“Wait a minute. Rewind. Whatdaya mean 'you wouldn't know'? Steve, don't tell me-”
Steve blushes and concentrates on decimating his eggs.
“Oh, Steve. What on earth are we going to do with you?
It is morning. For Tony it's the morning after some truly spectacular sex and he, as usual, hasn't been able to keep his big mouth shut and now there's one very embarrassed, very virgin Captain America sitting in the kitchen of the Avengers Tower. The only sleep Tony has gotten tonight is the nap he'd gotten in the limo after the party, but he's suddenly wide awake. God, how is this man real.
“Okay, lemme guess. First you were too scrawny and shy for the girls' liking, then you were thrown into a war and besides, knowing you, you wouldn't have taken the opportunity if it had presented itself on a silver platter, because you're just not the kind of guy who'd want the girl to put out without at least half-a-dozen dates and as I said, there was a damn war going on. Am I right.”
“Something like that.” Steve says, but there's something in his eyes, or rather, how he still won't meet Tony's eyes.
“No, it wasn't just that. There was something more. You can tell me, Steve, I've told you everything about all the stupid things I've done, so you know I'm not going to be offended or disgusted or whatever if you, I don't know, like the girl to put on high heels and walk all over your naked body. But, um, please don't tell me you're into scat or something. Are you a furry? I won't laugh, I can even get you a costume, what's your spirit animal, Steve?”
Steve just stares at him.
“I... I don't know even know what that means. I'm not sure I want to know.”
“You're stalling. Steve, why are you still a virgin?”
Steve, beet red, covers his face in his hands.
“It would have gotten me thrown out of the army. At best.”
Tony puts his coffee down, gets up. Walks around the table, puts his hands on Steve's broad shoulders.
“And you were their golden Captain America, of course you couldn't risk that. And you tried to not want it, you tried to make it go away, but it just... didn't.” Tony speaks directly in Steve's ear and his voice comes out lower and huskier than intended. He can hear Steve's breath become irregular, his own breath ghosting on Steve's skin, making him shudder and without his permission Tony's hands start kneading Steve's tense shoulders, his nails scraping lightly down Steve's neck.
“And every night you would lie awake among all these soldiers that were your comrades, your responsibility, but you couldn't help wanting... more. And it made you feel so dirty, so horrible and you were so, so ashamed.
Steve's breath is shallow and fast, as he had just run mile after mile after mile and his voice is a hoarse whisper as he says, “Yes.”
“And now you're here, in the future and everything is unfamiliar and strange and seemingly endless with possibilities, but you're still Captain America and you still wouldn't dare to taint that image. But the temptation, Steve, the temptation is still there and now it's within your reach and it's driving you crazy.”
Steve's breath is loud and hoarse and he's trembling under the steady caress of Tony's hands. His head falls back to rest against Tony's stomach and now Tony can see his face clearly. Steve's eyes are half-closed and unseeing, his mouth is slack. His cheeks are adorably pink. And that right there between his large, magnificent thighs is definitely an erection.
That's all the permission Tony needs.
From there it doesn't take much to get Steve up from the chair, out of the kitchen, up to Tony's bedroom and into his bed. A few well-applied touches under his shirt, a scrape of nails down Steve's spine, a tug on his hand to get him to follow.
They don't speak on the way, they don't speak as Tony undresses Steve, his movements slow and sure, applying gentle caresses everywhere he touches. And then Steve is lying there, naked and golden on Tony's unmade bed, flushed and panting, still with that shell-shocked look on his face, but with an undercurrent of wonder, like he's just gotten thrown into his own private jerk-off fantasy.
He looks good enough to eat and Tony can barely wait; there's so many things he's going to show Steve, so many many things he wants to do.
He slowly strips out of his own clothing, soft silk pajamas he's barely worn for an hour and isn't he lucky, getting to screw two gorgeous blondes in less than twelve hours.
Steve's eyes tracks his every movement as his clothes is thrown to the floor and Tony purposely puts on a little show, not much, just slowing down even more and sending Steve a small, intimate smile he knows to be positively lewd, a smile full of promises of lots and lots of good things to come. Steve visibly swallows.
Tony returns to the bed, crawls on all fours up Steve's legs. When he bypasses Steve's crotch (and his very nice erection that looks so hard it must be painful) Steve looks both relived and disappointed. Tony hides a smile and starts nibbling on his stomach, rubbing his goatee against the soft skin. Steve groans, a sound that's just delightfuland warm sparks of lust and affection fill Tony's stomach and travel down to his own erection with the speed of light. He's going to take such good care of Steve; he won't know what hit him.
After a detour to Steve's nipples and throat that has him whining and thrashing, Tony licks and bites lower and lower until he reaches the head of Steve's cock and licks the skin around it, not actually touching, making Steve groan loudly. Tony can't help but look up and wink at Steve, unable to keep his grin to himself. Steve lets out a small laugh, his head falling back against the pillows, and one of his hands resting on Tony's shoulder. Tony finally gives Steve's cock some attention, slow, broad licks, using both sides of his tongue, letting Steve feel the different textures.
Steve bucks hard enough to almost break the bed, his head thrown back, his inhibitions already out the window and replaced with pure lust and Tony takes a moment to appreciate just how responsive Steve is. But then, the poor guy has been waiting for something like this for a very, very long time. Tony isn't cruel enough to make him wait much longer.
He takes Steve in, all of it at once (and there's a lot of it) and applies all of his not inconsiderable amount of focus on making this as good as he knows how to. Which is, well... Tony is not a man known for false modesty and besides, judging from Steve's thrashing and moaning, it is very, very good. His mouth is soon filled with saliva, running down Steve's cock (uncircumcised, smooth and thick and Tony can't wait to get it inside him) and he grips it with the hand he's not holding himself up with, starting a firm, slow rhythm, mirrored with the movement of his head, up and down, up and down, his tongue moving in little swirls around the head of Steve's cock.
Steve, who has an arm thrown over his eyes and is panting like a racehorse doing its best to win the Kentucky Derby. He is obviously holding himself still, not giving in to just bucking and fucking Tony's mouth. So, Steve still has a bit of restrain left. Time to change that.
