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Five Kinks Tony Stark Does Not Have Anymore Thanks to Steve Rogers  (+1 He Still Likes)

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Tony threw his hands up in frustration. "When I suggested this I was hoping, I don't know, that you'd tie me up and smack me around a little. Like the stuff they do in porn."

"Tony." Steve turned from the computer, where he had twenty five opened tabs. "Being your Dom is a big responsibility." He pointed to the screen, which was littered with adult ads. "This site here says that it's common for submissives with inexperienced Doms to experience 'sub-drop'. Its symptoms are similar to shock - depression, headaches, decreased blood flow-"

"Jarvis, scrub the search history." Tony muttered out of the side of his mouth. The last thing he needed was Clint to get a hold of this.

"-and that's not mentioning all the ways I could screw up a scene and traumatize you physically and mentally forever." Steve chewed his bottom lip worriedly. "Tony, I think you should call your lawyers. We need to draw up a ... contract?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Tony groaned. "Just tear off my clothes and fuck me against the wall."



"Okay, Tony. What did you do now?" Steve asked, clinging onto the armor although Tony's arm was firm around his waist. The cool wind ruffled his hair, making him tug closed the lapels of his leather jacket. What Steve thought would be a relaxing lunch date with Tony was rapidly turning into a flight to somewhere mysterious.

"Steve, Steve, Steve. Always so suspicious." Tony did a slow barrel roll that had Steve scrambling to hold onto him and laughing. "Can't I take my best guy for a nice little trip?"

"I better be your only guy, mister." Steve grinned, relaxing. The view below was spectacular as they curved around the Manhattan coastline.

Suddenly, Tony began to roll again. Steve tightened his hold in anticipation, but Tony stayed balanced on his back, allowing Steve to straddle his hips as they slowly traveled above the ocean. To their left was the Statue of Liberty, and Steve glanced at it with a faint smile until Tony cleared his throat.

"So Clint and I were talking last night ..." Tony curled a hand around Steve's thigh, running it up and down slowly.

"Hm," Steve raised an eyebrow. "I knew I should have agreed to Coulson's demand that you two be given mutual restraining orders."

"Yeah, well we had this bet about who could have sex in the weirdest place." Tony said, and then snorted. "The idiot chose Fury’s office. Good luck convincing Coulson."

"And you decided to fly me six thousand feet above the ocean." Steve said flatly.

“This is your chance to show that you’re the cooler boyfriend,” Tony was undoubtedly wriggling his eyebrows under the suit.

“Well, that’s not even a little bit tempting.”

"Wait, before you make a decision you will surely regret, I think you should look at the adjustment I made to the suit!" Tony transferred Steve's weight to the crook of an elbow before the armor at his crotch began to whirr and retreat.

Steve caught on a second too late. "Tony, don't-"

A yelp of rude shock rang over Manhattan.

"... it's about forty degrees out here." Steve finished miserably, "Jeez, Tony. You of all people should know that."



"Hm ..." Clint paused in the bedroom doorway, surveying Tony as he lay in fetal position, sulkily clutching a hot water bottle to his groin. "Can't decide what to mock you for without more information."

"Fuck off, Barton."

"Ooooh," Clint said delightedly. "I’ll take Did Not Get Laid for 1200, Alex."

"Clint." Steve bustled in, carrying a tray and looking every inch the long-suffering house mother as he fixed Clint with a disappointed glare. "Leave Tony alone. He's not feeling well today."

"Okay," Clint said cheerfully, slinking towards the door. "By the way Tony, you owe me fifty bucks."

“What?” Tony twisted his head so that he could gape at Clint's retreating back. "Video or it didn't happen!"

Shaking his head, Steve put down the tray and fluffed the pillow under Tony's head.

"Okay, I could get used to this." Tony arched into Steve's hand in his hair, nuzzling his wrist like a needy cat. "Pamper me, baby, I hurt so bad."

"Stop that." Steve swatted him lightly on the arm. Tony laughingly tried to roll out of the way before his body shuddered, and he released a real cry of pain. "What's wrong?" Steve asked immediately, putting his hands on Tony’s hips .

"Just a cramp." Tony answered through gritted teeth.

"Okay, okay." Steve maneuvered Tony onto his back and began to rub his leg muscles in slow, gentle motions. Soon, Tony began to uncurl on the bed, making breathy groans as Steve's fingers drew closer and closer to his groin.

"Oh baby," Tony slurred. He'd gotten massages before, but since they were usually from Swedish supermodels who couldn't bench-press a meatball sandwich, Steve's warm, firm grip was something else. "You keep this up, and we might get kinky after all."

