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A Little Less Conversation.

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Tony sat at the computer console, idly flexing his hands. He checked to see if anyone was in the mansion, and dimmed the lights. Then Tony pulled up his Captain America folder. He and Agent Coulson occasionally swapped pictures, because they were both sick, sick, bastards. At least Tony wasn't a member of the Captain Kink fansite, mostly because there was no Iron Man Kink fansite, and that was just rude.

He flipped through Steve’s files, looking for more vintage photos of Steve in his brown officer's uniform, because damn.

The dark brown uniform did things for Steve, highlighted his skin, accentuated his hair, gave Tony a half chub. Ok, so that last one fell under things that benefited Tony, not Steve, but who was keeping track? Tony was not going to sit here and drool like a fifteen year old with a celebrity crush. Ok, yes he was, because no one was watching. No one was home. And he owned this mansion, damn it.

Tony licked his lips, and leaned back in his chair, sliding his hand down the front of his pants. “J.A.R.V.I.S., cancel all of my meetings.”

“Yes sir.”

Steve opened his closet, and pushed several neatly folded white tee-shirts to the side. He rotated his clothing rack, passing a replica of his old uniform, kindly donated by the Smithsonian; who owned the original, and reached for his tux.

“Sir, if I may make a suggestion.”

Steve jumped a little. He wasn't used to having a disembodied butler, and it still startled him on the rare occasions when Jarvis made his presence known. “Sure Jarvis, shoot.”

“Perhaps the dress uniform, sir? I believe there are a few military enthusiasts attending tonight's event. It may provoke a sense of nostalgia beneficial to the Avengers public image.”

Maybe Steve was imagining it, but why would Jarvis find military enthusiasts amusing, Steve shook his head and thanked Jarvis.

"My pleasure Captain Rogers."

Steve slipped the uniform off the hanger, and brushed the fine coat of dust off the plastic. He eyed the suit apprehensively. If Jarvis didn’t think it was too archaic, who was he to argue? He eyed the fine wrinkles and creases with a frown.

Steve went down to the laundry room and found an old ironing board leaning against the wall; it took him a little longer to find an iron. He turned the radio on, and messed with the buttons until he found something that wasn't grating and obnoxious. He’d left his shoes upstairs, and his feet slid smoothly along the concrete floor. When Steve was a teenager, he’d turn on the radio for live shows, occasionally there would be a musical performance, and he would slide across the floor of his living room, usually landing on his ass from a lack of coordination, trying to mimic some of the moves Bucky seemed to be able to perform effortlessly. After he broke his right arm one evening, trying to do the foxtrot, he’d stuck to listening to The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, pretending he was as clever as Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock, and losing himself in the mysteries of the great detective.

Tony's laundry room was damp and humid, Steve peeled off his white undershirt, and swayed to something called Suspicious Minds, occasionally kicking, or sliding past the ironing board with quick twirls, tapping his feet as he steamed the wrinkles out of his dress uniform. “A great classic -- Ha! -- by Elvis Presley,” said the announcer. Elvis was a military celebrity too, Steve recalled vaguely. Content that his uniform was presentable, he turned the lights off, and went back upstairs to get ready.

Tony eyed himself in the mirror with a small frown. He hated this shit. He’d need a drink to tolerate it. Maybe five drinks. Steve opened his door, and Tony stared.

Ok, all the drinks.

Steve was dressed from head to toe in military brown. The uniform fit him like a glove. Tony swallowed convulsively.

Steve shifted his feet nervously, “Um, is this ok? We should probably be going soon.”

Tony made a strangled noise, and took an involuntary step forward.

“Tony, it’s your birthday reception." Steve paused, noticing Tony's flushed complexion. "Are you ok?” He waved a hand in front of Tony's face, blinking his baby blue eyes.

“I. We,” Tony corrected, “are not going anywhere.” He looked poleaxed.

“What?” Steve stammered. “Why not? Pepper is waiting for us and...”

Tony grabbed Steve's hand and pressed it against the bulge in the front of his pants. Steve’s eyes widened comically. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

Tony stifled hysterical laughter. “Who put you in that suit? Because this is, this is the best birthday present ever,” he said with unholy glee. “I will give everyone a raise. Everyone.”

“Tony,” Steve said cautiously. “Pepper will kill you if you miss your own party.”

Tony backed Steve into the wall with a predatory glide, loosening his tie with one hand. He stopped, and looking up at Steve him from under the fringe of his eyelashes, a flush creeping up his neck. “This is my birthday Steve. And you are going to fuck me, right now." Tony licked his lips, and Steve’s breathing hitched. He thrust a knee between Tony’s legs, trying to place a little distance between the two of them. Tony smirked, and ground his crotch against Steve's thigh. Ok, in retrospect, not the best distancing tactic.

“You are going to fuck me so hard, Steve Rogers. I won't be able to walk right for a week.” Tony traced the seam of Steve's lips with his tongue, and smiled wickedly, Steve parted his lips with a soft sigh.

Tony thrust his tongue into Steve's mouth, and they fought to dominate the kiss, sloppy and fierce, until Tony pulled back, nipping Steve's swollen lower lip.

“Do you know why you are going to fuck me Steve?”

“Why?” Steve asked harshly, his pupils blown, breathing ragged.

“Because it’s my birthday, and I want it,” Tony whimpered, grabbing Steve's tie, and pulling him forward, so he could lick Steve’s lips in a surprisingly possessive upward sweep.