Tony sits up, without stopping jerking Steve off, but he still makes a plaintive noise, looking at Tony like he just killed a puppy. Tony just smiles reassuringly at him and fumbles for the tube of lube he knows to be somewhere in his night-stand. He finds it, holds it between his teeth to screw the cap off one-handed, pours lube generously over Steve's cock, the hand-job suddenly going much, much smoother. Steve's reaction is instantaneous; he bucks and actually yells. Not loudly, okay more like a very loud, very drawn-out moan, but Tony is totally going to put it down as a yell.
He bends over Steve's cock again, positioning himself different this time, kneeling between Steve's legs, so he can use one hand to continue the combined sucking and stroking and still have a hand free to start fingering.
He's two fingers deep in Steve, who hasn't made a single complain about said fingers in his ass, who is bucking and trembling and panting like a pornstar, when Tony's jaw starts to get sore (he's out of practice; a fact he plans to change in the immediate future) and he finally starts thinking about logistics. How would Steve want this? God knows the man wouldn't just tell him, even if Tony wanted to break their silence to ask (which he won't. There's something incredibly erotic about this slow, silent fucking. Okay, almost-fucking. But, getting there. So getting there and how is this his life? Tony is already a billionaire superhero and now he's about to actually about to pop the cherry on Captain fucking America. How is this his life).
Tony goes with the hypothesis that since it's Steve's first time (Captain fucking America's fucking first time, god ), the best thing would be doing all the work for him, just letting Steve lie back and enjoy. Also, if Steve really has years of dirty fantasies about sex like this, as his reaction to Tony's little spiel in the kitchen seems to indicate, he would want the things that actually makes gay sex, well, gay . Being jerked off by large, strong hands. Having another man's dick in his ass.
Also, it's Steve . If he had problems with where Tony is going with this, he would have stopped him by now. The good captain may be a virgin, but Tony's seen him give as good as he gets with Clint's teasing and Tony's own heckling enough times to know that Steve is more than capable of reinforcing his own boundaries. Steve will stand up to Fury and fawning women alike, impeccable polite and with a will of iron and it has never stopped impressing Tony and well, turning him on. He can admit as much now, if only to himself.
Tony stops his sucking, which Steve doesn't seem to register because thought is turning into action and Tony is adding another finger and starts gently scissoring them, alternating loosening him and massaging that special spot. God , Steve is wonderful at this, so beautiful in his pleasure, Tony can't wait much longer, he is so, so hard, he can't remember the last time he wanted someone this much. Then it becomes obvious that yes, he just found Steve's sweet spot and this time there is no doubt that the noise Steve makes is a yell. Tony grins and continues, just to look at Steve, who is clenching the sheets and arching and writhing, as if he is put through the sweetest tortures. Which he totally is and Tony had promised himself not to let Steve wait any longer than necessary.
Tony pulls out, quickly getting rid of the gunk on his fingers on the sheets (they're going to be ruined anyway. Yes, certain aspects of gay sex is filthy and in Tony's mind that just makes it more real. There's nothing sweet or pretty about getting another man's shit on your fingers and that's just the way it is. Accept it or get out) and Steve groans in frustration as Tony quickly lubes up his cock and pushes into Steve in one, sweet movement. Tony knows instinctively that Steve can take it, both the pace and the barebacking and God, the things Tony could do to this man. For now, he has to stop and just breath for a moment, otherwise this is going to be over very, very soon. He just lies there on top of Steve and lets the sensations wash over him, run through him like electricity, pleasure so deep it takes his breath away (and Steve seems to be having the same reaction, lying there stunned and open-mouthed, starring at Toy with awe) before he gets his hands under himself, lifting up to start thrusting shallowly, small, sweet rolls of his hips and if he thought just being in Steve was good-
Tony is too swallowed in pleasure to be embarrassed about the noises he himself is making and it seems to be his noises that finally draws Steve into action. He starts running his hands over Tony's shoulders, his back, light scrapes of nails that sends fire through Tony and there's nothing hesitant about his touch, not even when he lowers his hands to settle on Tony's butt cheeks.
Steve is squeezing Tony's butt when he suddenly seems to get an epiphany and he starts rolling his own hips in time to move against Tony's thrust (judging from the downright reverent look on his face, it's a quite a good epiphany), meeting them with an increasing amount of force and Tony is once again reminded that this is Steve , super soldier and tactical expert, because Steve bends his legs, planting his feet firmly on the bed and tilting his hips a little, making Tony go deeper still and then Steve grips Tony's hips tightly, moving them up down, helping Tony keep the pace and as much as he wanted Steve's first time to be long and drawn out, there's no way he's going to being able to keep the slow pace and Steve seems totally fine with this, he's gripping Tony's hips with an intense look of concentration, moving them up and down, practically fucking himself on Tony, god , that's hot and they're going faster and faster and-
They don't last long after that. Tony sacrifices his balance in order to grab Steve's still slick cock and pulls frantically while really putting his leg muscles into it and soon Steve makes the most wonderful sound, long and deep and comes and Tony swears right there and then that he's going to make Steve make that sound a lot more. Steve is still moving Tony's hips almost brutally up and down and Tony comes almost simultaneously, the world disappearing for a moment as he spills into Steve.
When Tony wakes up, it is past midday. Steve is still there. Tony has a hazy memory about falling asleep surrounded by strong arms, but during their nap he has rolled away and there's now about a foot of space between them.
Steve is still sleeping, a bit mussed and looking without a care in the world. It's a good look on him. Tony could roll over, remove that foot of space and repeat the success, wake him up with a blow job, slide into him again as easy as anything, they hadn't exactly bothered with much of a clean-up, both being too worn-out and sated and Steve would still be slick, warm, welcoming...
Tony gets up and heads for the workshop.
