“I want you to keep your hands right here, alright?”
“This is embarrassing,” Steve says matter-of-factly, his fingers flexing against the wall on either side of the mirror. He sees Tony smile in the mirror from his position behind Steve before he releases Steve’s hands.
“That’s not how I’d describe it. ‘Enthralling’ maybe. ‘Amazing.’ ‘A dream come true.’ Any of those would work,” Tony says, squeezing him gently before letting his hand wander down the center of Steve’s body. They watch as it travels lower and lower, Tony peering over his shoulder, the both of them kneeling on the floor.
Steve’s breath hitches as Tony’s palm grazes the head of his cock, but Tony’s already moving, down the length of his erection, brushing past his balls before carelessly curling his fingers around Steve’s inner thigh. Steve hadn’t believed watching the two of them in the mirror would do much for him when Tony had suggested it, but he’s starting to change his mind. The sight of Tony’s casual possessiveness is much more arousing than it has any right to be.
Tony lets more of his weight settle against his back, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against Steve’s naked skin. He should’ve insisted Tony get naked as well.
Then again, he thinks as the fabric scrapes against him, sending a shiver down his spine, maybe not.
“Can you spread your legs a little more?” Tony asks, pressing the pads of his fingers into the hollow of Steve’s thigh. There’s no stopping the sound Steve makes, the way his breath hitches in his throat, and his face gets warm at how easily he responds to what Tony’s doing to him.
Tony is a terrible tease, he decides as he shifts his weight from knee to knee, the heat and proximity of Tony’s hand mocking him. Terrible.
Nevertheless, he does what Tony wants, sinking lower as he widens his stance, closing his eyes for a second at Tony’s hum of approval.
“Perfect,” Tony murmurs, releasing him and gliding his hand back up over muscles that tremble in its wake until he reaches Steve’s nipple.
There’s something vaguely humiliating about having his nipples played with. None of his previous partners had ever paid much attention to them, and he’d never thought his were particularly sensitive before he met Tony. It turns out that he was very, very wrong.
He gasps as Tony tweaks it playfully, and his eyes dart to the mirror to see pink skin peeking almost shyly from between the tan fingers. He has to push his palms harder against the wall to keep from grabbing Tony’s wrist, to pull him away, he thinks, and not because he wants Tony to press even harder.
“Don’t,” he says, but it’s weak, pleasure and humiliation tangling together and preventing him from imbuing any force in the word. It’s a surprise, therefore, that Tony listens, resting his hand on Steve’s chest so just the tip of one finger covers his nipple, inadequate and completely riveting in its sly obscurity.
“Do you really want me to stop?” Tony asks, and there’s the Tony he knows, always pushing boundaries whenever he can, stroking his finger slowly back and forth, back and forth, giving Steve a jolt with each passing. “They’re so appealing when they’re tight and hard like this. It’s like they’re begging me to touch them, to abuse them a little bit more until they’re red and so damn tender that you can still feel my fingers after I let go. Are you telling me you don’t want that?” he asks, breathing against Steve’s ear. “Because I think you’d be lying.”
Steve turns his head away, but he’s not denying it. He can’t.
“Maybe the problem isn’t that I’m playing with your tits—oh, that bothers you, doesn’t it? You don’t want me to be vulgar,” Tony says, rolling the word off his tongue when Steve flinches. “But I’ve got a dirty mouth, Steve. Surely you’ve noticed that by now, right? So I’m going to say that I want to molest these pretty, pretty tits of yours, and I think you’re just going to take it. I think you’re going to keep your hands right where they are, and you’re going to push your chest out for me so it’s even easier, and do you know why I think so? Open your eyes, Steve. Look in the mirror, and tell me I’m wrong.”
He hadn’t even realized he’d shut his eyes, but he does what Tony tells him, and oh. Oh. Is that really him? Pupils blown wide, lips red from where he’s bitten them, cock hard and already leaking precome. No wonder Tony’s so sure of himself, he thinks, watching the stranger in the mirror, desire etched in every line of his body.
“Do you see?” Tony whispers, his hands sliding down Steve’s sides. Apparently he’s distracted Tony enough to have him abandon his nipples, exactly like he’d wanted. So why does it make him ache, make him crave more of those maddening caresses or an even rougher touch? His nipples are throbbing, and he’d never thought he’d be more aware of them than he is of his cock, but he is, and what’s Tony doing to him?
He doesn’t get a chance to linger on the question, however, because Tony’s hands are tugging his hips back until Steve’s bent at the waist, his own hands still glued to the wall where Tony put them at the beginning of all this.
“Lift your head up,” Tony says as he starts to grind against Steve’s ass, settling between his cheeks so the material of Tony’s jeans rasps against his opening. If Steve has any delusions that he’s not doing it on purpose, Tony uses his thumbs to spread him further, making the contact that much more intense. “I want to see you.”
