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Let's Face It, This is Not the Worst Thing You've Caught Me Doing

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Steve nudges the cotton of Tony’s t-shirt upward and presses his lips to Tony’s stomach, just above his navel, and the touch of his mouth tingles warm against his skin, twists something up tight in Tony's chest.  Steve keeps pushing the fabric up, far enough to reveal the arc reactor, and Tony squirms as Steve follows his hand with his mouth, trying not to feel self-conscious, because just because Steve’s musculature looks like some kind of Greek statue, the really hot kind, doesn’t mean he himself has anything to be ashamed of in the athletics department.  His body isn’t supposed to be perfect, and Steve’s is, so there.  Steve’s kisses are open-mouthed and feel somehow sincere, all artless lips and tongue and teeth and the warmth of his breath against Tony’s skin.  Tony moans to encourage him, tilts his head back and spreads his legs for Steve to kneel between them, to move even closer, right up against the end of the bench Tony’s sitting on, and Steve scoots forward willingly.  Steve’s big hand splays warm on his side as he mouths at the arc reactor in Tony’s chest, trailing his tongue over it, and Tony hears himself make a small, tight noise, and his hand comes up to tangle in Steve’s hair without his meaning it to.  The other pats down over Steve’s bare shoulder, all that warm skin and strong muscle flexing under his palm as he strokes his hand down over his back.  Tony swallows and tugs Steve closer, and Steve follows, trailing his lips lower, over Tony’s belly and the muscles of his abdomen, following the path of his mouth with his hand, and for a moment Tony can’t believe it, is he really going to—his cock jerks at the thought, he can’t help it; he’s gone down on Steve plenty of times, of course, but he’d never even thought—despite all the fantasies he’s had, and yeah, there’ve been a few, about Steve’s sweet, honest and frankly gorgeous mouth wrapped around his cock, which is—
Steve skims his hand down Tony’s thigh, and then tugs down his boxers with a quick jerk, and Tony lifts his hips to help, still in shock, feeling hot all over as Steve takes a deep breath and licks his lips, and he’s really going to—Tony can’t breathe as Steve stares at his cock, his eyes narrowed a little, like it’s a tactical problem of some sort.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Steve says finally, and the color is high in his cheeks as he looks down, as if he’s embarrassed, as if this is a skill he should have learned by now, pulling his hand away from Tony’s hip.
Tony is actually glad he doesn’t, that this is something Steve has never done before, and God, he feels ridiculously smug about that, a kind of possessive satisfaction that makes him feel hot and dizzy, makes his dick twitch.  He takes a deep breath and tries his best to think through the desire building hot and thick in him, roaring in his ears, reaching out to catch Steve’s hand before it can go too far and tug it back, holding it to his hip, nudging it around until Steve’s broad fingers are curved around his ass and Steve’s ears have gone all red.  He wriggles, a little, against Steve’s hand, and Steve’s fingers tighten, digging into his skin.  “Don’t worry about that, you pick stuff up fast, you’ll get it,” he says.  “There’s nothing to it, really.”  Steve looks at him dubiously, up through his eyelashes, a seductive move that Tony is certain Steve is not pulling on purpose, especially considering the uncertain expression on his face.  “We can go slow,” he promises recklessly, curls his fingers around the back of Steve’s head and tugs, just a little.
Steve nods, and then wraps his other hand around the base of Tony’s cock, which is enough warm and solid pressure to make Tony gasp a little breathlessly even as Steve leans forward and sucks just the very tip of Tony’s dick into his mouth.  Tony watches, and the sight of it makes him groan, dizzy, and that’s nothing on the feeling.  Steve’s mouth is warm and wet and tentative, and Tony can feel his tongue swipe awkwardly against him as Steve takes more of his dick in, and that’s—Tony concentrates very hard on not moving, on not bucking his hips up even a little.  He doesn’t want to make Steve choke, he . . . really doesn’t want that.  Steve looks up at him as if wondering how he’s doing, and Tony moans, because Steve looking up at him with that question in his eyes while his dick is in his mouth is so ridiculously hot and—and.  “Oh, God, Steve,” he says out loud, his voice a hoarse, breathless moan, and apparently that’s what Steve wants to hear, because his eyes shift down, back to Tony’s cock between his lips.  He sucks a little, experimentally, and Tony has offhand, scattered thoughts about spontaneous human combustion.  His body feels hot against his own skin, after all, too hot, and—his fists clench with the effort of not jerking forward into Steve’s mouth, and Steve is sucking more of him in—too much, he’s going to choke in a second, and Tony tugs at the back of Steve’s head, pulls him off his cock even though losing that slick warmth around him makes him ache, makes him curl his free hand into a shaking fist just to give him the strength to do it.