He stays in the shop for the rest of the day, enjoying the extra burst of productivity and creativity a good nights sleep and lots and lots of sex always brings out in him. When he finally leaves the shop (or rather, is dragged out by Natasha, who is all 'god, Tony, have you even showered today?' Which he totally has. The workshop's (very, very secret) panic-room is fully equipped with both a shower and a place to sleep and lots of weapons and food. And lube and condoms. There is, after all, no such things as being too prepared for all eventualities), it is to find most of the team gathered in the kitchen and Tony has a very disconcerting moment where he's sure that they're all here to kick his ass and defend Steve's honor. Not lessened by the fact that Steve himself is notably absent (Bruce too, but that is to be expected. He is even harder to drag out of his lab than Tony and his sulking is much worse and by now they mostly just let him be. Everybody is more happy that way).
But of course that's just sex having melted his brain, or maybe the fumes he's been working in for the last five hours, because Thor sees him and says in his usual very happy, very loud tone, “Tony! You have returned to the land of the living!” and whoever have taught Thor about irony, Tony is going to hunt them down and hurt them . “Please join us in the watching of the retelling of your peoples glorious battles!” Thor continues and looks at Natasha for confirmation, “This 'Terminator', he was a mighty warrior, was he not?"
“Yes, he was.” Natasha answers kindly, as one would talk to a child who has not yet discovered the truth about Santa Claus.
“And you, Stark,” Clint says from the table and points at Tony with one of the arrows he's inspecting, “are not allowed to say one word about whether or not the tech is actually plausible.”
Tony holds his hands up in surrender. He has by now learned better than come between Clint and his action movies.
Clint takes a deeper look at Tony and starts to scowl. “Actually, Stark, don't speak at all. I know that look and I don't want to know , not who or how or when or where and especially not how many times.”
Tony is about to protest, loudly, but Natasha sends one of her Looks and, okay, maybe not.
“It's not nice to talk about your partners, Tony.” She says in that aloof tone of hers, “and you make Steve embarrassed.”
“Yeah, but Steve isn't here, so...” Tony says and ducks the arrowhead Clint throws after him. Thor booms with laughter. “Where is Steve?” Tony says in carefully faked confusion.
“Said something about going for a run,” Clint answers, focus returning to his arrows.
“That's strange. Don't you think it's strange, Natasha dear? I think it's strange.”
“And pray tell, Tony darling, why do you think it's strange?” Tony hides a smile. After Natasha started warming up to him, she's becoming increasingly more fun to be around, taking his antics and ever-flirting ways in strides – which of course only encourages Tony to up the ante. Expect, right now he kind of has more important things on his mind than their games, like, finding out why Steve has left. Having scared him away would suck.
“Well, he is the one who keeps insisting that movie-nights are good for team-building and thus, mandatory. And it is nine in the evening. Who goes for a run at nine in the evening. Robots, that's who. Have we checked that Steve hasn't been replaced by an evil robot recently?”
“Yes, we have. And speaking of robots, Mr. Stark,” Natasha says and steers him in the direction of the entertainment room. “we have a movie or three to watch. I'll even pet your hair, if you want.”
When Steve gets back, terminators are blowing up left and right and Tony is more than half asleep, his head in Natasha's lap. He returns to awareness long enough to register that, yes, it is S teve who sits down next to him and lift his feet and places them in his lap. In Tony's book, that doesn't usually equals being scared away, so Tony lets himself become limp and relaxed again. Natasha is still petting his hair and that is li ke kryptonite .
“He's asleep?” Steven asks fondly.
“Yes, one touch to his hair and he's out like a light.” Natasha sounds just as fond and isn't it nice to know what his team mates really think about him, god, they sound like he's some kind of kitten.
Then Steve pulls Tony's socks off and starting to massages one of his feet and god, that man's hands are magic an d Tony has to fight the urge to just stretch out and purr .
“I know,” Steve says absentmindedly and Tony is assaulted by a sudden sense memory so strong it takes his breath away – Steve in his bed, just after, running his fingers through Tony's hair, smiling fondly down at him as Tony disappears down in unconsciousness, lulled asleep by those hands in his hair, that smile.
Steve is still talking.
“...good thing the super villains doesn't know about Iron Man's Achilles heel: having his hair petted.”
Natasha laughs quietly at that, but it's still enough that Clint and Thor, sitting raptured by robots and explosions in the other couch, leaning forward against the screen, elbows on their knees like little boys, both turns their heads and shushes at them.
When Tony wakes up for real, he and Steve are the only ones left in the room, the screen turned off and it's too dark for Tony to see his expression, but Steve's hands are still on Tony's feet.
He must have made a sound, or just changed his breathing enough to alert Steve that he is awake, because Steve lifts his feet out of the way and gets up. Tony tries not to be disappointed.
That is, until Steve wordlessly picks him up, as easy picking up a baby, god , the man is strong, Tony is always surprised anew every time he experiences it, though getting picked up and manhandled into having his legs around Steve's waist and his arms around Steve's neck, Steve's big hands supporting his butt, holding him so they're crotch to crotch, that is a wholly new and interesting experience. Steve is rock-hard against Tony and how long has he been sitting there, just waiting for Tony to wake up?
Then Steve carries Tony off to his bedroom, already scraping his teeth over Tony's throat and he stops thinking.
They still haven't kissed. This thought flutters through Tony's mind as he lies on his bed, relaxed into a puddle of goo, Steve's fingers in his ass, hands tied over his head with two of his own three-hundred dollars handmade silk ties (so, so worth it). This morning it hadn't been weird at all; Tony was in charge and he had better things to do with his time. But right now it is very much Steve who is in charge and he- Well, he seems like he'd be the kissing type.
Not that Tony's complaining. He is far, far too comfortable to be complaining, almost so comfortable that he could be on his way to sleep again, not that Steve is boring, god no, but after he had tied Tony up on his stomach (having figured out that this is the only way he'd ever make Tony lie still this long and isn't Steve a quick student, he has probably spent most of the day thinking about this, planning it all out in his head, he's such a good boy), he had continued to give Tony a very, very throughout massage (silicone based lube is good for so many things , T ony should buy stocks, will be buying stocks), kneading away with his strong, warm hands, moving from Tony's neck down his back, down his arms, legs, feet, up his legs again and then, finally , his buttocks and god, Steve's hands are magic and that's when things had started to get very hazy.