Steve’s bones turned to liquid heat, pooling with a throbbing ache between his thighs.

"God, Tony," he rasped, shoving Tony back against the dresser, his hands so tight on Tony's hips that there would be bruises from his fingertips in the morning. Steve reached for his tie, fumbling at the knot.

“Leave the uniform on,” Tony growled, rubbing his hand against the bulge in Steve's pants. Steve's hand froze. “Just fuck me Steve.” Tony licked his lips, "Please."

Steve nipped at Tony's ear, whispering his name softly, trailing small bites down the side of his neck. Tony rambled, occasionally stifling a groan, hands fisted in the tight material of Steve's uniform.

"Do you know how hot that uniform is Steve? Do you have any idea?

Steve bit his neck, hard, and Tony thrust his hips with a gasp. Tony could feel the damp pre-come, sticky against his leg. If Steve didn’t do something soon, he was going to come just like this, limp and panting, with all the self control of an adolescent.

"I jerk off to pictures of you in that uniform Steve. I know, I know, I'm fucked up," Tony panted.

"I'll order more.".

Steve grabbed Tony's ass with both hands, pulling him flush against the hard line of his body. Tony was shorter, and Steve felt his erection digging into Tony's lower abdomen as Tony squirmed against him. He delivered a bruising kiss, and let Tony go. Tony turned around, spreading his palms on the dresser, and wiggling his ass invitingly. Steve reached around, fumbling at Tony's belt, dragging it loose with Tony's assistance, and wrenched his pants down around his ankles. Steve muttered unintelligibly against Tony's ear, his voice sounded wrecked. Tony’s stomach muscles clenched, and he pressed his forehead to the cool mirror, breath fogging the glass. “Fuck me Steve,” he whimpered, thrusting his hips.

“Damn it,” Steve cursed, fumbling In the drawer with his free hand.

“Forget it, come on, come on,” Tony begged.

“I am not doing this dry Tony, I don’t care how ready you think you are.”

Tony wiggled his ass against Steve’s palm, and made a high keening noise.

Steve delivered a stinging open handed slap to Tony’s ass cheek. Tony bit his lip so hard he could taste blood.

“Not when I’m this close,” he reprimanded.

“Sorry.”

Steve didn’t sound apologetic.

Steve smeared lube on his fingers, and pressed one large palm against the warm pink hand print on Tony’s ass. He slid a finger between Tony’s cheeks, slowly sheathing it in Tony's tight heat, he added two more digits in rapid succession. Tony whimpered, rubbing his dick shamelessly against the smooth surface of the dresser. Steve wiggled his fingers a little. Tony was already unclenching. They’d been doing this regularly for a few months, and Tony was very, very, good at relaxing his muscles. Steve undid his fly and pulled his cock free, gratified to see Tony watching him in the mirror with a glazed expression.

Steve slid into Tony with a fluid motion, the nails of his free hand biting into Tony's shoulder as his stomach muscles contracted. He drew a ragged breath and forced himself to hold still. Tony took several shallow breaths, one hand creating a tight vise at the base of his shaft. Steve began thrusting slowly, and Tony pushed against him, giving encouraging whimpers. Tony's stomach was smeared with pre-com. Steve closed his eyes.

Steve wrapped both hands around Tony's hips, a trickle of sweat ran down his shoulder blades. Everything was so hot, and wet, he tried to focus. Steve reached around and wrapped his fingers around Tony’s dick, thrusting roughly. He hit Tony's prostate, and Tony gave a rough cry, cumming all over Steve’s hand and the dresser top. Steve looked up; Tony was gazing back at him in the mirror, mouth parted and swollen. Tony lifted Steve's hand, still spattered with Tony's cum, and sucked a finger into his mouth. Steve lost it, jerking against him with a guttural groan, and came. He panted softly into the damp hair at Tony's nape.

“Happy birthday to me,” Tony whispered.

Steve went into the bathroom, and grabbed a wet cloth. They cleaned themselves up as best they could.

Tony straightened Steve's tie. "If you're good, I'll let you tie me up with this later," he promised.



Pepper was not pleased.

Steve suspected they would both be getting a snide memo in the morning. Especially since she kept glaring at the bright purple mark on Tony’s neck, and muttering darkly to herself.

Steve almost imploded when Thor slapped him on the back, and said, "congratulations, friend Steve, on achieving such visible levels of conjugal bliss on this, the celebration of your partner's birthing feast!"

The next morning when Tony opened his inbox, he was pleased to see that there was only one new message, and it wasn't from Pepper. Maybe that was her subtle way of wishing him a happy birthday.

The e-mail was labeled Jarvis. “Huh, didn’t know he had an e-mail account.” Tony touched the screen and panned down.

Happy Birthday Sir, it’s been a pleasure helping you achieve your goals this year.
Here is a small token of my affection.

Tony quirked an eyebrow in surprise. Weird A.I.

There was an attachment at the bottom called SuspiciousMinds.avi

Tony opened the file, and holy shit, Steve could move. And he was dancing, shirtless. And, he should rub this in Coulson's face, he wasn't going to, but he really should. Also, movie night was so Risky Business. He should take Steve somewhere nice, on his personal airline, the one with the stripper poles. Hmm.

"Thank you Jarvis."

"You're quite welcome sir. Happy Birthday."