"I used to get real bad leg cramps after the serum," Steve said conversationally, ignoring Tony's last statement with the ease of habit. "Someone - shoot, I can't remember who - was nice enough to show me how to work them out."

"Mmmm ... I bet he did," Tony said lasciviously, imagining a young soldier, eyes wide with hero-worship and confused lust as he groped Steve’s virginal body. God, Tony remembered a wet dream or two to this effect.

“Oh yes.” Steve snapped his fingers with the hand that wasn’t on Tony’s skin. “It was Howard.”



Even back (way back) when Tony had thought Steve Rogers was a total ass, this had barely interfered with his gleeful nerd-love of Captain America. It was the uniform – fuck yes, the uniform. Tony had spent the best years of post-pubescent adolescence jerking off to a poster of Captain America that hung above his bed.

Now, wonder of wonders, Tony got to play grabass and superhusbands with the Star Spangled Man himself, and after every battle, the uniform came back to his lab for repairs. Like the awesome and considerate lover he was, Tony reinforced the fabric with the strongest, lightest, most fireproof, waterproof, bulletproof, breathable, and comfortable material his lab could synthesize. Like the perpetually horny fanboy he was, Tony made sure that the uniform’s cut was very, very … fitted (he had provided the measurements for Steve’s ass personally).

And so it is with an eye to reaping the benefits of his hard work that Tony moaned, “Shit, Steve, leave the uniform on,” as he writhed against his boyfriend. They had just returned from saving New York for the trillionth time, sticky with sweat and gritty with rubble. Instead of flying Steve to SHIELD headquarters for a debriefing, Tony had kidnapped him to Stark Tower for a round of well-deserved victory sex, something Steve had realized that Tony planned all along as soon as the metal suit came off and revealed … nothing underneath.

“Tony,” Steve panted as he pressed Tony against the glass door of the balcony. “We should-“ He groaned as Tony undulated his hips, rubbing his cock against the red and white stripes on Steve’s abdomen. Tony decided that the goal for tonight was to jizz all over Steve’s big white chest-star. Oh yeah. “At least let me decontaminate, I think that one of Viper’s minions sprayed me with something-“

“Is it sex pollen?” Tony moaned, squeezing lube on Steve’s gloved fingers. “I think it’s sex pollen.”

It wasn’t sex pollen, as Tony found out later, when a painful, fluorescent orange rash sprang up on, well … everywhere, and Clint nearly injured himself laughing when he found out.



Because he was a jackass like that, Tony threw a surprise bridal shower for Clint a week before he was about to become Clint Barton-Coulson (hey, Natasha had had the bachelor party all wrapped up, so Tony had to do something). Tony had even gotten Clint the perfect gag gift, wrapped up in shiny red and gold paper and topped with a card that said “For when the dear ball and chain makes you sleep on the couch.”

Clint was not as amused, and the next day Tony found that his custom-ordered RealDoll had been thoroughly used as target practice.

So Tony was expecting some kind of retribution when his turn rolled around (yeah, it weirded him out sometimes too when he looked down and saw the platinum band around his finger, weirded him out in the best way).

Sure enough, Clint cornered him in his workshop while he was hiding from the bazillion cake tastings and tux fittings Pepper had scheduled and dragged him upstairs for his bridal shower. The only reason Tony couldn’t fight back was because he was too weak from his caffeine crash and that fucking traitor Jarvis had conspired against him.

Fortunately, someone had roped in Steve too, and two hours later, both of them were sitting in the living room, surrounded by mountains of wrapping paper and friends who were tipsy on mimosas.

“Thanks, Thor, for the … edible panties,” Tony said dryly. His main source of amusement - since he was barred from the hard liquor and wasn’t willing to lower himself to drinking alcohol that tasted like fruit - was watching Steve’s face turn redder and redder as the party went on. Tony purposely dropped the panties, which had the texture of fruit roll-ups, into Steve’s lap and watched the blush deepen to magenta.

“It is for your Midgardian custom of consuming each other’s genitals on your wedding night!” Thor boomed, and then frowned worriedly in the resulting silence, “I assume they grow back?”

“Thor,” Jane said gently, “Have you been listening to your brother’s explanations of earth customs again?”

“Nay,” Thor looked even more perplexed. “It was the fair Lady Darcy who explained this particular ritual to me.”

“Moving on from that cheerful subject,” Tony said quickly. Steve looked a little queasy. “Bruce?”

It was clear that Banner was more than a little drunk, as he would not stop giggling before, during, and after Steve unpacked the box of glow-in-the-dark-condoms.