When Steve finally slides a pillow under Tony's hips and slides in, so slowly and carefully, as if Tony is something precious and fragile, to be cherished and protected, Tony's thoughts has left the building and all there is left are moans and gasps and bliss. Steve is supporting himself just enough that his weight isn't crushing Tony and the feeling of his warm, solid body on top of him makes Tony feel safe and grounded. His thrusts are deep and slow and careful, quickly finding Tony's prostate and then keep going and going and going. He's coated Tony's cock in lube, but otherwise hasn't touch it, isn't touching it now, but the pillow under his hips is silk ( so buying more of them, too) and the friction is exquisite .
It isn't long before Tony has lost all sense of time, but he does know this is probably the longest fuck in his life so far. Steve's restraint is admirable, just continuing with his deep, slow thrusts, his hands moving to settle firmly around Tony's hips, keeping him down and unmoving, not allowing him to finish that climb towards climax, but keeping him on a steady level of ecstasy, brain-melting and maddening. Tony is too relaxed to get impatient, he just lies there and lets Steve take care of him, soaks in Steve's attention like a man who's been wandering the desert all of his life and finally sees an oasis for the very first time.
And even when Tony is keening and shaking and oh so close to begging, even if that would mean breaking their silence, their unspoken agreement that without words this thing is uncomplicated and without consequences, that the lack of words forces them to figure out for themselves what the other likes, through touches and observations, forces them to be verbal in other ways, through their almost primal sounds, through the movement of their bodies, even then Steve keeps the slow, sweet pace he has set for them.
But then, there is no rush. They have the whole night stretching out in front of them, with the promise of much more pleasure to come.
Much, much later, when Tony is drenched in sweat and silent besides little involuntary grunts - too blissed out and too hoarse from panting to even moan, Steve finally seems to have reached his limit. He is flushed and shiny with sweat (the smells in the room are heavy and heady, smells of sex and lust and they are wonderful ) and panting (but compared to this morning, he is almost disquietingly silent) and finally, finally he gets up on his knees, lifts Tony's hips up and starts increasing the rhythm and soon he's slamming home.
Turns out Tony does have some voice left in him; this time it's him who yells and yells and yells.
Tony wakes up slowly, the warm sunlight on his naked back telling him that it is a good deal sooner than he usually gets up. He sits up and looks around.
Steve is gone.
He meets him in the kitchen, Steve just having returned for a run, barely sweating, but the sight of that bit of moisture on his face and neck is a vivid reminder of last night and sends a sharp thrill of lust through Tony, pooling in his stomach and quickly going lower and he needs to sit down now . As his butt hits the seat of the chair, there's a pleasant ache that does nothing to ease the sudden tightness of his pants.
He halfway expects Steve to greet him with a kiss or something, but Steve just smiles from his place at the counter where he is preparing his breakfast, just says good morning as if nothing unusual had happened between them. Even his smile is his customary sunny one, nothing new or intimate about it, not like the way he had looked at Tony last night when he cleaned him up, slowly and reverently washing his whole body with a warm towel to get all the stickiness from the massage and the sex off him, Tony already falling asleep.
This is good. This is how fuck buddies are supposed to be.
Granted, he hadn't expected Steve to grasp that concept so easily, but then, he's grasped the concepts of sex more than easily, so why not? It's not like Tony had planned it otherwise when he got him into bed - god, was it only twenty-four hours ago?
Steve sets a cup of coffee in front of him, doctored just the way he likes it, strong and black and hot as hell.
“You need to be awake, Tony, we have that meeting with Fury and the others in half an hour. Mission planning, remember?”
Tony grunts something into his coffee, drinking greedily. God , it's good.
Tony is grounded.
Fury, that Machiavellian, dominating, anal-retentive bastard has fucking grounded him .
“Pray tell me why,” Tony asks.
“For the last three weeks you haven't shown your face outside the tower, expect for the missions and for going clubbing. Now that you're an Avenger I don't want you ruining your public image. Get out there, start a charity, kiss some babies, I don't care, just get out of my sight. And you're still on the Stark Industries board, you have meetings to attend,” Fury answers.
“Since when are you my secretary?” Tony asks, “Why in the world are you bothering me about meetings?”
“Since Potts got my private number,” Fury answers. “That woman is a menace.”
(Clint is openly snickering and Natasha is wearing her best blank face, but Tony has gotten pretty good at deciphering her wide rank of blank faces and this one is definitely not the usual 'god, these men ' but the one that means 'I'm laughing at you on the inside and you deserve it'. Tony is so not getting them Christmas presents this year.)
And according to Fury, the fucker, they don't even need Tony on this mission. They do need heavy hitters, but they have War Machine, Steve and Thor. That should be more than enough to obliterate some Ten Rings morons in a cave - and Tony knows very well that this is the real reason why Fury won't let him go. In the face of The Ten Rings Tony is not exactly known for being calm and reasonable.
They leave immediately. Steve does not look back.
It's been five days for a mission that was suppose to take only one day, two at most. Tony spends those two days being a good little minion for Fury and 1) attends that brain-numbing board meeting, where he first tries to listen to everybody while not-so-covertly drawing new Iron Man designs on his papers and then, in self-defense against death by boredom, wrings the board into submission and efficiency and thus escaping the meeting two hours early (the Avengers are his main priority now and anything that steals time from that is, at best a waste of his time, at worst a dangerous distraction and why can't Fury see that), 2) going to a charity auction (where he buys an Elvis wine rack covered in rhinestones, just for the look on Pepper's face), 3) visits a children's hospital (which Tony leaves to immediately starts a campaign to convince Pepper to start a new division in Stark Industries, a research department in order to cure cancer for good because if Tony never has to see another bald child in his life it will be too soon) and then the two days are gone and Steve (and the others, don't forget the others, Tony) still haven't returned and Fury, the absolute fucker, is stonewalling him and Tony is faced with the choice between throwing a 'bitch fit', as Rhodey calls it and demand answers, hacking SHIELDS computers (again) or just ignoring the situation and bury himself in his workshop.