Steve looks up at him, panting, and his lips are all shiny and slick with saliva, and he looks a little dazed, his eyes blown, his face all flushed pink with desire and effort, and Tony really needs not to think about that.  He really needs to think, though.  Think.  What was he saying?  “Gag reflex,” he manages, finally.  “Gonna choke in a second, sport.”
“Oh,” Steve says, and it looks like he’s thinking about that, for just a second.  He reaches up and wipes spit from his lips and blushes.  “But you—”
“I’ve got some practice,” Tony says, and even then it’s not like he can get Steve’s big, super-soldier perfect dick more than halfway down his throat, but Steve’s never seemed like he minds.
“Then I should get practice,” Steve says, and that—Tony doesn’t know if he can take that.  He hears himself groan again.  It reminds him, somehow, of how good Steve is, and how incredibly earnest, earnest enough to want to make sure he’s sucking cock right.  He wants to get practice.  Christ.
“Try—with your tongue,” Tony finally manages shakily, and he tugs Steve forward a little, tilting Steve's head to the side to make his point, and Steve takes the hint and leans forward a little uncertainly to press his lips to the side of Tony’s cock.  He leaves them there for a moment, like a kiss, before he parts his lips and breathes and then his tongue is sliding up along Tony’s dick.  He shifts his hand up to get a better angle and laps up under the head and Tony can’t see for a second.  He only realizes he’s sagging backward when Steve steadies him with one hand on his back.  Tony’s making noise, low mumbling sounds that he can't stop or choke back, and they seem to encourage Steve, because he licks up over the head of Tony’s cock and down the other side, and the wet perfect slide of it, the hot waves of feeling it sends shivering through him, is enough, way more than enough, and Tony just goes with that, loses himself in it, and lets Steve do whatever he wants with his mouth.
He licks his way down the underside of Tony’s cock, then hesitates and pulls back, and Tony’s breath is coming hard and fast, almost sobbing in his throat at the loss, before Steve takes his length into his mouth again, holds it there for a second, just . . . heavy on his tongue, then pushes it back until—oh, God, that’s the back of his throat, and he feels it as Steve’s muscles spasm and he starts to choke, but he breathes heavily through his mouth, Tony can feel it as his body trembles, and he fights off the reflex or something, relaxes the muscles in the back of his throat.  Steve sucks, hard, his cheeks hollowing around Tony’s dick, and then he eases it back out, then back in, pulling on Tony’s hip with one hand as if in encouragement, and hell, Steve Rogers is trying to get Tony to fuck his mouth, and Tony’s brain just can’t quite handle that.  He drags in deep, heavy gasps of air, feeling a little like he’s drowning in the pleasure and the heat and—all of it—but he lets his hips jerk forward, just a bit, and Steve mumbles slightly in a pleased sort of way, and the sound vibrates all the way up Tony’s cock, and he’s not going to last.  He lets himself settle into a rhythm, not too fast or harsh, and his hand is all slippery with sweat in Steve’s hair, the other damp and sliding off his shoulder with it.  Tony grips harder, tugs him forward, and Steve makes a startled noise but lets him, lets Tony’s dick slip further into his mouth.  Tony slides in and out of his mouth in that slow rhythm for a second, and then Steve squeezes the hand on the base of his dick and sucks at the same time and—
“I—I’m going to—you wanna—” Tony stammers out, and Steve just shakes his head slightly and sucks Tony further into his mouth with something like determination, and that’s it, Tony is coming, and Steve swallows, he can feel it as his throat works and—it’s—he loses track of time, fixated on the way Steve looks as he swallows around his dick.  He feels dizzy and lightheaded and he’s sagging back and this time Steve lets him go until Tony has to catch himself with one hand against the bench and almost falls.  Steve didn’t quite swallow it all, there’s come on his lips and dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, and Steve reaches up and catches it on his thumb and licks it off un-self-consciously, wipes his hand across his lips, only blushing when he catches Tony’s eyes on him.
Tony can’t breathe, can’t think.  Steve rubs Tony's thigh and looks up at him, and Tony just concentrates on catching his breath for a second, then reaches down and takes Steve’s hand, squeezes it as he tries to remember what to do with himself.  “So, honey, your turn,” he says.