Lightsaber battles,” was all Bruce could say before he passed out on Natasha’s lap.

The last to come was Clint. Tony had been dreading and anticipating this moment in equal parts ever since he’d been dragged from the basement and a headband with a paper veil had been stuck on his head. Even Steve could feel it. He kept glancing from Tony to Clint with a worried look on his face.

“This is gonna seem kinda lame after everyone else’s gifts, but...” Clint shrugged, handing the shoebox-sized present to Tony before reclaiming his seat, snuggled against Coulson on the couch. Tony narrowed his eyes. What was Barton playing at?

Maybe there were embarrassing naked photos set to spring out and scatter everywhere as soon as Tony opened the box. Gingerly, he held it to his ear and shook it.

To his credit, Steve was the very picture of long-suffering patience as his future husband opened their last present with his body completely hunched over the box as if ready at any moment to leap onto a grenade.

“What.” Tony said a minute later, holding up a pair of pink, fuzzy dice. Instead of numerical dots, however, on the six sides of the first die were six different actions – kiss, suck, stroke, tease, spank, fuck, and on the second die were different body parts – feet, mouth, throat, ass, chest, dick.

“They’re really awesome.” Clint said earnestly. “Coulson loves them.” And Coulson dipped his head in embarrassment, a flush of pink over the bridge of his nose.

While Steve thanked Clint and Coulson politely and Pepper cooed over the dice, Tony just stared at Clint and slowly shook his head. Weak, man. Weak.

Clint just smirked from his spot under Coulson’s arm.

On their honeymoon, Tony found out why.

“These dice are fucking loaded,” He hissed, desperately gripping the base of his dick. Two hours. Two hours of foreplay and nothing even close to ‘fuck ass’ or ‘suck cock’. Hell, Tony would settle for a ‘stroke cock’ right about now.

“We don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” Steve said, looking dubiously at Tony’s purpling cock. His own was perky but not nearly as needy due to a ‘fuck throat’ he’d rolled earlier. “I can just blow-“

No, Steve,” Tony said, forcing out every word through gritted teeth. “I’m not giving Barton the satisfaction.”

“What-“ Steve began.

“Don’t you get it, Steve? This is JUMANJI!” Tony slammed his fist on the mattress. It bounced slightly. “We play till the end!” It was possible that most of the blood in his body had already drained away from his head.

Dutifully, Steve rolled the dice across the comforter. Tony had his fingers crossed, his toes crossed, and he even sent a prayer or two up to the big guy.

“Spank … throat,” Steve read doubtfully.



Before Steve and Tony had crossed the awkward boundary between acquaintances and friends, back when Loki was still technically a villain instead of what he is now, which is Darcy’s emo boyfriend, Tony had spent a week living as a cat.

It was due to some spell meant to teach him humility yada yada yada. Loki was definitely mellowing out at this point. His supervillain activities consisted primarily of playing mind games with the Avengers, making giant fuzzy animals roam around Manhattan, and finding new and creative ways to fuck with Fox News (Loki did not appreciate or understand their accusations that he and Thor were “promoting the pagan agenda”).

Anyway, Tony the cat apparently got along with Steve waaaaay better than Tony the almost-a-real-boy had ever done. Steve had always had a soft spot for small, defenseless things, and Tony’s cat-instincts made him a total cuddleslut.

By the end of the week, Steve was carrying Tony around everywhere in the mansion in the cradle of his arms and Tony, never a huge fan of dignity anyways, purred nearly non-stop whenever Steve pet him. The other Avengers’ reactions ranged from amusement (Thor) to discomfort (Bruce) to fury (Fury).

The only awkward part happened when Steve was watching TV and a naked human Tony had popped back into existence on his lap.

Anyways, now whenever Tony had a nightmare or a flashback, he always went crawling to Steve to sprawl on his lap and be petted behind the ears and roll around without purpose. Sometimes he even purred, when Steve’s fingers find the right spot.

The first time Bruce walked in on it, he immediately backed out, his eyes covered. “You guys! This is the living room, as in shared living space. Stop getting kinky on places other people have to sit!”

Mostly to prevent a hulking out (yeah, Bruce’s eyes were flashing green), Tony called after, “We’re not fucking! This has nothing to do with sex!”

“Do you want it to be?” Steve asked in Tony’s ear, his fingers curling lightly around Tony’s neck, making him imagine a collar, heavy and supple. Maybe with a jaunty bell?

“Just call me a good pussy,” Tony said suggestively, just as Bruce re-entered the room.