, wistfully, that he’d have the chance to find out how difficult for himself, firsthand. Which was stupid, of course, there was no indication Tony even liked fellas, and it was worse than inappropriate to be thinking stuff like that when Tony was so wrecked by his relationship ending. Because he was wrecked, Steve had never seen him so—so off his pins, and not just because of the drinking. It made him hurt for him—whatever else, Steve had never questioned how much he loved Ms. Potts. He’d never seen a man so gone on his gal. It was just . . . sad it’d ended up this way. Sad for both of them. For everyone, maybe, that two people who cared for each other so much still couldn’t work it out, but Steve didn’t want to go and get maudlin.
He got a rag and wet it with some of the soap Tony kept down there and ended up scrubbing at his hands and wrists for him, then his face, getting off the worst of the grime. Tony’s eyelashes kept fluttering as he scrubbed at his face, and he wrinkled up his nose, made a face and tried to push Steve away, but then sighed and blew out his breath and sat still for him, submitting to it as Steve tilted his head to one side. Steve tried to be as gentle as he could be, but he wasn't sure how well he did.
“All right,” Steve said, after he was done. “Now let’s get some food in you,” and Tony just chuckled, dark but a little lost, too.
“You’re the boss,” he said, loosely, and let Steve get his arms under him when he tried to get to his own feet and failed, let him lead him over to the couch and put the plate in his hands. When he was done and Steve had made him a cup of coffee with the set up he had down there and gotten that into him, Steve tried to get him to go upstairs to his own suite, take a shower, maybe, and go to bed, but Tony just looked at him helplessly, then said, wavering and uncertain, “I’d rather not, it’s just—”
He shook his head, looked away, one hand clenching into a fist against his knee, and Steve abruptly understood—of course, he’d been stupid and thoughtless. Tony and Ms. Potts had been sharing that suite, of course he was a little broken up at the thought.
“You know what, never mind,” he said quickly. “I’ll get some bedding and we’ll make you up a bed down here, how’s that?”
Tony squinted at him. “You don’t have to do that,” he muttered. “Why are you doing this? You don’t have to do this. Here I am being gross and weepy and whining all over you, shouldn’t you be a million miles away by now?”
“Nope,” Steve said, and opened the cabinet where he’d seen Tony put blankets away before. Sure enough, there were a few in there. Tony was actually very neat, he’d found; his cabinets were orderly.
“You don’t have to do this just for the team,” Tony said a moment later, “or because you feel sorry for me.” When Steve looked back at him, arms full of blankets, he had his head down, but he was looking up at Steve half belligerently through his eyelashes, jaw pushed up like he thought he was going to have to fight.
Steve felt like he knew the look. He'd felt it on his own face enough times. “C’mon, Tony,” he said, abruptly exasperated. “That’s not why I’m doing this.”
All the fight went out of Tony at once, he sighed, looked down, his shoulders slumping. “Why are you, then?” he mumbled, looking down at the floor.
“Because I want to,” Steve said simply. “Why do you think?” And when Tony just looked at him with his mouth open like he’d grown another head, he shook his head at him and dumped the blankets on the end of the couch. “I told you,” he said. “I think of you as a friend. I’d like to be your friend. If you’d let me.”
“I,” Tony said, “I, um, I told you, bad idea, historically, very bad, gets people hurt, emotional fallout in the best case scenario, I’m a, a drain, and a—”
“I want to be your friend anyway,” Steve said, ignoring the way it made his heart ache to hear those jumbled, drunken words coming out of Tony’s mouth. He was sure that wasn’t what Ms. Potts would have wanted him to think. But there was no real way to make a breakup gentle on the guy, he figured. “I’ll make my own mind up about the risks.” Risks. As if it were the same thing as planning for a battle.
“I think you’re crazy, Cap,” Tony told him, laughing, half hysterical and a little bleak.
“Well, you’re entitled,” Steve told him, and pried him up off the couch to start spreading the blankets over it. He ended up staying down there for a while, mostly to make sure Tony got to sleep all right, Tony self-conscious as things got late, apologizing without apologizing for everything, for how much of a pain he had been, for all of it. Steve told him firmly not to worry, and Tony just looked at him, big brown eyes wide and swimming with feeling, and Steve thought, startled, that they were the most liquid and open he’d ever seen them.
“Thanks,” Tony said. “Steve.”
“Hey, it’s nothing much to do for a friend,” Steve said, and squeezed his shoulder. “Now take it easy and sleep it off, okay, Avenger?”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Tony murmured, and pulled the blanket up over himself.
Steve sat there a while longer, even after Tony was sound asleep. He got up and got another blanket, tucked it around him, when he realized Tony was shivering, his teeth chattering in his sleep, then just sat there, listening to him breathe, the periodic hitches in his breathing, the little groans and the way he shifted on the sofa. He patted his side, squeezed his shoulder again, before he went back up to his own room.
After that, they got closer. Tony no longer danced around calling Steve a friend. And, well, Steve hadn’t been dancing around it for a while, but it was harder to ignore the feelings he had for him, building ever faster over late night pizza and baseball games and Tony teasing him or talking at him while his mind went a mile a minute. But it was worth every minute of it. Pining, Steve thought wryly to himself, was what he was good at, when it came to love, it seemed. And as much as he longed for the romance in a look or a touch—at least he got those looks, those touches, from Tony, warm and full of affection. It was more than he’d ever thought he’d have, for a while, that was for sure. And it turned out Tony was an affectionate friend, more so than Steve would have thought, eager to accept a clasp to his shoulder or an arm around them, and willing to return an affectionate ruffle of hair whatever his protests, quick to press himself in against Steve’s side. Steve was lucky, even if sometimes, when the ache in his breastbone was tight and painful, things felt a little more complicated than that. He would never, ever, feel less than lucky for knowing Tony, or for being his friend. It was just that sometimes, he . . . wondered. Wanted.
There was no one more shocked than Steve when they finally managed to get together. Tony said ‘hook up,’ with a wry, salacious grin, but Steve knew he was just trying to get his goat by now, so he usually just pinched his side or bumped his hip or slid a hand down over his rear and squeezed when he said things like that, and Tony would laugh and press close into his side or let his head fall onto Steve’s shoulder or shake that pretty rump of his, press it back into Steve’s hand.
Steve felt so lucky, he really did. Tony was incredible, amazing. Even more so than he’d known, and he was so energetic, so passionate, when they were together. Not just the knocking boots, though that was a . . . revelation, but just . . . when his focus was on Steve, sometimes it felt like no one else existed around them in the world, and that intensity was still incredible to him.
He was also sweeter than Steve would have thought. He mostly kept that observation to himself, after being on the receiving end of Tony’s affronted and disbelieving looks, but there was a softness to him. He would melt into Steve’s arms or under the touch of his hand to his hair, stroking through the mussed strands, or smile at him with a warmth and softness Steve couldn’t help feeling like he kept underneath, rather than showing it to the outside world so readily. Steve was sure Tony could have been a more attentive boyfriend, but when his attention was on Steve he was totally wrapped up in him, and what could be more flattering than that? Steve got used to his odd, offhanded ways of showing affection, and the sweetness that underlaid their playful bickering, and reciprocated with his own fondness for physical affection, which Tony just seemed to soak up. It was a pleasure to see. Steve really wasn’t any prize himself in the attentiveness department, after all, and he knew it. They weren’t together as often as either of them would have liked, but what time they had was good, whether it was fighting together, eating together, or simple cuddling on the couch.