It’s a simple command, and it’s not as if Tony hadn’t made it clear that he’d wanted the both of them to watch. But it feels significant somehow, maybe because it’s the first time Tony’s ordered him to do something instead of requested it, maybe because of what Tony was doing when he said it, but it takes him a moment to respond.
When he does, when he lifts his head and meets Tony’s eyes in the mirror, it’s like something loosens within him, something that’s been held tight and confined, and he can’t explain the feeling that wells up in him when Tony says, “That’s my boy,” some combination of embarrassment and satisfaction, pride and resolve, and it’s confusing but wonderful as well.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Tony announces with a roll of his hips, slow and deliberate, the denim abrading tender skin as his erection presses against Steve's hole. He’s not asking, he’s telling Steve what’s going to happen, and any other time, maybe it’d bother him more, but not now, not like this. “I’m going to fuck you while you watch yourself bouncing on my cock, and I play with your sweet tits some more. And if you don’t come from my cock, then you don’t get to come at all. You understand?”
“Yes,” Steve whispers, so dizzy with lust that he has to lock his elbows to stay in position.
It’s almost impossible to stay still when Tony pulls back enough to undo his jeans. Even that small distance between them is too much, and while he’s been naked for a long time, it’s the first time he feels cold. He looks for Tony in the mirror, keeps his eyes locked on him and reminds himself Tony’s right there.
He's grateful though when Tony’s hand comes to rest on his lower back, and he arches into the touch, relaxing as Tony strokes him.
“Alright?” Tony asks, reaching around to hug him, warmth and affection in his embrace, and Steve sighs, nodding.
Tony presses a kiss against his neck, his arms tightening for a second before they’re sliding away. But Tony keeps one hand on him after that, and Steve feels the last of his uncertainty fade in the face of Tony’s consideration.
He moans as Tony’s finger lightly circles his hole before slipping inside. He’s already sensitized from the way Tony's rubbed against him, so the small invasion feels huge, and it's magnified by the way Tony doesn’t stop until his knuckles are digging into Steve’s skin, and he’s as deep inside him as he can go. It's a relief and a torment both, because Steve loves nothing more than having Tony bottom-out, of knowing that he's taking everything Tony has to give, and the feel of Tony pressing up into him, the strength in Tony's hand and the way his flesh yields to him, it mimics what he really wants, but it's not enough. It's nowhere near enough.
"I can feel you clenching around my finger," Tony murmurs, nuzzling the back of Steve's neck. "You're so tight, baby. You're so perfect for me."
"Tony, I want—"
"Do you think I could get you off just like this? Just finger-fuck you until you come all over the mirror? I bet I could do it," Tony says, his eyes turning dark. "It might take me a while, but—"
"No," he gasps, his hips twisting in order to feel the burn that much more. "That's not what I—"
"Oh, I know what you want," Tony murmurs, pulling his finger out slightly, and Steve doesn’t mean to shove back in order to chase it, to keep it inside. He does though, and he doesn’t know if it’s the shame or the pleasure that makes him whimper. "And trust me, we’ll get there.”
When? he wants to ask, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to hear Tony’s answer. It’ll be sure to drive him insane, and Tony doesn’t need any more ammunition. He’s driving Steve crazy well enough on his own.
“Please,” he says instead, and it’s only because Tony’s demanded he keeps his eyes open that he witnesses Tony’s expression just then.
"Patience is a virtue—"
“Didn’t you say,” he begins, swallowing heavily, glad that he’s already red because hopefully it’ll mask his embarrassment now, “that you’d make me watch myself bouncing on your cock? I want that, Tony,” he says, and it’s true. It’s so true. “I want to see that. I want to feel that.”
Tony’s eyelashes flutter, and he takes a deep breath, leaning down to rub his forehead against the back of Steve’ neck. Tony nips at his shoulder, and he shivers, pushing back, moaning when Tony meets the movement, his fingers brushing against Steve’s buttocks each time he strokes over Steve’s prostate.
He loves Tony’s hands. They’re working hands, with tiny scars and calluses, and they create the most magnificent things, know exactly how to bend things to Tony’s will, and Steve loves that. He loves how Tony uses them to take him apart and put him back together, the same but different, and better for it. He wants to be consumed and overwhelmed until there’s nothing but the two of them and all the things they mean to each other, and he’d never been able to admit that before Tony, never even acknowledged that part of himself before, but Tony makes it alright somehow, finds joy in something that used to be dark and hidden and shares it with Steve, and maybe he should be ashamed because of it, but he can’t be, not when Tony looks at him like that, when he touches him like that.
