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Wants And Needs (Or: Please Let Me Fuck You)

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It all starts when Dr. Doom decides that he’s going to wage war in New York. Again. Although really, considering how quickly he ends up being dispatched, maybe calling it that much is a joke. But either way, before he leaves he decides to cause as much as trouble as he can. He says that he refuses to go out without a bang, so to speak, and then proceeds to shoot at them.

Tony— being ever the self-destructive, altruistic, maniac that he is—gets in the way of the blast, like an idiot who’s, incidentally, completely oblivious to any feelings of anguish on other people’s part in regards to his untimely death.

Also, Steve wants it on record that no, he is not bitter, thank you very much.

But he digresses.

Either way, he needn’t have worried because when the smoke clears out, it turns out that Tony is totally fine. Actually, he’s covered in what looks like gold glitter and he’s sparkling in a way that’s got Clint and Thor cranking out jokes faster than their minds can keep up with, but otherwise he seems to fine.

No one realizes until it’s too late that they should’ve paid attention to Doom’s crazy spiel. If they had, then maybe they would have seen it coming, what happens next that is.

As it is, they all just have a laugh about it, with the exception of Tony who is sulking with the sort of tenacity that even a four year old would find impressive, and then they go back home.


When they get back to the tower, Bruce takes a whole bunch of samples to test. He says that the preliminary evidence suggests that it’s not dangerous. Also, he says, Tony had been wearing the suit when he was glitter-bombed, so there shouldn’t be any kind of backlash even if the substance did turn out to be less than harmless.

Clint and Thor are still too busy being immature brats to really provide anything useful and Natasha just raises an eyebrow at them, calling them all idiots without ever opening her mouth, and walks away.

Steve, well, he’s a little more concerned.

But when he asks Tony about it, prying a bit to make sure that he’s okay, all he gets is a glib, “I’m fine, Capsicle!” and a pat to the shoulder. Steve would feel insulted at his trepidations being so easily flung to the side, but he can’t really find it in himself to be really irritated at Tony because there’s a small (miniscule, really) part of him that finds Tony Stark adorable and may sort of be in love with him, just a little, and it won’t let him really lash out at the other man in any way.

So, with a sigh because this is just his life, Steve just smiles and nods, and pats Tony on his shoulder too before walking off and leaving Tony to his de-glittering.

His smile only widens when, just as he’s about to be out of earshot, he hears Tony curse up a blue streak because the damned shit just won’t come off, goddamnit how is this his life.

Steve can get behind that sentiment; he really, really can.


When it finally gets to be dinner time, everyone is treated to the sight of Tony who looks even more glittery than he had that morning. Seriously, it’s everywhere now, in his hair, his goatee, and there are traces of it all over his clothes. Hell, and keeping in mind that this might just be Steve’s slight smitten mind waxing slightly poetic, but it almost seems as though the man is glowing golden like some sort of Adonis or...

And Steve stops himself there before it gets embarrassing.

Still though, he sort of wants to ask Tony how the hell it had gotten from his armor and onto the rest of him, but he’d rather not provoke the sleeping dragon, so to speak.

Tony seems to be in a bad mood, grouchy and jumpy and sort of jittery. Steve feels all sorts of compassionate because again, he’s sort of an idiot when it comes to the man. Besides, Tony just looks so pathetic and in need of affection, and Steve’s never been the sort of tough guy who can turn away from something like that.

But when he goes to offer some kind of comfort in the form of a hand to the shoulder, Tony actually jumps and looks up at with him with pure, unadulterated terror in his eyes.

Everyone else looks at Tony with wide eyes, in turn.

As for Steve, well, he isn’t going to lie, he feels all sort of hurt by that. But he feels more worried at this point, because this is not normal for Tony. The man is the walking definition of tactile; he’s the man who drops touches without a thought, a hand to the elbow to catch someone’s attention, bumping someone out the way with his hips, falling on top of everyone during their designated Movie Night— Steve thinks that it has something to do with Tony’s deprived childhood, that he’s basking in the physical affection now that he finally has it.

That thought is so, so sad that it makes Steve’s throat close and raises a sort of protective instinct in him that’s honestly a little overwhelming. But that’s not the point right now; the point is that Tony isn’t supposed to be unreceptive to touch, much less violently against it. That he’d reacted in such a manner is alarming.