Tony called him boss more than ever. It startled Steve the first time he said it during sex, lying back and drawing Steve down on top of him, eyes heavy-lidded and wanting and warm, his voice all husky and gravelly. “So,” he said, running his hands up over Steve’s arms, “what’s next, boss?”
Steve almost choked on his tongue, but he managed not to blurt out any of the incredibly inane and ridiculous things that ran through his head, like we’re in bed, Tony! or this isn’t the field! “Umm,” he said, running his hands down over Tony’s sides, warm and slow, the way he always liked so much, feeling the heaving of his chest, the way it made him sigh and arch his back into the touches almost like a pleased cat. “That’s sort of up to you.”
“Well, I’d rather have you decide,” Tony murmured, all low and husky, skimming his hands up over Steve’s shoulders and curling them around Steve’s neck. The fingers of one hand came up to play with Steve’s hair, twining into it. “C’mon, give it to me, boss.”
Oh, Steve thought, stupidly, and then, again, with more force, oh, as that clicked in his head. “So that’s the kind of thing you like, mister?” he asked, bending down and nipping lightly at Tony’s neck, so that his breath washed over his jaw and neck, against his ear. He never bit hard, Tony hated marks on his neck, which Steve had found out the hard way and felt guilty over for a week, despite Tony’s instant forgiveness and constant ribbing to lighten up and forget it. Seeing Tony in the turtlenecks and high-necked jackets he’d worn to hide it had made guilt twist in Steve’s stomach every time. He’d just gotten . . . really carried away. He hadn’t since, that was the important thing, and Tony had made it clear that he could feel free to mark him up anywhere beneath the shoulders. Handprint bruises on his hips and thighs were a favorite, of both of theirs, despite the twinges of guilt it gave Steve sometimes. He still enjoyed nipping at them after he’d put them there, until Tony was squirming under him.
“Yeah,” Tony said breathily, gazing up at him with eyes soft and wanton, his lips parted, and he tipped his head back lazily, let his head roll to the side.
“If that’s what you want,” Steve told him, stroking his hands along his sides again, down under his thighs, along the plush curves of the muscles there, to squeeze at his legs just above his knees, then back up, “then that’s what you’re gonna get.”
“Please,” Tony groaned, “it’s about time, give it to me.” He arched his hips, rolled his groin against Steve, lewd and shameless, the way Steve loved about him. A wave of heat rose up through Steve as their groins pressed together, but he caught Tony’s hip in his all the same, pressed it back down and squeezed. Tony groaned, loud and long, caught his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Then you’d better be a good boy,” Steve said, breathless with that heat and starting to grin. He was pretty sure he could do this, and the thought of it . . . he liked it. Tony was a force of nature in bed, overwhelming and overpowering at times, but there was that softness in him, too, and Steve liked that, liked how soft and giving and easy he could go, how much he seemed to enjoy it. He liked how Tony would give up it for him, just be his for a while, and he—he thought this would be great. He reached up with his other hand, still holding Tony’s hip with the one, running his thumb into the dip of it, and shifted first one of Tony’s arms down from around his own neck, then the other, until he was holding his wrists in his palm. He squeezed lightly, and Tony just . . . went loose, all over.
“Oh, I will be,” he murmured, “I’ll be so good, Steve, I will.”
“I know you will,” Steve said, smiling down at him. “You’re always good, Tony.”
And Tony flushed, then smiled at that, back up at him. “You’re the boss,” he said.
It was heady, Tony not ducking out of a compliment or meeting it with a barbed edge, and it sent a thrill through Steve, all the way down to his bones, swooping and dizzying like flying in Tony’s arms was. Steve smiled at him, flushed himself with that, with the pleasure of it. “Yes, I am,” he said, and leaned down, pressed warm, wet kisses along Tony’s jaw, over his neck, reveling in the low moan it tore out of Tony, the arch of his back. “I’ve gotcha,” he murmured into Tony’s ear, and closed his teeth gently on the lobe of it, rocking his hips down against Tony’s, still holding Tony pinned against the bed, so that that heat flared between them again, Steve’s own cock heavy where it met Tony’s hot, full erection through the fabric of his pants.
“Mmm,” Tony groaned, and his throat worked, Steve could see it, the way his eyelashes fluttered and he swallowed and licked his lips.
“I’ve got you,” Steve said again, still rocking into him, “you’re going to be such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”
“Yessir,” Tony mumbled, “I’m gonna try.” Steve could feel the hot neediness of Tony’s erection against his own, the glorious friction of rubbing up against him and the little cut off sounds Tony made in his throat that matched the the uh-uh-uh rhythm of his barely shifting hips as he squirmed.
“That’s it,” Steve told him, “that’s the way.” He patted lightly at Tony’s thigh, rubbed there along the warm, flexing muscle, where it was still covered by his loose exercise pants. “Now let’s get these off you,” he said.
“Yessir,” Tony said again, and lay willingly how Steve had arranged him, arms crossed loosely over his head, as Steve let go, lifting his hips when Steve urged him to with both hands under his full rear. Steve grabbed the pair of boxer briefs he was wearing too and pulled them both down beneath the rounded cheeks of his rump, then urged him to pull his knees up so he could get the rest off him easily. Tony would normally have been making this a process, grinding on top of him, groping Steve’s own caboose, nipping at his ears and jaw and neck and generally driving Steve wild and making him forget that you really usually had much less rewarding sex through your clothes. It was strange to see him like this, so pliant and willing. Strange, but not at all bad. It sent an odd, soft thrill winding through Steve, a kind of tender warmth at how loose and easy Tony was being, the eager way he looked up at Steve.
“What, not going to mouth off?” Steve murmured, kissing the top of Tony’s knee as he pulled off his pants and underwear and grinned at him.
Tony smiled almost lazily up at him. “I can do that, too,” he said lowly in response, voice still all husky breath. “I’m always ready to do that.”
Steve grinned at that answer, tossed Tony’s clothes onto the nearby chair, and pushed Tony’s knees back down to the bed. “Either way,” he said, squeezing the underside of Tony’s calves. He figured he got what Tony was saying there, he could, but right now he just wanted to enjoy it. “I’m in charge, you just need to be good for me.”
“Please,” Tony moaned, eyes fluttering closed, head tipping back in a way that exposed the line of his throat.
“Oh, you will,” Steve told him, a promise, kissing the top of his other knee, and set about getting out of his own pants.
“Tell me what you want,” Tony murmured, as Steve shucked off his pants and leaned over him, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, his mouth slack, soft, still not moving from the position Steve had put him in. “Can you tell me what you want?”
“I want a lot of things,” Steve said, laughing a little, tossing his own pants away and pulling off his shirt, running his fingers back up along the underside of Tony’s legs, feeling the soft hairs there, how he shivered under the touches and gave a breathless little gasp. “I want a cup of coffee I don’t have to pay three dollars for. I want the Dodgers back in Brooklyn.” He opened his hands, rubbed his palms warmly over the underside of Tony’s thighs, then spread his legs apart, a little thrill going through him at how easily Tony let him, even as he gasped and hitched his hips up. “I want you to listen sometimes when I tell you what’s so wonderful about you.”
Tony smiled crookedly up at him. “I can get you the coffee,” he said, soft and loose. “You just need to ask.”
“I might take you up on that,” Steve told him, now rubbing lightly at the soft, sensitive skin at the inside of Tony’s thighs, not letting himself touch his cock, which was deep, dusky-red, straining and hard against Tony’s pelvis, brushing the underside of his belly and smearing it with precome. Tony moaned a little, arching his head back, and Steve brushed his fingers up along the crease of his hips with feather-light touches. “But I think I’d rather get something else from you right now,” he added, letting his voice drop low, rasp in his chest as it left him and he leaned down to plant a row of kisses down the inside of Tony’s thigh from his knee.