"Please," he says again, and he wonders if his fingers are going to puncture the drywall, the tension in his body almost unbearable. His thighs flex as he fucks himself on Tony's finger, and he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his hair falling in his eyes, completely failing to hide the desperation in his face. "Please."
Tony curses as he pulls out, and Steve can hear the thunk of something hitting the ground, sees the tube of lube roll a few inches. He did that. He made Tony fumble and lose some of that control he's been so careful to maintain, and Steve shudders at the pride and gratification that sweeps through him.
Just one finger, and he always has a tendency to be tight, which means he's not stretched enough, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care, not when he can feel the absence of where Tony used to be, can feel the slight burn already starting to fade.
"Please fuck me," he says, and is that his voice, rough and cracking at the end? His cheeks are burning, but he's looking at Tony in the mirror, not himself, and it’s a relief to beg. "Please, I need it, Tony, I need your cock in me—"
"Steve," Tony says, and Steve knows he’s going to win, because he's never heard Tony say his name like that before.
"I’m so empty—”
He breaks off, his words ending in a hoarse, strangled shout as Tony rams into him, fast and brutal and perfect.
“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and after a second of hesitation, a second where Steve feels like he’s going to break into a millions pieces if Tony doesn’t do something, Tony starts to move, driving, demanding thrusts that hurt with each scrape and slide and that feel so immense that Steve can’t even breathe.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” Tony murmurs, and Steve groans when Tony pauses to reach between them, tracing where their bodies merge together, only the weight of his unspoken promise holding his hands in place. “Just how much could you . . . ?”
Tony doesn’t finish the question, but Steve can feel the pressure of Tony’s finger against aching skin, stretched taut by Tony’s cock.
“Please,” he whispers and doesn’t even know what he’s asking Tony for, to take that next step—he’s never even thought of something like that before, but he’s thinking about it now—or to start moving again. He just knows that he can’t wait anymore, he can’t—
“I’ve got you,” Tony says, grabbing Steve’s hips with both hands, his voice unbelievably tender. Steve cries out as Tony finally, finally relents and starts pounding him, no more teasing, no more stopping, just gives it to him again and again and again.
This. This is everything he’s wanted and more.
Steve’s arms are shaking with the effort of keeping them against the wall, he’s shaking, and the urge to reach down to relieve some of the ache in his cock is almost unbearable. It’s be so easy, one or two quick strokes and then he’d put his hands back up, he would, he’d—
“So good for me,” Tony pants, and Steve moans helplessly and leaves his hands right where they are.
Tony keeps his word, hands moving up to roll and tug at his nipples as he thrusts, making Steve whine, making him squirm, until Tony takes them between his fingers and pinches them, not letting up, squeezing harder and harder. The pain just amplifies everything somehow as Tony fucks him, insistent and uncompromising, like he’s going to force the orgasm out of him, and Steve wants him to. He can feel it building, pleasure looming large and fearsome, each brush against his prostate ratcheting it higher, and he can’t contain the sounds he’s making, he’s not even trying.
“Watch,” Tony orders, and Steve hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes again, but he pries them open for Tony. He looks debauched, destroyed, like he’s suffering in agony or ecstasy or both, and he’s never seen anything so obscene, his nipples red and swollen between Tony’s fingers, his stomach, cock and thighs splattered with precome from the way his body jerks with each snap of Tony’s hips.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Tony rasps, slamming into him, and Steve yells as Tony increases his pace, as he lets go of his sore nipples, shoving him against the mirror, which is freezing against his heated skin, and angling his thrusts so he’s battering Steve’s prostate without mercy.
He doesn’t let up, not when Steve mewls like a broken thing, not when he writhes against the mirror like it’s too much for him, and Steve’s grateful for that fact, because he wants to feel every twinge and ache later on, wants the memory of this etched on his skin, and he takes everything Tony has to give him and begs for more.
He cries out when orgasm hits, vast and tremendous, his body spasming like it can’t contain the sensations rioting through him. It’s so intense that he’s not even aware of when Tony comes, just knows it happened by the trembling weight of Tony’s body pressed against his back and the slickness of Tony’s come sliding down his thighs.
Afterward, Tony presses his face against the back of Steve’s shoulder and tugs Steve’s arms down. It takes a little effort, because he’s kept them up for so long that they don’t want to move. The drywall is cracked where his fingers were, but at least there aren’t any holes.
“You did good,” Tony says while cleaning the two of them, and he’s so careful with Steve, so gentle. He pulls Steve onto the bed with him, arranging them so Tony can hold him.
“Did I?” he asks softly, needing the reassurance, and Tony nods, kissing him on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, and Steve basks in Tony’s regard and doesn’t want it to ever stop.
“Thank you,” Steve says, for more things than he can possibly express, and he burrows his head against Tony’s neck and just breathes.