“Tony, are you alright?” he asks, trying very hard to sound soothing despite his own reactions.

Instead of answering, Tony just gives him a semi-frightened look before running, as they say, like a bat outta hell.

It’s all confusing and sort of painful to that small part of Steve that’s, okay he can admit it, that’s desperately and irreversibly in love with Tony. The more rational part of him, however, is quick to point out that something is wrong and that maybe Tony just needs some time to deal with it before people start bombarding him.

It’s not an explanation that Steve is particularly satisfied with—in fact, every part of him is rebelling against the very of Tony being alone— but he lets it go. Besides, he argues with himself, he’ll see Tony later on, like maybe breakfast tomorrow. If he doesn’t seem any better, then Steve can argue him into getting help.

He leaves a covered plate of food outside of the locked lab doors though, cringing as his sensitive hearing is bombarded by what sounds like dying cats wailing through the lab walls.

Tony would be insulted at the slight against his beloved ‘music,’ but Steve can’t bring himself to care because Tony won’t let him into the lab anyway.


Breakfast rolls around the next day. Everyone is concerned at this point because Tony doesn’t even bother to come and grab his coffee. It’s unprecedented—and kind of panic inducing—but all visits to the lab in the basement are met with denied access and louder music.

Trying to ask Jarvis doesn’t get them anywhere either because he is loyal and under strict orders not to tell anyone anything.

He should feel frustrated about the lack of assistance from their resident AI, but he’s too busy feeling absurdly happy that Tony has someone, thing, ready to defend him at all costs.


As it turns out, it takes almost three days for Steve to finally lay eyes on Tony, and by this point, he’s about ready to just get Hulk to destroy the lab entrance. The only thing that’s stopping him is the unshakable knowledge that Tony would probably have a conniption and also, not forgive him for the rest of their days. So really, Tony is one lucky bastard, and Steve plans on reminding him of this the next time he even thinks about disappearing off the face of the planet.

Steve is not happy with Tony, plans on having words with him--

--except he’s here right now, in front of Steve’s eyes and looking haggard in a way that he hasn’t since before the Avengers were formed and Natasha had terrified him into taking care of himself, or else. Steve, well something apparently breaks in him because before he can stop himself, he sprints over, gathers Tony up in a tight hug, and starts muttering thing like, “Thank God,” and, “You’re okay” as opposed to, “Goddamn you,” and “if you ever do this again...”

He figures that he’ll save the verbal flaying for another time, like when Tony actually looks more human than zombie. Besides, right now, he’s more interested in hugging Tony,and having physical contact with him in an attempt at making sure that he’s actually there. So he tightens his arms a little bit more, pulling the other man just a little bit closer, and feeling more content than he has in a while.

Instead of sinking into his hug like he normally does, Tony ends up stiffening instead, abruptly struggling to get away. Again. Probably so he can disappear for another three days and give the rest of them heart attacks.

It’s upsetting and to be honest, Steve has had it up to here, so instead of letting Tony go, he ends up pulling him closer and locking him in a vice grip.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks, teeth grit from a good deal of irritation and effort. “Why are you acting like this?”

Tony, instead of responding, just snarls at him, animalistic and fierce and oh, that does things to Steve’s libido that shouldn’t be happening right now because Tony is hurting and Steve is concerned. Then again, Steve’s anatomy had always been more rebellious than strictly allowed and he finds himself hardening anyway.

Somehow, this all ends with Tony stopping his struggle; it ends with Tony sniffing him, like he’s scenting him, almost purring as he buries his face in Steve’s neck and –not that Steve isn’t happy about this—but what the heck?

“Tony…” he says in an attempt to question the man, to get his attention just a little so he can figure out what’s going on—

--and then Tony’s running away from him again, his eyes wide with terror and glitter falling out of his hair as he sprints off.

Steve stares after him for a solid minute, trying to crunch through the mixed signals and find a result that’s logical.

Honestly, it takes a little while for Steve to make any other connections, which is when he manages think, Wait. Glitter?

Suffice it to say, Steve is banging down Bruce’s door not two minutes later, telling him about the incident with only a small amount of stuttering, thank you very much.

Bruce kicks into high gear in an instant, which Steve finds heart-warming.