“Mmm,” Tony groaned, and rolled his hips up. “Just lemme know,” he finished breathlessly.
Steve nipped gently at the inside of his thigh and squeezed his hip gently. “Shhh,” he said. “I will.”
“Do you want me to suck you?” Tony asked, squirming a little in his hips, his arms still lying laxly over his head where Steve had put them, though his hands were starting to clench into fists, twine in the blankets. “I can do that, boss. I like sucking you, I like it a lot—or you could come inside me, I—”
“I have a few ideas,” Steve told him.
“Oh?” Tony said on a breathy little laugh.
“Yeah,” Steve said, biting down a little harder on the inside of Tony’s thigh, making him suck in his breath and jerk his hips, his cock twitching. Steve sucked, dragged his teeth over the sensitive flesh, worried them against it, laved the spot with his tongue, and Tony made a low groaning sound in the back of his throat. Steve patted his hip and drew away from the spreading raw, red bruise on Tony’s thigh to grip his hips in both hands and rub down against them, long and deep. Tony moaned, soft and whimpery, and his legs spread out wide. “That’s it,” Steve murmured, letting his thumbs press in and down, letting his hands grip tight enough that Tony was gasping and tossed his head against the pillow. “That’s so good, look at you spreading your legs so easy.”
“Whatever you want, honey,” Tony murmured.
“That’s it,” Steve told him, “that’s the way.” He let up on Tony’s hip with one hand, brought the other back to tease between his legs, massaging two fingers against that sensitive patch of skin between Tony’s balls and his hole, working them in firmly, because he knew if he pressed hard enough Tony could feel it in his sweet spot. Tony gave a deeper groan, and his legs spread out wider still, his hips canting up, even as his body seemed to loosen up even more, all over. “Shh,” Steve told him, massaging there, pressing his fingers inward with firm, steady force. Tony grunted, groaned, scowled at him, making a frustrated face, and Steve grinned, kept his fingers massaging there and rubbed his thumb over Tony’s sac, nipping gently at the inside of his knee. Tony whimpered, higher-pitched, humped up once with his hips, then back down. “You said it,” Steve added. “I’m the boss.” He actually loved Tony’s noises, how vocal he could be, full of low moans and breathless sounds in bed, but it was fun to tease him.
“Yeah,” Tony said breathlessly, “you are.”
“Mmhmm,” Steve said, rolling his fingers gently against that spot until Tony whined and tilted his head back. “See?” he said. “You’re such a good boy.” He wasn’t sure exactly how Tony wanted this—should he be commanding? Teasing? Hard to please? He wasn’t very good at being hard to please when Tony was in the picture, and he wasn’t very good at faking it, either, so that was probably out. He pressed his fingers in against Tony’s perineum a little more deeply.
“Please, Steve,” Tony gasped.
“Begging already?” Steve asked him, knowing he was being a little awful, even as he gently thumbed at Tony's balls, rubbed his perineum until Tony was moaning. “I haven’t even started with you, yet.”
“Oh, God, Steve,” Tony groaned, but he was grinning a little, to himself, so Steve figured he was on the right track. He teased at Tony’s perineum a little more, then got his hand on his hip and slid his hands up, just ghosting the hand that had been behind his balls up over his cock, giving him the lightest slide of a touch. Tony gasped, choked, jerked his hips up into it, and Steve shushed him again, ran his hands along his sides and thumbed at his nipples before spreading his own legs to place each knee on either side of Tony’s hips and biting lightly at his collarbones. He didn’t stop until Tony’s chest was covered in the same sort of bite marks that Steve had left on his thigh, and Tony was moaning thickly and rolling his hips with every nip and lick. Steve teased his hands over the marks, down over Tony’s chest, making him give low, breathy noises, then got his hand on Tony’s hip and rolled him onto his side, lifting himself up to give him space.
Tony made a noise of surprise but let him, and Steve propped himself up with one arm, tracing the fingers of the other, his thumb, over Tony’s sensitized collarbone and making him shudder, and left a kiss on the round of his shoulder. “God, Steve,” Tony muttered, and Steve chuckled and bit there lightly, stroking his hand down over Tony's chest, low enough to feather his fingers over his hip, then gently slide them between his legs, stroking gently along his thighs, pressing his thumb in against the bruised mark he’d left and making Tony suck in his breath. His cock leapt and jerked above Steve’s hand, which he wasn’t unaware of. He loved seeing Tony like this—so gone on sensation, just feeling, letting Steve just touch him and tease him, worship his body, not so intent on pleasing Steve, taking his breath away every moment, as it felt like he was in bed sometimes. There was something so unguarded, so pure and sincerely Tony, in the way he gasped and jerked and trembled under Steve’s hands as he teased along his thighs, then gripped that hand tightly over Tony’s hip and pressed in behind him, covering Tony’s body with his so he could nearly push him onto his front, nuzzling in at the back of his neck, slow, soft kisses over his nape, his shoulders, along his throat.
Tony shuddered, sighed a long slow breath, tipped his head back, letting Steve’s body cover him, fit Tony in against him, though he did wriggle the gorgeous round curves of his rear against Steve’s full, straining cock. “Hmm, you want that?” Steve murmured in his ear with a grin. He let himself push forward, let his cock rub between the curves of that rump, knowing that with as much precome as Steve always had welling up it would feel wet and slick and hot.
Tony groaned, loud and long. “You know I do,” he babbled, low and rough, rubbing his rear desperately against Steve, against his cock, giving him delicious friction against warm, smooth skin in the process, the soft slick friction of Tony’s warm, rounded cheeks. “I want you inside me, Steve, deep as you can go, want to feel you all up in me, or in my mouth, yeah, anywhere you want, Steve, just want to feel you, c’mon, honey, c’mon.”
“I thought I was in charge,” Steve muttered, grinning against the back of Tony’s neck. Tony's eagerness was something to see, kind of a treat, really, Steve always loved it. He gently palmed Tony's hip, swirling his fingers over his skin, even as Tony worked his cock for him, doing all the work and making heat shiver up through him, pool in his gut.
“You are,” Tony panted, “you—you are, boss, I just, I just—”
“Shhh,” Steve told him again, leaving gentle kisses against the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, just under his hairline. “We’ll get there. We’ll get to it.”
Tony whined, low and long, but he didn’t argue, though he kept rubbing his rear against Steve’s cock. Steve gripped his hip tighter, pulled him away, and laid a heavy smack against the curve of Tony’s rump, curving his fingers in and holding him. “Shh,” he told him.
Tony made a breathless, broken noise at the hit, gasped and groaned, his voice wavering as his hips jerked up. Steve knew his skin would be rosy, marked, when he brought his hand away, and he could see the way Tony’s cock flexed and jumped desperately, drooling precome against his belly at the impact, as Steve dug in his fingers in against his skin.
“I told you to quit it,” he told him, then patted his rear gently against the warm place from the hit. It was actually quite the sight, the slick trails his cock had left over Tony’s warm skin, glistening along his crease. Steve had to swallow thickly. “I’m gonna take a little bit more time with you,” he told him.
“Oh, God,” Tony groaned.
“Shh, it’ll be good,” Steve assured him, kissing his shoulder as he slid his hand up under the pillow to find the lube they’d left there earlier.
“I know it will,” Tony gasped. “That’s what I’m afraid of, how good it’s going to be, if I can even handle it.”