It shouldn't be a difficult choice.
Tony hasn't left the the workshop for roughly eighty hours, hasn't slept for... Well, long enough that he has lost count and lies under- okay, so he's not quite sure what it's going to end up like, but it has a lot of arms, legs like a spider (if a spider was the size of a horse), several cameras and sensors and just to fuck with Clint it shoots arrows with an accuracy better than him on short distance and a steady ground (Tony is still working on the accuracy when the machine is in motion) and oh, it's painted purple because Tony is never going to stop teasing Clint about that first draft of his costume which never saw the light of day, but the plans had still been in the computers and well, you can't fault Tony for his curiosity (also SHIELD really needs some better IT security), when a pair of strong arm pulls him out from under the machine, lifts him up and carries him away. Had it been anyone else bodily separating him from his work like this, Tony wouldn't have hesitated in doing something painful with the wrench he's holding, but he immediately recognizes the feel of the reinforced fabric he himself invented, the heat and smell of the other body and that strength in those arms. Steve has come home and Tony could care less about the Clint Basher.
Steve carries him (bridal style, but fuck that, Steve is uninjured and here and already licking and biting Tony's throat and just for that alone Tony can cut him some slack) towards the other end of the workshop where Tony has hung a large mirror (nobody has ever accused Tony of not being vain and well, the armor looks too good to not admire properly) and Tony so likes the way he thinks.
Steve hasn't said a word yet and by know Tony recognizes this kind of silence between them and his cock is already hard with anticipation. It's been more than a week and Tony has easily wanked of at least twice as many times thinking of Steve and his magic hands, Steve's cock gliding smoothly and slowly in and out of him and maybe, just maybe, the way Steve had looked at him when he thought Tony was too sex-sedated to notice.
Steve has clearly gone straight from the landing pad on top of the tower; his uniform is a bit worse for wear (except for the cowl he is still wearing all of his uniform and god, how is this Tony's life?), smelling of gunpowder and, well, as if Steve hasn't taken said uniform off for the duration of the mission, which he probably hasn't and there is earth and dust and a bit of blood in Steve's hair and his face is dirty and glistening with old sweat.
He looks wonderful .
Then he reaches the mirror and Tony only has an all too short glimpse of himself in Steve's arms before Steve reaches for the hidden panel next to the mirror and starts punching the code in.
How the fuck does he even know about that?
The mirror slides aside (because there's nothing wrong with the classics) and Steve enters the antechamber to Tony's panic-room. In front of them is the solid steel door to the panic-room itself, behind them is the two-way mirror and Steve is already undressing Tony, his movements fast and impatient, or rather, just opening Tony's belt and pulling his jeans of only one of his legs (who needs underwear?); that's seems to be all the undressing Steve has patience for right now and if Tony thought that he'd missed the sex they had had, well, apparently he has nothing on Steve.
He turns Tony around so he's mashed against the glass, Tony's hands scrambling to find support on the smooth surface and kicks his legs apart. Then he goes straight for Tony's hard dick, thank god and starts jerking it with a rhythm so fast and unyielding that it's almost brutal, but Steve has somehow already lubed up his hand up and it is glorious . Tony bites his lip to keep the sounds in, but then Steve bites his neck, hard and pushes two larger fingers in and it's a lost cause.
That's when Rhodey and Clint enters the workshop.
Tony has never been more glad that besides being pullet proof, he also designed the two-way mirror to be sound proof.
Rhodey goes straight for the robot arms and starts to get out of his suit (looks battered. Needs upgrading. Probably best to start from to scratch, get rid of all the Hammer shit for sure) and Clint (who had been in the middle of a rant about... Archers in the OL and performance enhancement drugs? It's not like Tony cares right now and why oh why did he install speakers here?), stop s in his tracks, speechless and horrified by the Clint Basher. He approaches it slowly, weary and suspicious, as he should be (but also looking very much murderous, mission accomplished) and takes out his own bow as he gets closer.
That is not going to end well. The Clint Basher will eventually be programmed to identify enemy combatant from a wide range of parameters, but. At the moment the only one it's programmed to recognize is, well, Clint . Duh. And while it isn't set to use lethal force, its crowd control mode is preeety effective.
Tony almost feel sorry for Clint. Almost.
Steve has obviously noticed his distraction and removes his fingers in Tony's ass and gives him a hard, wet smack to the buttocks that, to Tony's own surprise, makes him moan loudly. And then Steve makes an executive decision and starts pushing into Tony, barely pausing to let Tony adjust, but he's still jerking Tony off, the pleasure effectively distracting Tony from the discomfort. He's wanking Tony frantically and the pace he sets gliding in and out ( all the way out and slamming in again, hitting perfectly every time, oh fuck ) is fast and unrelenting and he's panting loudly and while there's been plenty of passion up till now, this frenzied urgency is something new and different; this time it's clearly Steve's who's been wandering the desert, longing for water.
Steve finishes first, collapsing against Tony's back, resting his forehead on Tony's shoulder and making his knee's buckle with the effort of supporting all of his weight. Steve stays there for a moment, his panting becoming slower and when it resembles something like a normal, steady breath, he turns Tony around again and sinks to his knees.
And boy , has Steve been doing his research.
Steve blows him with the same unrelenting pace and energy as he fucked him with and Tony is immediately bucking and crying out, his breath hoarse and shallow, he is so close and then Steve gives him back his fingers, three of them and coated in lube anew and he fucks him as fast and hard as he had done with is dick and then he starts to bend them, finding Tony's prostate immediately and just milking it and-
The world disappears in a burst of ecstasy that just goes on and on and on.
When Tony's brain starts coming online again, Steve is carrying him into the panic-room (in the bridal position again , what's up with that?) and puts Tony to bed, (and how the fuck does he also have the codes to the panic-room itself?), undressing and tucking him in and there's that look again. Tony falls asleep to the sound of Steve taking a shower, sleeping long and dreamless.
When Tony wakes up again he is alone, the workshop is empty, the Clint Basher a smoking mess on the floor.
“You missed the debriefing,” Fury practically growl at him when Tony finally emerges form his workshop.