It turns out that, and Bruce says this with the most incredulous look he can manage, that Tony has been affected by what amounts to some kind of base-instinct sex pollen. As in, Tony had been doused with gold sex and now wants to rut with everyone, like an animal, with animal instincts and a surprising lack of inhibitions, until this thing has run its course.

“We don’t know when it’s gonna do that though,” Bruce also says, a grim look on his face because this is sort of horrifying in ways that cannot be put into words. “We also don’t know how this going to affect him mentally when he comes back to himself. We have to prepare for all eventualities and make sure, as much as possible, that he doesn’t come out of this hurting.”

The general consensus is that they are up shit creek without a paddle. Everyone is silent as they contemplate the implications of that.


They find out pretty quickly that it’s not so much that Tony wants to rut with everyone, so much as he wants to rut with Steve. Which, okay, Steve would actually find that sort of gratifying if he weren’t so busy being horrified by the thought of ever taking advantage of Tony like that.

It also doesn’t help, at all, that he’d thought about it, even for just a second. He doesn’t know what kind of person that makes him, that he’d thought, even in passing, that having Tony so darned hot for him could be the best thing ever. But it can’t be a mark of being a good person, that he’d think that way of his own best friend.

He doesn’t have the sort of time to ponder about such things in the end, though. All the self-loathing has to be put on hold because apparently, Tony knows what he wants now, too. Or rather, his instincts have completely taken over and he no longer has the presence of mind to stay away like he had been.

Instead, now he uses most of his energy to corner Steve in odd nooks and crannies, and tries his very best to get Steve to, “do him.” Which, coincidentally, Steve would normally be all for, if it weren't for the slightly rapey connotations behind all this and his own unresolved bout of self-hatred.

As it is, he only barely manages to not respond, pushing Tony off and running away. It’s a damned close call each time, when the other man hunts him down and kisses him within an inch of his life, desperate whines in the back of his throat that give Steve simultaneous urges to just take him, hard, and to protect him.

Thankfully, so far, it’s staunchly been the latter.

Here’s the thing though: if there's one thing Steve knows, it's that he's human, perhaps even more so where Tony is concerned. He knows that, at some point, he's going to slip up and do the unforgivable.

And he knows, above all else, that something is going to give, without a doubt.

What terrifies him is that he isn't at all sure that it won't be him that does.


With each passing day, and with each further ‘assault’ that Tony launches on him, Steve can feel just a little bit more of his control slipping away. He’s found himself in an almost constant state of arousal since pretty much day one of Tony’s shenanigans, and he’s spent more time than he can say between cold showers and bringing himself off to images of Tony on his back, on his knees, using his mouth.

On his back, crying out Steve’s name as Steve fucks into him ohgodyes...

In all honesty, it’s getting to be too much, more than Steve can legitimately handle, because he wants so badly, so much more than he can say.

Because here’s the thing, he’d always been able to deal with the fact that his love for Tony would remain unrequited, that Tony would never feel the same way about him. He’s mostly come to terms with it and, with the exception of that small, stupid part of him that is stubbornly sticking it out, he’s repressed his emotions.

So it’s really no surprise then, when he realizes that having Tony so close, kissing him, touching him all the darned time, isn’t just breaking his libido; it’s also breaking his heart.

Because, in the end, this is exactly how Steve imagines that a real relationship with Tony would be, getting attacked in random nooks and crannies because Tony would want to show affection and would be too emotionally stunted to do things the normal people way. He would crave physical touch all the time too, to make up for the lack of it in years before, and he’d constantly have some kind of skin to skin contact.

The same things that are happening now, really; but Steve can’t find it in himself to be happy about the attention because no matter how it feels, Tony doesn’t love him.


And then, of course, things just get worse.


“I love you,” Tony says the next time he comes after Steve, desperately mouthing at Steve’s jaw, grinding his hips against Steve’s in a way that just makes the world spin. “Let’s have sex.”

And Steve freezes for a second, staring disbelievingly because this isn’t happening. There is no way that Tony feels the same way about him, except, he’d just told him that he did. That small part that Steve’s been trying to squash rears its head once again, growing to the point where Steve can’t stop smiling despite himself, happiness filling every corner of him as he realizes that Tony loves him.

Then he catches Tony’s eyes, which are still blown wide open and so, so vacant --so unlike Tony’s normally bright, inquisitive eyes-- and everything falls apart again.