“C’mon, Stark,” Steve said, grinning and leaving kisses along the blade of Tony’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his skin, the salt-sweat tang of it, “I won’t give you more than you can take, you know that.”
Tony groaned, low in his throat, but he didn’t argue, even as Steve slicked his fingers. He swallowed tightly, against his own eagerness, as he trailed them along Tony’s crack, along the line of his body, until he found his hole. Tony gasped a little, shuddered, as Steve brushed his fingers over the tight, furled opening. “Open up for me,” he murmured, a low command against Tony’s skin, resting his forehead against his shoulder as he looked down at Tony’s rear. He pushed him over a little, more solidly onto his stomach, with one knee against his thigh, and Tony let out a breathless gulp and just let him. He was always tight, at first, clenched up beneath Steve’s fingers, but that was fine, it just meant Steve had to give him a little bit to relax. He gave him that, too, trailing his fingers around the tight muscle, massaging the tips of them over his hole. He could feel it as Tony started to relax and shifted his hand to rub his thumb over the fluttering muscle, pressing inward just a bit. This always made Steve feel warm, and even though his cock was hard and heat pounded in his chest, it was more a slow, tender sort of warmth, at the slowness of it, at Tony’s trust, at taking his time with him, at being allowed to. Tony whimpered a bit, and then the muscles in his rear and thighs visibly relaxed, legs spreading apart as he brought his knees up just a little, and Steve was able to press his thumb inside easily. “Hey, that’s it,” he breathed, attention captured by the sight, his thumb sinking inside that dusky hole, glistening now with the slickness of the lube. Tony groaned out from his chest, hips bucking as Steve fucked his thumb in and out a few times. Steve stroked his hand down his flank, rubbing at his hip, before he pulled his thumb out and slid his finger inside in its place.
Tony was so tight and hot inside, and he gave a bitten off, gasping cry, not loud at all, just warm and surprised and eager, like he’d wanted Steve’s finger inside but hadn’t expected it. He was so responsive when it came to this kind of thing that Steve couldn’t believe it, passionate and eager and willing, even when he wasn’t even close to getting off from it, or had just come, and sometimes it surprised Steve how lost Tony seemed to get in things, so that even the logical next touch seemed to startle him. He was hot and smooth inside, like velvet, and Steve crooked his finger, searching for his sweet spot. It took him a moment to find it, still, but once he found it Tony was gasping, all the low, sweet, desperate sounds he so often muffled, as if embarrassed of how vocal he got. Tony was strange that way—he played it up, Steve knew he did, at times, but then the rest of the time he was biting his lips, swallowing the noises to keep himself quiet. Steve loved the sounds he made, but Tony didn’t have to put on a show for him.
He fucked him with first one finger, then two, for a while, watching them disappear into him, then slide back out, glistening with lube, the stretch and flutter of Tony’s hole around them, the different colors of Tony’s intimate opening and the skin around it, dusky-rose, compared to Steve’s fairer, pinker fingers. He thumbed gently at Tony’s perineum and Tony let out a loud groan and buried his face in the pillows, thighs trembling and his hole clenching. Tony relaxed gradually around him, until the clasp of his body was warm and velvety, sweetly smooth, inner walls dragging hungrily at Steve’s fingers like he wanted him inside. “Someday,” Steve said, “I’d like to see if I can work you with my fingers until you come.”
“Unlikely,” Tony drawled, slurred, really, into the pillows, rolling his hips lazily but needily as Steve worked his fingers inside him, matching Steve’s rhythm, his cock jerking between his legs. “’ve always needed a little, a little work, s’not like you,” and he grinned back at Steve, cocky and mischievous, with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow. Steve returned the smile, still working his fingers inside him, making his mouth sag open again on a breathy hnnnnh.
“You jerk back on my fingers like you’re so damn hungry for it,” he reminded him, half surprised when the words came out low and rough, and Tony trembled under him, gave a low, whimpery noise, cheeks flushing. He always did, responded like that, when Steve said anything even remotely sexual. “You’re so responsive.” He crooked them in, rubbed against Tony’s prostate, and wasn’t surprised when he jerked and moaned even loader, back arching and head lolling back, eyes rolling back in his head. “I bet you could, you’ve just never been worked on long enough.”
“Mmmmm,” Tony moaned, luxuriously, head tilted back. “An’—and you’re the one to do it, Rogers?”
“Well, I think I might have a shot,” Steve said with a laugh, still swirling his fingers lightly over Tony’s prostate, stroking gently, really, loving the way he gasped and arched and twitched against the bed, the warm flush rising up over him, but also the way he pushed back into the touch, his body relaxing for the pleasure. The gentle strokes felt like almost an affectionate gesture, Steve sending gentle little ripples of it through Tony’s body with every stroke of his fingers. “I mean,” he added, letting his voice drop even lower, leaning in over Tony’s shoulder to press a kiss to the shell of his ear, against the hinge of his jaw, his cheek, “you respond awful well.”
“Feels good,” Tony said thickly, tilting his head back, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s, and sending warmth spreading through him in a way that had nothing to do with his cock. He caught Tony’s chin in his fingers, pressed their lips together, soft and warm, and Tony moaned, arched up into it. He could be so damn sweet, and the way he arched up into Steve’s mouth, into the kiss, definitely fit the bill. Steve found himself pressing soft kisses to his bottom lip, into the corner of his mouth, even after he pulled away, and then curled one arm over Tony’s chest, tugging his body under him even as he used the fingers in Tony’s hole to tug at his rim, pulling him wide. Tony choked, shuddered under him, his eyes wide, lips parted and breath panting, but he didn’t struggle, just blinked a few times as Steve reluctantly slid his fingers out of him, opened the lube again with one hand and smeared even more on his fingers before returning that hand between Tony’s legs, letting his other hand move back to curl around his hip.
He didn’t go back to Tony’s wet, softened hole this time, though, even though Tony expected it, he could tell, even pushed his rear back in invitation, but smoothed his slick hand down the insides of Tony’s thighs, stroking gently along the working muscle. It clearly confused Tony, and Steve saw him make a face—Tony always had mixed feelings about getting messy, it made him hot, but partly because he thought it felt gross; Steve knew the feeling, he got the same way about some things—but he still didn’t try to turn the tables on Steve, or really protest. “What’s next, boss?” was all he asked, slow and breathy.
“Put your thighs together,” Steve told him, still sliding his lube slick hand along the tender skin of Tony’s inner thighs, where he was so sensitive to touch that he was already squirming and gasping and huffing air out through his nose and mouth, “and get ‘em tight for me.”
“Sure thing,” Tony panted, actually surprising Steve with how willingly and quickly he responded, clamping his thighs together and squeezing around his hand. It was an almost erotic sensation in and of itself, as he felt the tight muscle around his palm and fingers and worked his hand in and out of that tight place to be certain Tony was slick with lube, squeezing the lush curves of Tony’s thighs as he worked, rubbing his fingers into them until Tony was sighing and gasping, but didn’t give up on the tight clasp of his thighs. And the sight of him was really something else, hole still worked open and fluttering needily, slicked with lube and a little puffy from the attention earlier, between the lushly rounded cheeks of his rump, wet with lube over his perineum all the way down to his shining, glistening thighs, which Steve had always privately thought were unfairly beautiful, almost, all sleek, luscious lines and voluptuous curves of muscle, the way the tight clasp of his leg muscles lifted his rear, made the round muscles of his cheeks pop, warm and just soft enough with flesh. “So you’re not gonna fuck me?” he mumbled as Steve worked his fingers into the swollen bruise on his thigh, rubbing and teasing, and made him gasp and moan, bucking his rear helplessly but without letting his thighs slide apart. God, he was good. He was doing so good, being so obedient Steve was blown away. It was incredible to get to see it.