“I wasn't on the mission,” Tony answers tartly. “I'm sure you managed just fine.”
“And you missed a meeting yesterday,” Fury continues, talking over Tony as if he hasn't said a word. “Potts called me. Again.”
Tony opens his mouth to say something about that he of all people very well knows what having Pepper on your back feels like, thank you very much, but Fury suddenly has an unusual, almost soft look on his face as he studies Tony.
“Stark. If you're on your way to another angsty meltdown, I need to know about it.”
Tony stares at him, speechless. He has a flashback to Steve's beautiful lips around his dick, Steve looking up at Tony mischievously from under his lashes, absolute smugly as he demonstrates to Tony that he has no gag reflex at all and Tony has to fight to keep a goofy grin off his face as he says to Fury, “No, I'm good. I'm positively peachy .”
Tony gets a bit of a surprise when he, after his little chat with Fury, enters the kitchen (by now Tony's stomach is definitely makings its presence and empty state known; such a slave-driver) and sees that it's dark outside. It was around midday when Steve pounced him in the workshop and now it's half past ten at night. He slept for at least eight hours straight.
Tony is in the middle of eating his way through a gigantic stack of sandwiches while clicking away on his laptop and having a phone conference with Pepper (mostly a peace negotiation about the meetings he has blown off, but he can't help but congratulating her on making Fury twitch. Keep up the good work, Peps!) when Rhodey blows in, clearly in a huff about something.
Tony will bet money that the 'something' is directly or indirectly related to himself. It usually is.
“Where have you been all day, Tony?” Rhodey says in that annoyed way of his (it's somewhere a bit further on the scale than the exasperated 'god, Tony', familiar and as old as their friendship, but still a far way from the 'Tony, for fuck's sake, why?' that is newer and... worse). “We couldn't find you,” Rhodey continues, “you didn't answer your cell-”
“Call you back, Pepper,” Tony says into his phone, “I'm about to get yelled at by Rhodey.”
“He can get in line, Tony, I still haven't forgiven you for that wine rack, you put the horror up in our conference room-”
“Bye Pepper, love you too.” Tony says, closes his phone with a snap and turning his attention back to Rhodey.
“Pepper says hello. You were saying?”
“I was saying that we couldn't find you and JARVIS wouldn't locate you for us.” Rhodey says, scowling at him.
“Well, JARVIS does like me best.” Tony says, taking a sip of his coffee, “If it makes you feel better, I have some specs for a new version of you suit I want you to look at. I'm starting from scratch this time, I need new scans of you and a list of what new weapons you'd like. ”
“That sounds great, Tony,” Rhodey says, sitting down across for him, “but actually there was something I wanted to talk you about – its about Cap.”
And there is the return of that feeling of 'Uh oh, I'm about to get lynched for sexing up Captain America without taking him out to dinner first', but with an undercurrent of real worry. It's been eight hours; all kinds of things can happen to Steve in eight hours.
But for now Tony does his best to look like he's suddenly listening for real (which he is), closing the lid on his laptop and looking attentively at Rhodey, trying not to over-act.
Rule Number One: don't give yourself away before you know for sure that your game is up.
“Is it just me or is Steve acting... weird?” Rhodey says, frowning.
Tony raises an eyebrow at him.
“It's just, on the mission-”
“Yeah, how did that go by the way?” Tony ask, he can't help but interrupt. He never can.
“It went fine, despite the delay, as you would have known if you had been to the debriefing. But well, Cap. He was just... restless. He's usually a hundred percent in the game, but this time it seemed as if he just wanted to get home as soon as possible.”
Tony raises his other eyebrow. Rhodey takes a deep breath, clearly getting to the hard part.
“Well, it just seemed as if he had someone he wanted to get home to as soon as possible. Do you know if Cap's gotten a girl he's serious about? Because that would be pretty huge.” And okay, for Rhodey, who tries so very hard to be the picture of professionalism (so very hard when you have to work with Tony and does Tony enjoy that, oh yes he does), that would be the hard part: feeling that you had to gossip about your team leader.
“If Cap had gotten himself a 'dame',” Tony answers in what he hopes is an amused tone, “he wouldn't be keeping quiet about it; he'd be out buying engagement rings. He's an old fashion guy.”
And Tony does not have a weird feeling of bitterness about that for no reason at all, no he doesn't.
Not at all
Rhodey looks like he's about to say something else, but he never gets the chance, because that's when Clint comes running into the kitchen, the Clint Basher mark II hot on his heels. Tony has scaled it down to dog size, reinforced it' joints and chassis, prioritized its stun rods over weapons that could be lethal and re-written its code to more effective interaction with its surroundings and thus, more effective for hunting down people.
Its still painted purple.
Clint is still its primary target.
Rhodey makes a choked noise and Tony opens his laptop again as Clint frantically runs around the table, trying to get it between himself and the robot, yelling at Tony.
“I'm going to kill you, Stark, kill you dead.”
The Basher growls at him in a deep electronic voice, snapping its grab-arms at him like an angry crab and jumps over the table, landing right next to Clint, who backs away, fumbling for a bow that isn't there. The Basher shows off its stun rods, crackling with electricity and Clint yells something about Tony being a crazy son of a bitch and kicks the Basher, connecting hard. That seems to do the trick; the Basher falls over, makes a sad little noise and lies still, its lights going out. Clint turns around, smiling triumphantly and clearly about to say something gloating to Tony.
That's when the Basher makes a sound like it's rebooting, its lights tuning on again and then it splits into two, each new unit the size of a large cat, effectively surrounding Clint, clacking their claws and sparkling their stun rods at him.
Tony continues to calmly drink his coffee, clicking away on his laptop (he can get always the tapes from JARVIS later).
Then the Bashers catches Clint, one of them trips him with its strong legs and the other seizes this opening to take up residence on his chest.
“Tony, stop them!” Rhodey says, he's standing up and clearly agitated, but also very vary about doing something that will get him in close contact with the robots. As he should be.
The Basher on Clint's chest moves forward, one of its arms nearing Clint's face, growling ominously. Clint tries to move further back, but he's against the wall and there's no escape.