“No you don’t,” Steve manages to choke out after a while, over the roaring in his ears, over the sound of his own breaking heart. He pushes Tony and turns away. “Don’t-- don’t say that when you don’t mean it.”

Because you don’t know what’re you’re saying, he doesn’t say because this really isn’t Tony’s fault, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.

He feels like everything is going to hell in a handbasket, like his life is falling apart and he can’t do anything about it no matter how hard he tries. The damage has already been done; that small, hopeful part of him isn’t so small anymore, and no amount of self-flagellation or knowledge that this will not end well for him, will change that.

Apparently even a drugged up ‘I love you,’ is better than nothing at all to him and Steve really doesn’t know how it’s possible that he could get any more pathetic.

Steve goes to bed that night with self-loathing in his very pores.


Another week passes, and Steve is about ready to give in because he is weak and wants this more than he wants to be a good person. Because now, when Tony comes after him, he keeps saying, “I love you,” and that’s chipping away at Steve’s convictions more than touch ever had.

With every subsequent pass Tony makes at Steve, another piece of his revolve crumbles away, leaving him feeling raw and awful and horrible and so, so good at the same time. He’s a mess, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he’s pretty sure that the next time that Tony comes around, he’s going to give in.

It turns out, thankfully, that he’s only partially right.

The next time Tony comes to him, “I love you,” on his lips, Steve sobs out a quiet, “I love you too” and allows himself to kiss back, just a little. Then he remembers that yes, he does love Tony --so, so much-- and he walks away. He can’t do something like this to someone he feels so damned much for, especially if it will break them the same way it’s broken him, the way that this will break Tony when he finally comes back to himself.

Steve can’t, he just---can’t.

And just like that, he finds something to really fight for, at last. If not for his own sake, then, Steve will fight it for Tony’s.

Because Tony is everything.


Life becomes just a little bit easier after that. Tony still attacks when Steve is alone, using hands, tongue, and lips to make eloquent arguments as to why Steve should just give in, but Steve’s found his strength now; he’s found his resolve and he refuses to waver again.

So nowadays, whenever Tony comes to him, Steve manages to gently push the man away before evading him altogether and rushing off.

Still though, he hopes that all this is over and done with soon, because he still isn’t sure of how much more he can take.


His heart is still breaking, his libido is still raging, and this all really needs to stop.


So, it just figures that, after all that, after all the soul searching and the angst and the general amount of despair, that things quickly comes to a head.

Probably since Steve’s finally gotten used to it and he’d gone and jinxed himself by thinking that everything would be fine.

And because this is Steve and things have to go spectacularly wrong when they do, it all happens in the middle of a debriefing.

One second, everyone is sitting around the large conference table, having a mature pissing match over this protocol or that move that someone made at some point, and the next, Steve has a lap full of panting Tony. A panting Tony who isn't even supposed to be there because they’d locked him in the tower before they left, the same Tony who has his hands down his pants and is very obviously finger-fucking himself at what looks to be a painful angle.

Steve feels himself hardening so fast that he’s light-headed for a minute.

Instinctively, he starts to push up, seeking some sort of friction, his hands going up to Tony’s pants so he can get them off--

-- which is about when he notices all the stares, from agents and their teammates and, oh dear God, Fury.

And really, he would have tried to stop this from continuing forward, acted with some modicum of professionalism, inasmuch as he could in this kind of situation. Besides, he’d promised himself that he would not be taking advantage of Tony in this kind of situation because that would Hurt Tony, with a capital H. Except—

Tony doesn’t give him the chance. He literally growls, his eyes glassy and teeth bared, and proceeds to nearly rip Steve's pants off in his need to get at his dick.

And Steve is just done. He gives in because if Tony wants this so damned badly, who is Steve to stop him?

Suffice it to say, the room has never emptied out faster, which actually impresses Steve in a distant sort of way, through the haze of lust and taking off Tony’s pants at last. And then he notices, oh hey, that Tony’s still shoving his digits inside his own hole, bodily moving with each upward thrust, and where the heck did he even get the slick from?

He watches with fascination, fingers tracing Tony’s entrance around his fingers with both the need to touch and the need to make sure that whatever lube he’s using is appropriate because the last thing Steve wants to do is to hurt him. But apparently, that’s some sort of green light because the next thing Steve knows, Tony is grabbing onto his cock and impaling himself with a deep groan, eyes going wilder and even more unfocused as his ass finally meets the cradle of Steve’s hip.