“Oh, I’m going to,” Steve told him, leaning down to press a kiss against his shoulder, still working him slick with lube between his thighs. “But I’m going to fuck your thighs, first. Keep ‘em tight for me, Tony.”
“Oh,” Tony said quietly, his mouth barely forming around the sound, soft and breathy, then, “Can do, boss.”
For some reason, that time Tony calling him boss made Steve’s face feel hot, and warmth pool in his stomach, pull tight in his chest. “That’s it, Shellhead,” he said, and gripped his hip, slicked his cock with the lube still on his hands, then lined it up and pushed in against Tony’s thighs. He aimed up, against Tony’s groin, so his cockhead pushed against Tony’s perineum, slipped into the soft, loose space his thighs made just at the crease of his groin, pushed up behind his sac, against his balls. Tony gasped, gave a full body shudder, and then groaned, rough and heavy in his chest, his body arching. Steve laid his hand on Tony’s knees and held him steady as he started to slide his cock in between his thighs. Tony whimpered. “Shh,” Steve told him again, pulling him closer, gripping the front of one plush thigh now. Tony's thighs felt so tight and hot, but it was so different from the warmth of his body, the way his hole would have clamped down, clenched up around Steve, scorching hot and fighting the invading pressure at first, working around him, tight crushed velvet heat and half the muscles in Tony’s body bearing down. His thighs felt loose and slick and easy compared to that, silken and soft despite their strength and the light hair dusting them, and it didn’t hurt that Tony’s thighs were gorgeous. Half the pleasure came from feeling the contours of that muscled strength, gently softened with just a little extra padding in the way that made Tony’s legs so absolutely beautiful, clamped down around his cock, Tony straining to keep them that way, to make it good for Steve, the tease of it, how simple and effortless it felt to him, when it probably felt pretty much the opposite for Tony. Steve pressed his mouth against Tony’s spine, along the bumps of it, feathered open-mouthed little kisses over his shoulder, as he fucked his cock slowly, easily, between Tony’s thighs, make sure it slid along his skin from hole to balls, pushed into them, jostling his cock and making Tony groan all choked and caught in the back of his throat, gasping low and hitching again and again.
It was tempting to keep sliding between Tony’s thighs until he came, the pleasure building in Steve slow and warm and easy, not the headlong rush he usually felt. He thought about it—he could usually get it up again, and quickly, too—but that didn’t really fit with his plan. It felt so good, though, that he had to consciously think about pulling out of that warm, tight clasp of Tony’s thighs. He let his cock slide back slowly, lingering over Tony’s hole, and Tony gasped, his thighs trembling. Steve pulsed his hips a few times, slid his hand back and down to grip Tony’s rear, the warm, full curve of it filling up his hand as he spread him open, wide, and kept sliding his cock slow and easy along Tony’s crease, over his open hole, with just enough force behind it that the head of his cock sometimes caught and held on the edge of Tony’s rim before it slid free, but never pressed in. Tony gave a low, desperate whine, and Steve could see it as he fisted his hand in the blankets and gripped hard.
The pressure was soft and yielding, but still felt good on Steve’s cock, Tony’s body wet and warm and giving as Steve's cock clung and slipped free, sliding along his crack. Tony whined again, low and thick, and pressed his head down into the bed. Steve let his cock slide back and forth along his crease, catching on his hole a couple of times, sometimes sliding right over, shifting so that he could watch, see where he was holding Tony’s rear open wide with that hand on his cheek, the trembling eager flutter of his hole as he slid along him. He was so warm, so messy and slick with lube, and the dusky clench of his hole was almost hypnotizing as Steve watched his own cock slide along him.
“Please,” Tony groaned, mouth catching on the blankets where he was dragging his face along them. “Steve, you’re such a . . . a tease, you’re . . . please.”
“Guilty as charged,” Steve said with a grin, sliding his thumb down to rub it teasingly over Tony’s hole, feeling how it jumped and trembled beneath the touch. “You’ve got a pretty rear,” he murmured, lower, kissing and nuzzling along Tony’s’s back, as he looked down at him, sliding his cock back between his legs to bump up against the back of his balls, sighing at the warm clasp of his legs even as he watched his thumb slide along Tony’s slickened crease.
Tony laughed breathlessly. “How are you such a perv?” he asked. “N-no one would ever believe me if I—I told them what a big pervert you are.”
“Shush,” Steve said, laughing, “I like to look at my guy, that’s not perverted.” He slapped Tony’s rear lightly for that, making Tony gasp again, then curled his arm over his front one more time, leaning in and pressing a kiss against his cheek, knowing that would make Tony wrinkle up his nose and flush and melt with the affection of it. He pulled out from between his thighs at the same time and then pushed back in, making sure his cock slid all along the length of Tony’s rear, from the very top of his crease down along over his hole and then back between his legs. Sure enough, Tony responded exactly how he’d expected, wrinkling his nose and flushing and going soft under him, then trembled, arched up on a stuttering breath. Steve kept at it for a while, half losing himself in the sensation, kissing and nuzzling at the skin of Tony’s neck, scratchy with stubble that wasn’t visible yet, but he could still feel, pressing soft kisses along the underside of Tony's jaw, holding him close and making sure every thrust of his hips drew him all the way out and in along that same line of Tony’s body. He wondered if it felt overwhelming, the way he was holding Tony close, still, working him over with just the movements of his hips and his cock. He wanted Tony to feel, well, owned, the way he’d seemed to want to.
And maybe he enjoyed the way that Tony felt in his arms, the way he fit so entirely, the way he just let himself fold in against Steve, rear sweet and round against his groin, back flush against Steve’s chest, one hand dropping to lie over Steve’s arms, the other still gripping tightly in the sheets as if he needed it to anchor himself, the way he heaved for breath but still let his head settle into the hollow of Steve’s shoulder, nose against his throat, mouth leaving smears of wetness along Steve’s skin, he was breathing so hard, so overwhelmed his mouth was wet and sloppy.
Steve kept it up for a good long while, until Tony was just moaning against his throat, jolting with the thrusts, his hand gripping tightly around Steve’s wrist every time, and he himself had to put thought and effort into not letting himself chase his own orgasm, then reached for the lube again, wet two fingers, and pulled back just enough to sink them deep into Tony’s hole, making Tony gasp and jerk in his arms, whimper low in his throat and clench down just a little around Steve's fingers. He thrust them once, twice, scissored them wide, just to make sure Tony was still open and loose, and he was, looser than Steve had expected, even, soft and relaxed as he stretched for his fingers even as it made him whine lowly, then slid his cock back up and this time on the downstroke pushed deep inside. Tony yelped, stiffened, then fell back against him helplessly, panting. Steve shut his eyes against his shoulder, concentrating despite the seductive clasp of his slicked-up heat, the smooth sweet drag of friction inside him, savoring how easy the push was, Tony’s body resisting him, but not too hard, giving way for the pressure so that as Steve kept pressing, Tony’s body swallowed him up in a smooth, steady glide despite the tightness. Tony spread his legs, curled his knee up to his chest, and his fingernails dug into Steve’s wrist, but Steve didn’t mind, the tiny little pinpricks of pain made it easier to focus.