The Basher makes contact.
It pokes Clint gently on the forehead, saying in a very different, almost cutesy voice (maybe slightly inspired by the robot voices in Portal; there is no such thing as playing that game too much and one day Tony is totally going to make a portal gun of his very own) and says, “Tag. You're it.”
Both robots giggles in their new, high voices and scatters away, one of them climbing up the wall and taking the ceiling route, the other one jumping back over the table, making Rhodey duck and squeak (which he is so going to deny later).
Which leaves Clint lying on the floor, panting fast.
“What the fuck, Stark.” He says in a stunned voice.
“Oh, you're the review group for my new crowd controllers. Did I forget to tell you that?” Tony says in his best sincere voice, “I'm most sincerely sorry about that, won't happen again. Really.”
Clint jumps up, obviously with every intent of chocking Tony to death with his bare hands, but Tony is saved from this grave fate by Fury's voice suddenly booming out of the Tower's intercom.
“Enough with the games, boys.” he says, “We have a situation.”
It's late at night, or rather, early in the morning, when they finally gets back to Avenger's Tower. The fight with this month's batch of Doombots had dragged out and their return trip had been slowed down by both him and Thor being worse for wear. Tony is so going to design that jet soon.
The Doombots had sadly finally learned something new and had relentlessly targeted his repulsors and his major joints, succeeding in fusing most of them together before being taken down, almost rendering Tony immobile. It takes JARVIS, assisted by Rhodey (who escaped sharing the same fate as Tony by keeping his distance and using his larger guns to doing damage from afar) and a carefully handled small circular saw an hour and a half longer than usual to get out him out of the suit (which goes straight to recycling and for fucks sake, Tony had just upgraded it) and then it's off to the infirmary for Tony, getting his cuts and bruises checked out (totally unnecessary, at most he has a small concussion from being slammed through a building, it's really nothing worth fussing over), so all in all it's very late before he finally can go off to bed.
Where he finds one Steve Rogers, sleeping peacefully.
Tony stops and stares. Steve is sleeping on his back, stretched out with one arm over his head, barely covered by the sheets. As far as Tony can tell, he's in his birthday suit.
Tony goes off to his bathroom to get ready to sleep. Then he returns to stand in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, staring some more. He's only dressed in his boxers (best to wear underwear on missions, Tony has learned the hard way and wasn't that fun) and he's starting to get cold, but he is still hesitating to just crawl into bed and Steve's arms. It would be... different. Bad different or good different, Tony doesn't really know, just. Different.
Then Steve turns his head and looks sleepily at Tony and lifts the sheet and taps the bed next to him invitingly, smiling slightly. When Tony still hesitates, his smile turns into something a bit lewd and very inviting and okay, if he puts it like that...
Tony's too tired and too worn out to participate in anything fancy, but Steve arranges Tony to lie on his side, face to face with him, chest to chest and starts running his hands over his side, his back, his arms and Tony is nearly asleep when Steve touches one of his nipples, squeezing slightly (and how in the world does he know that Tony's nipples are hot-wired straight to his dick?) and finally wraps one of his warm hands around his hardening cock, gently coaching it the last of the way. Tony makes a contended noise and sinks deeper into the bed, the last of his tensions finally leaving his body. Then he remembers that his mother at least tried to rise him a gentleman and wraps one of his own hands around Steve's rock-hard cock.
Steve groans in satisfaction and lets Tony continue like this for a minute, slow and steady, mirroring the rhythm Steve has set, before Steve reaches behind himself and finds the lube he's stashed there and smearing a generous amount over their cocks. Steve, the eternal boy-scout, always prepared.
The new wave of heightened pleasure makes Tony become wide awake and suddenly he's jerking Steve off faster and rougher (just like Steve had done in the panic-room earlier and that memory sends sparks of want running through him, as sudden and overwhelming as a tidal wave) and thrusting frantically into Steve's grip, needing an outlet for what had happened during the mission. There had been a moment of real fear when Tony realized that his suit would soon be no better than a metal sarcophagus and that he would be falling to his death (of course, then Thor had swept in and caught him while Bruce and Rhodey had taken out the main body of the Doombots, Steve, Clint and Natasha taking care of the stragglers. Being on a team could be really great sometimes), and now he just want to forget about it. Steve is perfect for that and Tony has a small pang of gratitude that he's here.
Steve makes a futile attempt to slow Tony down, running his free hand tenderly over Tony's back, his neck, ending up cupping his face. But Tony needs this and he can't help by making frustrated, almost whining sounds, thrusting into Steve hand more vigorously. Steve lets go of his dick, the bastard, and touches Tony's lower lip slowly and Tony sucks Steve's finger into his mouth and bites, not very gently because Steve stopped, swirling his tongue and that seems make to Steve get it. He groans and gives in, pinches one of Tony's nipples again, hard and bites his neck and puts his warm, wonderful hand back around Tony's cock, finally matching his speed to Tony's desperate thrusts and then all thought is gone and Tony is ambushed by his own orgasm, moaning loudly, almost not hearing Steve's own delicious sounds as he comes, though there's no missing his semen mixing with Tony's in the space between them.
That's going to be a bitch to clean up, Tony thinks and then he's asleep.
The debriefing the next morning is hell.
The others are fully awake and chirpy, the fuckers, still a bit high from yesterday's fight. Tony and Thor had been the only ones who'd taken any major hits and Thor, of course, is already back to his usual gleaming self, looking as if he'd just stepped out of a Men's Health photo-shoot (Which sadly isn't impossible and Tony is getting used to the daily beatings his ego is taking since he joined up with these people).
Steve opens the meeting, giving them his usual sincere pep talk, commending them on their better moves and Tony can usually compartmentalize pretty well, not letting it show when he meets someone and there is that flash of 'I remember you, I fucked you in a coat room once, that was pretty fun,' and then not dwell on it any more.
But this morning his gaze keeps sliding down to Steve's lips as Steve talks animatedly about tactics, his eyes alight and his hands moving expressly and generally just being plain adorable.