And Steve should really be stopping this, really, but oh god it just feels so good. The tight stretch of Tony around him, Tony writhing on top of him, moaning like a whore and calling his name and calling him god and—

Steve can’t take it anymore; his resolve snaps with a near audible crack, and before he can even understand exactly what he’s doing, he’s gripping Tony’s hips, flipping them around so that Tony’s lying on top of the conference desk, and going wild, the way his body has been begging him to since day one of this.

He fucks into Tony with the same sort of single-minded focus that he’d gone to war with, with intentions and with nothing else on his mind. He screws Tony into the goddamned table--takes him apart from the inside out-- drives in deep and hard and a little messy because he and control had parted ways a long while back. Steve’s gripping Tony’s hips so hard that bruising is inevitable which, God, Steve loves the idea of marking Tony like that. He loves knowing that if he looks tomorrow, his handprints are going to be just there for the entire damned world to see, to act as a sign that Tony is his and no one else’s.

And he would feel guilty about all this, he really would, but Tony—

Jesus, if his screams are anything to go by, Tony more than approves. His legs are wrapped around Steve’s shoulder, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth table, his head tossed back and a constant stream of pleading –Fuck. Please, Steve. Need your cock. Harder. Faster. Deeper God’re so good...i love your cock....Jesus i love you—endlessly spewing out of his mouth. And hell if Steve doesn’t find that ridiculously hot. Tony looks wrecked, like he’s finally getting something that he’s wanted for so damned long and it’s just so, so good. His pupils are blown so wide that the blue of his eyes are barely even there, his cheeks are flushed, and he looks so fucking debauched.

Steve can’t help groaning at the sight, slumping down a little, and he finds that he has to stop for a bit because Tony is still amazingly tight around him and if he doesn’t get a hold of himself, he’s going to explode. It’ll be game over which, well, he doesn’t want it to be over yet, he thinks dazedly, shuddering as he stops himself from just pushing back in and moving like every damned cell in his body is demanding.

But Tony apparently has other ideas.

In a whirlwind of motion that no man in the middle of the best fuck of his life should be able to accomplish, he quickly pushes Steve onto a conveniently placed chair –without ever letting Steve slip out of him—and after before they’re even really settled, starts to ride him wantonly. He’s moaning like he’s a complete slut for it, and he’s sending Steve this desperate look like, come on, come on, come on

And Steve is gone.

He grabs onto Tony’s hips with a growl, jerking him down harshly with his every upward thrust, going in as deep and as hard as he can, reveling in the obscene noises that results from the slide of his cock inside Tony, loving his super-strength because it’s letting him fuck Tony so hard that he’ll be feeling it for a week.

And apparently that’s exactly what Tony wants too, because before long, he’s keening like he’s dying, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. And then he’s coming, without ever having touched himself, a drawn-out scream ripping out of him as his entire body arches and his hole clenches blindingly around Steve. Strips of cum explode out of him and onto his stomach, chest, chin, hair, for what feels like forever-- before he finally slumps forward, body twitching with aftershocks and looking sated for the first time in weeks.

As for Steve, after an image like that, he barely manages two more thrusts before he’s burying himself as deeply as he can with a broken groan, and then he’s coming so hard that he blacks out for a minute or two.


When Steve finally manages to make his body function, Tony is still unconscious and curled up against him, looking an adorable mix of sweet and just fucked, and Steve can’t help but smile at the sight, can’t help holding the other man just a little bit closer, can’t help but think of how nice this particular aspect of their relationship is going to be--

-- and then, he remembers exactly what had just happened, at which point he goes from calm and agreeable to hyperventilating so fast.

“Oh my god,” he says, shaking like a leaf as he tries to get proper breaths in and fails, “Oh my god. Oh my God.

In all, it’s actually probably a very good thing that Tony takes that particular moment to wake up, just in time to see Steve turning bluer than his costume and gaping like a fish out of water, which honestly does nothing to make Steve feel better.

“Whoa,” he says, his eyes widening in concern, “Whoa. Whoa. Breathe! Jesus, what the hel-- breathe!” And then he proceeds to smack Steve across the face because he’s an idiot and he’s been watching too many movies in his already minimal spare time. Also, he’s probably broken his hand in the process, and he’s obviously not fully there, but Steve is too busy freaking out to really pay attention to that kind of thing.