“It won’t take much,” Steve says, and he’s still all blushy.  “I’m real close,” and God, if that isn’t just—so hot, Tony hasn’t even touched him and Steve is close just from sucking his cock—and Steve is amazing, quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to Tony.  “Um, was that any good?” Steve asks, uncertainly, as Tony shifts forward, and Tony has to wrap his arm tight around his shoulders and pull him up to lick his way into his mouth and kiss him breathless.  Steve tastes like sex, tastes like Tony’s come, and Tony can’t get enough of it, needs to taste the flavor of it on Steve’s tongue, chases it to every corner of his mouth.  Steve is gasping by the time he’s finished, and moans when Tony pulls away.  His lips are all bruised and puffy, and that’s . . . Jesus Christ.
“Better than good,” Tony assures him, and there’s so much heat in his voice; he knows Steve can hear it, too, because he gives Tony this wide, happy grin, and he looks so pleased with himself even while Tony’s hands are fumbling with the front of his pants.
“Swell,” Steve says, and laughs a little, “I’m glad,” and then he’s groaning as Tony gets his hand down his briefs, and God, his erection is blisteringly hot and as hard as granite against Tony’s hand and dripping with pre-come; he wasn’t kidding about being close.  Tony shoves Steve’s pants and underwear down around his thighs and pulls his hand up slow and tight around Steve’s thick length, and Steve shivers and pants and his hands come up and clutch Tony tightly as he follows Tony’s hand with his hips, rising up into the stroke.  Tony lightens his touch after that, strokes Steve slowly, trying to make this last a little longer than all of ten seconds, and Steve’s fingers tighten on Tony’s sides, digging in deep, and they are definitely going to leave bruises, but it’s not like Tony minds.  He can tell Steve’s right on the edge, that Tony isn’t moving his hand quite hard or fast enough to tip him over, and he keeps him there for a long moment.  Steve makes sounds in the back of his throat, leans forward and presses sloppy kisses over Tony’s chest.  His skin feels hot and flushed against Tony’s, and Tony wonders vaguely how long he could keep him right on the edge like this, but that would be cruel, and Tony can’t be cruel to Steve, not for anything.  Instead, he rubs his thumb over the tip of Steve’s cock and tightens up his hand, stroking him quick and firm, and Steve comes, hard, all over Tony’s palm and wrist.  Tony watches him as he bites his lips against a shout so it comes out as a ragged gasping moan, the flush of color up over his cheeks, and Steve is beautiful and Tony thinks he would do anything for him, he really would.
He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks Steve’s come off of it, and he’s not even trying to be sexy about it, but Steve’s dazed, lust-dark eyes follow him and he moans and licks his lips like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.  Well, Steve needs a more intimate acquaintance with mirrors, then.  Tony fumbles for a rag behind him on the workbench, which is covered with tools and other work-related detritus, and folds it until he can use the cleaner, less oil-stained side to clean up the mess they’ve made.
When Tony’s done, Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and presses his face into his ribs, into the bare skin there.  Tony strokes his hair absently, because it’s there and it’s nice to touch Steve, rubs his hand down over his broad muscled shoulders and the lines of his shoulder blades, and Steve shudders and presses closer, until his breath is leaving a patch of warm moisture just above Tony’s hip bone.  “I’d like to do that again sometime,” he says, confidingly, after a moment, turning a little to look up at Tony.  His voice is still all breathless.
Tony swallows and thinks that maybe the universe doesn’t hate him quite so much after all.  “You’re gorgeous,” he finally says thickly.  His own voice sounds breathless, too, and it’s not quite what he means.  He isn’t sure what he means; isn’t sure how to say it.  “You can.  You can . . . uh.”  He squints, trying to get his mind back in order, himself back together.  “You can do that whenever you want.”  He strokes his hand down over Steve’s cheek.  The way he feels, the softness in it, is strange and tender and fragile.  He’s afraid to touch it, to hurt it, because sometimes he thinks he hurts everything he touches, and he doesn’t know if he could handle hurting this, hurting Steve.  Steve smiles up at him, not the wide beaming smile but a smaller, private, crooked, silly little grin, and presses his lips to Tony’s palm, and Tony’s chest hurts, a little like he’s having a heart attack, but with more flutters and less pain.  He isn't quite sure what that means.  He takes a deep breath.  “It’d probably be best if we got cleaned up,” he says, much as he wants to stay like this indefinitely.  “Sometimes people actually come looking for me in my workroom, so I feel like it'd be good if I got my pants back on.”