Then he was all the way inside, and it felt like home, perfect and warm, Tony curled in his arms and with his cock deep, deep inside him, Tony's insides working at him soft and clutching. It shocked Steve how easily he’d opened up for him when usually they had to stop and start, Tony closing up repeatedly with tension, or Steve never got balls-deep, Tony’s body just not prepared to take the stretch. But even though Tony was choking and whimpering against his neck, leaving trails of saliva along his throat, his body wasn’t tight with discomfort or tension, still easy and relaxed under Steve’s body, against his hold, and open wide for him. “Look at that,” Steve told him, voice rough against his skin as he mouthed at his shoulder, “you took all of me. Can you feel how deep I am inside you, Tony?”
Tony gave a punched-out little gasping groan. “You c-can’t just say things like that, hon,” he said in a voice that was just a little too hoarse and rough to be a whine, but definitely had that quality. “I—” Steve could see his cock flexing and jerking against his hip, and he helplessly wriggled his hips against Steve where he was pinioned by him, gasping. It honestly felt incredible, Tony’s inner muscles working him one by one, and Steve bit in against Tony's shoulder to steady himself. “I—I—yes, yessir, all the way inside, so deep it’s like you, you’re gonna be inside me forever, honey, I—” he groaned, whimpering, as Steve gripped his hip, holding him as he rolled his own hips, rotating his cock inside the tight clasp of Tony’s body. It was too much, hearing those words in Tony’s breathy, lust-roughened voice. Steve gripped his hip tightly and bore in, rocked back just the tiniest amount, practically rolling himself against Tony, not really fucking in and out of him, just to feel the way his body clutched and spasmed against him, clamped down on him, squeezing him with beautiful, deep fluttering waves of his muscles.
“Not forever,” Steve managed to get out, hearing how deep and rough his own voice had gone. “But long enough.” Tony gasped, heavy and whimpering, and Steve kept rolling his hips into him.
He progressed to actual thrusts eventually, working his cock in and out of Tony’s clutching, straining body and then back in. Tony was so pliant and soft beneath him, giving showy, pornographic little gasps and moans that got louder when Steve hit his prostate, keening and scrabbling at his arm and the bed when he pulled out, gasping, overwhelmed but satisfied moans when he was all the way inside him. He took it so damn well Steve felt like he could have made love to him like this for an eternity and still wanted more. He could feel his own orgasm coming up on him, and considered fighting it, then thought, hell, Tony was so perfect around him like this, he could go again, and just let it come, burying his face against the back of Tony’s shoulder and letting it roll down over him, center in his cock and come pulsing out of him like fireworks going off in the back of his head. He knew he was pumping his cock faster and faster into Tony’s body, and Tony just lay there, keening roughly and huskily into his throat, and took it, even as his whole body was jostled with Steve’s rough thrusts. He could feel his fingers digging into Tony’s hip, his palm against the top of his thigh, and let himself, let his hand clamp down there, knowing the grip was going deep enough to turn into one hell of a bruise.
Steve came with a hoarse, raw, high-pitched grunt of a noise into Tony’s spine and just lay there, lazily mouthing at his back, against his skin, as the pleasure skittered through him and blossomed into little sparking aftershocks as he slowly fucked in and out of Tony’s loose, welcoming body, and Tony squeezed down, he could feel him, milking his cock gently, shifting his hips up and down, slowly rotating and gently fucking himself on Steve, squeezing inside with each little shift, until Steve had no idea how long the pleasure of his orgasm had gone on, cresting and ebbing and cresting again. Finally it shifted into oversensitized pleasure-pain, and he lay there, feeling limp. Tony stopped moving, settled with a hoarse little sigh, tucking his rear back against Steve’s hips, moaning and gasping a little as that jostled Steve’s cock inside him. He didn’t say a word about his own still-hard cock or how needy he had to feel, or about the roughness of the hand Steve still had clamped down against the hinge of his hip and thigh.
“Such a good boy,” Steve told him when he felt a little more alive, and his thoughts were working again, not just soft and pleasure-slow, like sunlight on a lazy morning in bed. “You’re such a good boy, Tony.”
“Mmm,” Tony said, softly, and turned his face, searching out Steve’s, and Steve shifted up to let him as Tony reached up and curled his fingers into Steve’s hair, letting his thumb rest against Steve’s neck, and butting his face into the curve of it, Steve's throat and jaw, rubbing his soft-scratchy facial hair there, his cheek against Steve’s throat like a cat, his other hand stroking softly, aimlessly, over the back of Steve’s palm, along his wrist. “Wanna be. G-good. For you, Steve. Boss.”
“You’re so good,” Steve swore to him, turned his hand and took Tony’s shifting fingers into his. “So good for me, so sweet, so generous, such a generous guy.”
“Am I?” Tony murmured, all soft, smiling into his neck. “You really think so?”
“So good and patient,” Steve murmured back, “and yes, so generous, sweetheart.”
“I wanna be so good,” Tony muttered, and his eyes were closed, Steve thought he was only half aware, he’d gone so pliant and relaxed, his muscles loose and soft, his head resting against Steve’s neck and shoulder. “I’m trying so hard.”
“Hey, hey,” Steve said, pressing his lips gently into Tony’s hair, wondering if he was just talking about pleasing Steve in bed, and doubting it, “you do so great, you’re so brilliant for me.” He knew that wouldn’t have been anything Tony would have said if he was fully aware, even about the sex, not like that, and he squeezed his hand gently. Tony whined a little, shifted his hips over Steve’s, and Steve figured he must have moved a little inside him, set off something that made him want. “How d’you feel?” he murmured into Tony’s hair, mouthing gently against the top of his ear, feathering gentle kisses just above it.
Tony laughed a little, breathless and hoarse and low, scratching in his chest. “Fucked,” he said.
Steve smiled into his hair. “You’re the one who always gets on my case for one word answers,” he said, unable to resist the temptation to roll his hips and slide himself lazily in and out of Tony to rev himself back up. Tony was so wet inside now, from Steve’s come as well as lube, and his hole was open and loose, just gently clinging to Steve’s cock. It made soft, wet noises as Steve slid in and out of him, and Tony shivered, shook, groaned low in his throat, then again.
“Oh, God, Steve,” he wavered out.
“Can you take it if I go again?” Steve asked him, still fucking gently in and out of him, and Tony jerked, shivered all over, and his toes curled, Steve could see them.
“Yes, yes, God, yes,” he mumbled. “Ah—ah, Steve, please, please.”
“Shh,” Steve soothed, squeezing his hand gently and kissing his forehead. “Not too sore?”
He could see the little grin that crossed Tony’s features at that, even from their angle. “Yeah, sore, but it’s good sore,” he said, all quick and breathless. “Not hurt sore, at all, it feels. It feels really good actually. And I really, really wanna come, if I can, I’d like to—I’d like that.”
Steve wasn’t sure if he meant if he was allowed (which of course he was) or if he’d be able to physically tip over that peak; he knew Tony struggled with that sometimes, control issues, or anxiety, or maybe just circulation or health troubles, Steve hadn’t ever pressed him on it. He got so frustrated, and Steve didn’t want to make that worse by prodding at it. He’d had the same trouble, once. Before the serum it’d been damn hard to sustain a stiffie long enough to get himself off. Since the serum, he’d had kind of the opposite problem. He always came so damn fast it was a little embarrassing, except for when he held himself back, and that took a serious effort of will. He smiled ruefully, feeling himself already hardening again inside Tony’s loose, fucked out hole. Well, that’d been the plan, anyway. “We’ll get you there,” he promised Tony. “Nice and slow.”