What he does notice, is when suddenly, there’s a blanket being thrown over the two of them and someone pushes something over his face, something that forces him to regulate his breathing at four second intervals whether he wants to or not. “Breathe,” comes Coulson’s no nonsense voice, “One...two...three..four...”

In the meantime, Tony’s apparently been taking stock of the situation himself, taking note of every ache and bruise, of the still wet come decorating his entire body, considering the situation before very helpfully piping up. “Oh my god,” he says, eyes widening in shocked realization before dilating again as he looks at Steve, horror etched in every inch of his face. “Oh my god. Oh my God. What...what is this? How?”

He looks so out of it, so lost, that it makes Steve feel even more like scum than he already does; the look on Tony’s face makes him feel like he has no redemption, like he won’t ever deserve forgiveness because he has done the worst thing that any person can do. He just feels defeated, in a way that he hasn’t felt since Bucky had died because Steve had failed to save him, and now he’s about to lose someone else, someone even more important, as guilty as he feels thinking that.

He’s about to open his mouth for an apology that he just knows, in his bones, will never be accepted when Tony talks over him.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes still wide, hair looking wild. “We fucked. You fucked me. And good, if what my body feels like is any indication.” He looks so unhappy, so thoroughly distraught, that Steve winces, expecting rebuke, and then Tony wails out, “And I don’t remember it. Oh my God, why.”

Steve barely stops himself from keeling over in shock, even as he listens to Tony lament.

“Oh my god,” Tony whimpers out as he glares accusingly at the ceiling, talking at it with an almost comical level of fury. “All I ever asked of you, ever, the only thing, and you don’t let me remember? Really? And you, stop laughing, right now.”

Steve is honestly a little shocked when he realizes that Tony is talking to him, because he’s the one laughing like a fucking nut, slightly shrill but mostly with the hope that his treacherous heart has practically sewn into his voice. Hope that Tony isn’t upset, hope that Tony maybe wants more, floods through him and through all that, he laughs because he can’t do anything else.

“Stop it!” Tony whines out, looking a little grumpy but mostly sort of affectionate, now that Steve thinks to look, or maybe he’s just projecting. “It’s not fair. You don’t get to laugh at me after fucking me within an inch of my life and then remembering it when I don’t!”

Steve can’t help but feel fond, the emotion just tiding over him like a gentle wave.

“It feels like it was so good,” Tony continues plaintively, oblivious to Steve’s gaze as he rants on, squirming on Steve’s lap. “And when I find out who’s responsible for this travest--

And before he even knows what he’s doing, Steve’s ripped the mask off his face, and then he’s cutting Tony off with a kiss, gentle and sweet and full of hopeful questioning. In his favor, Tony only freezes for a second before going pliant in Steve’s arms, kissing back just as softly. That, more than anything, assures Steve that everything is alright, that everything will be great.

“I love you,” he whispers, when they finally pull away from each other, nosing at Tony’s jaw and leaving himself wide open for a world of hurt.

But Tony doesn’t, disappoint him that is.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” he grumbles instead, trying to scowl despite the slow-burning blush on his face. “But I hope you realize that you’re not off the hook! I do not even care, Steven Rogers. When all this is done, you are going to take me to a bed, toss me down on it, and fuck me till the only thing I can remember is your cock. Do you understand me?”

He looks sort of like a ruffled puppy, demanding and so, so adorable, but Steve doesn’t tell him that because he values his balls and he is ecstatic. “I think,” he says instead, a filthy smile overtaking his face, “that I can manage that for you.”

“Good,” Tony says, licking his lips and eying Steve’s speculatively.

Good.” Steve practically purrs out.

“Great,” comes a third voice, dry as the Sahara, and both Steve and Tony’s eyes snap to Coulson, who looks as unruffled as ever. “I think I speak for us all when I say congratulations, but please keep this out of the conference room.”

Tony grins lasciviously. “Oh, good idea, Agent!” he says before turning puppy eyes on Steve and mouthing at his jaw. “You know what I find ridiculously hot? Conference room sex. As in let’s have it now.”

And Steve throws back his head and laughs, because nothing’s changed at all, has it?