Maybe it is because Steve is acting so damn normal (which, it being Steve, translates into beautiful and awe-inspiring and yes, adorable) - he's in a good mood, but not overly giddy in that obvious 'I've just gotten laid and it was awesome'-way – he's not giving the slightest hint that just a couple of hours ago he had woken Tony up with those beautiful lips wrapped around his dick, continuing to fingering him into one of those drawn-out, mind-melting orgasms that Steve seems increasingly fond of giving him.
Steve had been golden and gorgeous in the morning sunlight, rubbing himself off on Tony's skin, to the sound of Tony's drawn-out moans and whimpers and afterward he had kissed Tony's body reverently, his stomach, his chest, his collarbones, his neck, under his ear – and Tony had halfway expected him to move to his face from there, his mouth – but Steve had sat up then, smiled to him and dragged him into the shower, where he had washed Tony very throughout, running his hands over every part of his body (almost as if to reassure himself that Tony was still here, alive and unharmed – but that is a ridiculous thought and Tony dismisses it immediately), and that had been good, very good, but Tony can't shake the feeling that-
Or maybe it's because Tony is still half-asleep and his defenses are way down, yes that must be it. That is it, Tony decides.
Tony is leaned back in his chair, balancing on its back legs, head resting on its back as he thinks, letting Steve's voice wash over him. Steve's voice is interesting, filled with understated humor when he's in a good mood as he is now, gruff and commanding when shit is going down. It's a really nice voice, deep and with a rhythm to it that would make any speech teacher proud – and this morning it's just a bit gravely, a bit hoarse and Tony is the only at this table who knows why...
“Stark,” Fury snarls at him, “pay attention!” and Tony almost knocks his chair over, sitting up sharply, which of course makes Clint snicker.
“I do not want your armor to be compromised like that again,” Fury continues, “and I want you to find a solution asap. Can you do that?”
“Actually I might have something.” Tony says unfazed, “It's a bit short-term maybe, but it should work for now, until I can find a way to make my armor resist that kind of heat the Doombots were toying with.”
Fury raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“Clint has graciously been assisting me in testing my new crowd controllers and he has offered me to take these tests to the next level-” Tony says in his most sincere voice.
Clint splutters and says, “Hey, wait a minute, Stark, I am not getting anywhere near you devil machines again, you can stuff that idea up your-”
“-and I'd like to put him and Natasha, if you'll be so kind, my darling, up against two of them in the gym, say, after this meeting? Okay, that's decided then, fabulous.”
Tony leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, trying not to smile too much. Then Steve meets his gaze across the table, eyes dancing with mirth and it's a lost cause; Tony can't help but let his smile transform into a full blow, goofy grin, a warm, almost happy feeling pooling his stomach.
It's going to be a good day.
It is afternoon. The call that a strange, very large, very hostile, mechanical thing had appeared in Central Park (and why it is always Central Park? Tony actually likes that place) had come in the middle of Round Two between Team Bashers mark III and Team Puny Humans (aka Natasha and Clint, so far 1-1, but Tony planned to change that as soon as they were done with this fucker) and they are still going at it, with no sign that the fight was going to end any time soon.
The robot (high endurance, bland design, no identifying features as to who's produced it, will have to take it apart to find out, if it remains intact enough to do so once the fight is over) doesn't have any kind of blast or projectile weapons, but that's the only bright thing about it. It is strong, it is fast and it still runs at them with the same level of energy as it had displayed in the beginning of the fight (and that was god-damn high) and save for Steve, they are all becoming increasingly worn out and battered, even Hulk, who has sadly met his match in size, strength and pure destruction.
Thor is out of commission with a broken arm.
They're in a vacant lot now, where construction of some Stark Industries building will start next week.
When they had arrived at Central Park, Thor, Rhodey and himself had quickly gotten in close, gotten wires attached and had lifted the robot up and carried it away from the city (and hadn't he felt clever then. Oh, the naivety). They had considered just dumping it in the sea, but besides the risk of pollution (Steve's argument), if it wasn't enough to shut down the damn thing, it would be hell to try to find a way to keep fighting it the middle of the sea. So Tony had asked JARVIS to find them a safe location and they'd dumped it here instead.
From an altitude of roughly one point five kilometers.
Which had created one hell of a crater and for a short minute they had all thought that would be that, but then the behemoth had risen, shaken off the dust and continued to throw whatever in reach after them. Which, as this was a construction site, there was plenty of. Trucks, forklifts, cement mixers, large quantities of building materials, the trailers and large mobile toilets intended for the workers and both Rhodey and Tony are in older model suits, which doesn't have as much maneuverability and much, much less fire power than the newest models that currently are lying in Tony's scrap yard.
And just to make matters worse, when the fight in the lot had barely started Thor had gotten too close and received that blow that would take him out of the fight for good. The robot caught him in mid-flight, threw him to the ground and then stomped on him with all its force. Hulk had jumped in and wrestled with the robot, while the others had gotten Thor to safety. He was alive (but only because of being a god) and had woken up quickly, but one of his arms was broken, his dominant hand. Tony knows he'll be healed as fast as you can say 'taking a trip home to Asgard and eating one of those fancy healing apples,' but that doesn't change the fact that they're becoming increasingly fucked.
The robot is too sturdy and powerful for Natasha and Clint to be of much use, even Steve is barely strong enough to keep up, his shield useless against it, and as mentioned, Tony and and Rhodey's suits are crap. Tony is so close to ask Rhodey to call in his military buddies with their fancy toys, even if they would never live it down, when Steve, who's been making his way up the robot with inhuman speed and agility, finally reaches the robot's head and starts smashing at its eyes with his shield – and gets hit straight on, swapped away by one of the robot's large hands like Tony would've swapped away a fly and thrown aside like a rag-doll and Tony finds himself yelling to Rhodey make the fucking call, get the fucking cavalry here, now, he's flying after Steve, even if what he should do is try to follow up on his work and take the damned robot out for good.
In the end, it is the Air Force that does that, while Steve is lying in Tony's metal arms, bleeding rapidly from under his cowl, not waking up.