Tony made a sound, half eager, half groaning. “Slow,” he mumbled. “Damn, Steve.”
“You’re already pretty fucked out,” Steve reminded him. “You said it yourself. Slow is better.” He gave him a little bit deeper stroke of his cock, and Tony cried out, arched over him.
“Ah, ahhh!” he whimpered, all breathy, low mumbles. “Steve, please, I—I—”
“How’s it feel, Tony?” Steve pressed. Okay, so it was a little bit of revenge for all the time Tony had asked him that same question in the middle of sex, swiveling his hips to take Steve deeper into him or stroking his cock gently or with his fingers up Steve’s rear until he was shaking, and not taking simple answers. He knew how Tony felt to him right now; he felt incredible, looser and wetter than before but no less hot, sweet and soft and clinging to Steve’s cock, a slick, easy slide. Steve was already fully hard again, wanting, that itch crawling under his skin, the urge to thrust deep into Tony’s smooth, open heat.
“Good,” Tony gasped, mewled, really, then made a face and grunted, cleared his throat. It was so endearing that Steve couldn’t help but grin, press his face into the side of Tony’s head, against his hair, even as he sank deeply into him again. Tony’s teeth sank into his bottom lip, and then he groaned out, in more of his normal tone, instead of the keening, sex-soft, needy one, “F-fucked out, big guy. You, you,” he was panting audibly, “really know how to make a guy feel it. So. Hot. Wet, and, and raw? Not hurting raw, just. Just really intense, so intense, I feel so sensitive in there like. And you’re like a battering ram, I swear, in a good way, the best way possible, I can feel it all the way up in my gut and I’m gonna be feeling it for days and it’s perfect, thank you so much for this, I just—really wanted—” his voice was starting to break, and Steve shushed him, gently stroked his hip, across his stomach.
“I got it, mister,” he said. “You don’t have to ask right now. I’ve got you.”
Tony’s eyes fluttered closed, and his lips parted, his head rocked back on another deep thrust into his willing, pliant body. “You’re the best,” he groaned.
“Mmm,” Steve said, grinning. “Thank you.” He was more careful this time, taking it slow, making sure to hit Tony’s sweet spot with each thrust, gently rubbing Tony’s wet thighs and bruised hip. When Tony was totally relaxed and moaning on each thrust, he reached across him and took his painfully flushed, hard cock into his hand, rubbing it gently, so slow and gentle in time with each slow thrust into Tony’s wet, welcoming rear. Tony moaned and let Steve’s thrusts rock him, rolling in his arms, clutching at Steve's hair at times, but not even arching his back, even as his cock plumped up heavily in Steve’s hand. Steve fingered at his balls, gently played his fingers over the head, stroked his thumb along his perineum, and Tony choked in the back of his throat, whined and tilted his head back. He felt so good, and Steve buried his face in Tony’s shoulder and panted for breath as he felt himself ramping up again, the hot pleasure building in his cock, eased on by Tony’s sweet, slick hole, the quiet clenches of his internal muscles, so slack and open and easy but still fluttering and working at him, for him. Even Tony’s heavy cock in his hand spurred him on, the wet, hot, full eagerness of it, drooling precome against his fingers. He fought it back, concentrated on hitting Tony’s sweet spot, the spot that made him keen between his teeth and rock back on Steve, pressing in against it, rubbing over it with his cock, stroking Tony with firm, solid passes of his hand, rubbing at his tip with his thumb. He could feel it, hear it, when Tony was finally close, the way his breaths went deeper, straining at his lungs, the desperate shifts of his hips up into Steve’s hand, the groans he let out in between the deep, even breaths. “That’s it,” Steve managed, his own voice so broken and thick he barely even recognized it. “Come for me. Come for me, Tony.”
Tony gasped deeply, whimpered, and came with a surprised little jolt. “Steve,” he said, then “boss, honey, b-baby—” his voice broke and his hips pumped as he rode it out, gasping heavily for air. He didn’t come as long as Steve had, but Steve pushed himself up on one arm to watch it, and it was intense—Tony’s eyes screwed shut, his ass clenched down desperately on Steve, working him and working him, his cock spurting come along his chest. He was a sight, thighs slick and bruised, chest and face flushed, mouth hanging open and wet with saliva all over his chin and throat, cock jerking in Steve’s loose fist, hair tousled desperately. Steve watched him, thrusting lazily against his prostate, stroking him gently, ignoring his own pleasure, pushing it to the back of his mind, until Tony was done and lying limply against the bed, panting, eyes softly closed and body slack like he was barely conscious. He looked beautiful, mouth so soft and body so easy.
Steve leaned down and kissed his lips gently, so gently, a warm, tender touch, surprised when Tony’s lips parted and he kissed softly, unfocusedly back, lips barely moving but clinging to his. He reached up, brushed Tony’s tousled hair back off his face, and Tony turned his face into it, pressed into the touch eagerly. “Sweetheart,” Steve said, his heart feeling full and aching with tenderness, his voice coming out low and wavery, and moved to pull out of him, thinking he could finish himself off with his own hand, not use Tony’s hole any harder. He was sure to be sore.
He was surprised when those slack muscles clamped down on him and Tony shoved back, even though it made Tony gasp and whimper and shudder all over. “Finish up,” he said, still gasping, then looked up at Steve through his eyelashes, and God, that was unfair, the way he looked, his eyes blown and soft beneath those heavy dark lashes. “Come in me, boss, please.” Steve hesitated and Tony worked his internal muscles, fucking himself slowly back on Steve’s cock, pulling off and sinking back on. He had to be so tired, but it felt as good as ever, working at him, pulling him in like Tony wanted him inside. “Use me,” Tony breathed out, and Steve gave in.
“Sure thing, Tony,” he breathed out in return, just as low, and curled his arm around Tony’s waist, braced his head on his shoulder, and fucked him slow and easy until his own peak came rushing up inside him for the second time. He teetered on the edge for a few moments this time, and then Tony clenched up again, worked himself around him, from Steve’s tip all the way down to his balls, a steady, progressive wave of soft, velvety friction, and Steve tipped over the edge, saw stars, came inside Tony with a muffled grunt of his name. He knew he jerked back and forth, working inside Tony with fast, shallow thrusts for long moments as he rode out his orgasm, though he was barely aware of it himself, but Tony took it without complaint, sighing softly as Steve finally slumped down half on top of him and shoved his face into the back of Tony’s neck.
It was a long time before they moved again. Steve eventually pushed himself up, surprised, really, that Tony hadn’t started moving before he had, but he was just lying under Steve, breathing slowly, apparently content to stay there. He was softening, and he pulled out of Tony with reluctance, rolling him onto his stomach a bit so he could see himself come free. A little gush of come followed after him, trickling down Tony’s already lube-slick thighs, and Steve groaned. Tony clenched his ass, worked his muscles, and a little bit more lube mixed with come pushed out of him, trickled down to his balls. Steve groaned, hung his head, feeling his dick already twitching again with interest. “You’re doing that just to get to me,” he told Tony, not quite accusingly, it was too fond and appreciative for that, trailing two fingers over Tony’s soft, soaking hole. Tony groaned a little, softly.
“Mmm,” he said. “That feels nice. Uh. Yeah, I am. I know you like the. The come. Messing me up.”
And now he sounded self-conscious, half-bashful. He was something else. Steve stroked his hole gently, petting, really, soothing the raw, puffy skin with his fingertips.
“Yeah,” he said, blushing like anything. “I do.” It was nice, massaging the tender skin, watching as Tony leaked a little more against his fingers. Tony whimpered that time, and Steve brought his damp fingers down, wet them further in the come and lube covering Tony's thighs, then stroked them over Tony’s hole again, letting them linger soothingly on the puffy rim.
“You’re so damn dirty,” Tony breathed into the pillows, but he sounded pleased with himself.
Steve shook his head, patted Tony’s thigh gently. His hip was already turning colors, red and swollen, and he told himself not to feel guilty. “You need a bath, buster,” he said.
Tony laughed breathily against the pillows. “You can say that again,” he said. He let Steve roll him back, gather him into his arms, without even fighting, let his head loll back against Steve’s shoulder. “I think you fucked the ability to walk right out of me,” he said languidly, and Steve felt himself flush, right on cue. Tony smiled and brought one hand up, tiredly, like it weighed a million pounds, to brush his fingers against Steve’s cheek, along the blush. “So cute,” he said, smiling soft and loopy, “fuck me like that, dom me till I can’t see straight, and then blush like you’re born on the fourth of July.”
“I was,” Steve said, nonsensically, still blushing. He wondered if come was dripping out of Tony’s hole onto the floor and blushed even harder, resisted the temptation to look just then. “I. Uh. Dom?”
“Y’know,” Tony purred, wrapping his rough, hard palm around the back of Steve’s neck and leaning in, pressing his forehead into Steve’s neck. “Dom, as in dominant. Dom/sub. I subbed for you. I really liked it. We talked about this, honey.”
“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, feeling slow. “With the safe words, and the—all of that.” He bit his lip, starting toward the bathroom. Tony let his feet sway lazily, curling further in against him. That had to be good, right? He wouldn’t be curling into Steve like a satisfied cat, every muscle in his body speaking of sexual satisfaction, if Steve had hurt or—or terrorized him somehow.
Unless he had fucked all the resistance out of him? That—Tony wouldn’t have let him do that, he was Tony Stark, he’d never just let Steve fuck him into submission—except in a way he just had, and Steve knew how vulnerable he was in some ways, the things he thought about himself, how much he needed, and—
“Stop it,” Tony growled against his throat, then followed it up with a surprisingly soft, tender kiss against his pulse, in counterpoint to the threat in his voice. “I loved it.” He let his voice go quiet, soft, warm. “Boss.”
“It was okay?” Steve asked, quietly, as he shouldered the door to the bathroom open. “I didn’t go too—too far?”
“It was perfect,” Tony sighed. “You fucked me so good, Steve. I’m. I’m gonna be all spacey and stuff, now.” He cracked his eyes open, gazed up at him through his eyelashes like he was trying to make his eyes focus, to convey a serious message. “You know that, right?”
Steve remembered talking about that, reading about it on the Internet. Aftercare, they’d talked about that. He nodded, starting to relax. He could do that. Take care of Tony and make sure he knew he was loved and cared for? He could definitely do that. “Yeah, sure thing,” he said. “You just relax. I’ll take care of you." He smiled a little at the thought. "I’ll take care of everything.”
Tony let his eyes slide closed again and relaxed against him, body warm and heavy as he settled against Steve’s chest. “Knew this was a good idea,” he muttered.
Steve wondered about that as he settled Tony in the bath, turned the water on, turning on the heated tiles and upping the temperature in the room as he waited for the bath to fill. He crouched by Tony’s head, ruffled his hair, then leaned down and kissed his temple. “I’m going to change the bed,” he told him. “Be right back.”
It didn’t take that long to bundle the sheets and bedding down the automatic laundry and get fresh ones, find some loose lounge pants for Tony to wear after, one of his comfortable robes, and grab one of the extra t-shirts and sets of boxers he’d started keeping around Tony’s place. He set them out, then hurried back into the bathroom, where Tony was sprawled in the bath, his head lolling against the rim. Steve slid in beside him with a splash, the water coming up to his chest, just hot enough to be filling the room with steam, and took him into his arms, and Tony grinned when he saw him, let himself be pulled into his hold, laid his head on his shoulder, running his hand lazily, appreciatively, over Steve’s chest.
“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked, rubbing Tony’s back gently, under the water. “Sore?”
“Mmm,” Tony said. “A little bit loose and raw and fucked out, but not too bad.” He winked, and grinned when Steve blushed again. Steve made a face at him, leaned in to kiss him, lightly, pleased when Tony groaned and arched up into the kiss, opening for him soft and eager. He gave an mmm of pleasure, eyes still shut, when Steve pulled away.
“What was a good idea?” Steve asked, running his fingers up into Tony’s thick dark hair, massaging them there. Tony moaned, let his head loll back, his head grow heavy against Steve’s hand, let him hold it up.
“What now?” he mumbled. Steve massaged his head gently, enjoying the feeling of his damp, sweat-tangled curls under his hand, the heavy weight of it in his palm.
“You said before,” he prompted, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against Tony’s throat, against his jaw, before feathering another kiss over his lips. The water rose around them, splashing gently between their bodies.
“Oh,” Tony mumbled, and pressed into his mouth, into the kiss. “That.” He kissed Steve back more warmly, let it heat up. Steve ran his hand up his bare, wet side, curled his arm around him, letting his other hand cup the nape of his neck to steady his head while they kissed, lips parting, and it was a long time before they spoke again. Steve had half figured he wasn’t going to get an answer when Tony laid his head back down on Steve’s shoulder and Steve was fiddling with the water, holding him and stroking his back and side with his other hand, when Tony laid a soft kiss against the base of his neck and murmured, “Trusting you, big guy.”
It took Steve by surprise, froze him in mid-movement, and it was a while later before he managed to stammer out, “Sorry, what?”
“You heard,” Tony said, and pressed his face closer into Steve’s neck. “Super soldier hearing,” he mumbled into his throat, beard and stubble scratching pleasantly along Steve’s skin.
“I heard,” Steve managed, a moment later, the warmth inside him all out of proportion to the heat of the bath. He raised his hand, let it stroke gently up and down Tony’s back. “Yeah, I heard.”
Tony sighed, let his body relax, and Steve turned to curl over him, hold him and press a gentle kiss into his hair. He didn't miss it as Tony smiled softly.
The next time Tony turned to him, fully armored up, helmet in his hand, and waited for Steve to call it, then winked with that jaunty, wicked little glint in his eye and said, “You’re the boss,” before he put on his helmet and kicked off with his jetboots, and Steve was left standing behind with a rueful smile on his face, shaking his head to himself, it was that moment he thought back to, the pure trust in Tony’s body, the weight of him, the warmth of the bath and the softness of his voice, not all the spectacular trust exercises that had come right before it, or the welcome of Tony’s body, or even the hoarse rasp of his voice as he begged and called Steve boss as Steve fucked him.
Trusting you, big guy.
And right then, Steve felt like the luckiest man on earth to have that trust. “You take care, Shellhead,” he said into the comm.
“I always do,” came Tony’s cheerful voice back at him.
"Sure," Steve said in his driest tone. "Take more care, then."
"Sure thing, boss," came Tony's voice.
"I'm holding you to that," Steve said, not totally aware he was smiling as softly as he was until he looked up and saw Natasha looking at him. He sobered immediately, but she was already smiling.
“Oh, spare me,” Clint said behind him.
“Shut up, Hawkeye, we’ve got a mission to run,” Steve told him, and met Natasha's eyes. Her smile widened, knowingly, but rather soft, for her, and he felt himself blushing even hotter, knew his face was furiously red.
“Very nice, boss man,” she said, and winked, and despite himself, he smiled back.
It really was.