“Tony! What the hell did you do?” Pepper yells, mouth an angry red slash. Steve loves that she wears red lipstick. It reminds him of the 30s. It’s the only thing about Pepper that does. She looks a little rumpled, as if she’s just run through a tornado, though considering Tony is involved, it’s an accurate assessment.
“Pep, you’ll have to be a little more specific. Why just today, I have been enjoying this tofu lentil curry with Cap and Bruce, I debugged some of the armor code-”
“This, Tony, this royalties check from what appears to be a SEX TOY company-”
“And I sparred – oh, that-”
“YES, that, Tony, my god-”
It’s at this point Steve finally abandons his meal to gape openly at the two of them, barely following their unique brand of conversing that consists of talking over one another. Bruce scribbles notes in the margins of an academic paper, rapid-fire, his hand not hesitating even once. He probably hasn’t even realized Pepper is in the kitchen.
Tony looks slightly embarrassed, a light flush catching the back of his neck, which in Stark terms is practically shame, especially in the way he sucks in a quick breath and lets it out without actually saying anything.
“I’m waiting.” She leans forward, nails falling against the granite counter with a clack that makes Bruce glance up and mumble something, hand still skating across the pages. He’s almost as bad as Tony when it comes to sleep and work.
Tony drags a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes, well, they assured me it was for a very good cause, and also that it would be very anonymous-”
Pepper is about to implode, all her frustration gathered in the furrow of her brow. “Because the Stark Slammer is so anonymous!”
Bruce’s pen finally skids to a halt.
“Well,” Tony says, grinning, eyes bright. “Do I get to try it out? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to literally fuck myself-”
Steve slides his coffee cup out of Pepper’s reach, but it turns out she doesn’t actually need crockery to beat Tony senseless.
Steve orders one online.
He tells himself it’s for revenge. Tony is so rarely embarrassed that he should take advantage of it. Just last week, Tony set all his electronics to start playing an old propaganda film of the Star Spangled Man any time Steve walked into a room; the Tower is practically an electronic itself, which is to say, it played a lot. Stepping into the shower and being assaulted by that particular film on the optics wall wasn’t something he wanted to repeat. Neither was the short-lived bruise on his shoulder when he slipped out of surprise and crashed into the faucet.
Technically, JARVIS orders it for him. It’s not that he can’t use the internet or that it offends his delicate sensibilities (because honestly, he’s not actually ninety and also, he’s known some very dirty nonagenarians) but he’s not sure he wouldn’t spontaneously combust when face to face with the fact that he’s ordering a replica of his best friend’s cock in gold of all colors. The other choice, JARVIS informed him politely, was red. Of course.
The package almost slips his mind, between an interview with Stephen Colbert and an attack by the Monster Of The Week, until Family Movie Night.
“Package for ya, Cap,” Tony says, tossing the box at him. To his immense relief, it is a plain box. And no one has scrawled “Tony Stark’s PENIS!!!!” on it – not that he actually thought it would, but sometimes modern day advertising and branding confuses him.
“Thanks,” he says, catching it one-handed.
“What’dya order?” Clint asks, mouth full of popcorn and M&Ms, which he likes to mix in the same bowl. Steve suspects it’s so he doesn’t have to share – Thor eats an unimaginable amount of popcorn and is no stranger to foreign matter in his popcorn (last week he mixed popcorn, uncooked pasta, and jello mix) but gets inexplicably offended by chocolate “defiling the popped treats!”
“Umm. A book?” When Tony raises an eyebrow at him, he says, “I’m gonna take this upstairs, back in a flash.”
Despite all his bluster, the package remains unopened in the bottom of Steve’s closet, even through two more Tony pranks, one of which included bucket loads of glitter. In his bed. Just because he may have said he didn’t understand why so many people hated Twilight so much. (He wasn’t even saying it was good, okay, just that he didn’t understand the vitriol aimed at it!)
But he finds himself thinking about the dildo. And not in a ‘humiliate Tony’ way.
In a ‘sexy times’ way.
In a ‘bored in a meeting, mind wandering’ way, until certain parts of his anatomy become a little too interested and he has to picture the Hulk’s jolly green giant until things settle down a little bit.
Tony kicks Steve under the table.
“You okay, big guy?” he asks loudly, talking right over Agent Hill.
She continues straight through anyway, discusses the fourth point on an eighteen bulleted list about S.H.E.I.L.D. alien pollen protocols. Number ten is “aphrodisiacs” and Steve really hopes that doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.
“Fine,” Steve hisses back, ducking his head to stare at the tablet in front of him.
“Good.” Tony smirks. “You were staring at me pretty intently. There’s usually, you know, naked involved when someone stares at me that intently.”
Steve opens his mouth, to say what, he guesses he’ll find out when it happens, but a well placed throwing knife a centimeter from Tony’s elbow diffuses the situation. As one, the table turns to look at Natasha, who is casually trimming her nails with another knife.
“What?” She smirks. “I’m very interested in this genderswapping pollen.”
Curiosity finally gets the better of him. Even though his room is supposedly sound proof, Steve waits until most everyone is gone. Thor, Clint, and Bruce like to watch crappy slasher movies at an old theater and get ice cream, a near weekly tradition. Tony hasn’t been back to the Tower in a few days, undoubtedly pulled into the office by Pepper and binging on a backlog of paperwork and loose ends. Natasha is in the gym and can be counted on to stay there for three or four hours at least.
The anticipation has been coiled in his gut all day, a slow burning arousal distracting him. He’s resisted the urge to sneak away and erm, exercise his right, to take the edge off but he’s glad he didn’t when he already feels unsteady and trembling in expectation just from opening the box.
The Stark Slammer is sleek, almost lovely. There’s a faint plastic smell to the toy but Steve ignores it, hand fitting nicely around the shaft when he lifts it from the cardboard. A sample pack of lube flutters out and lands on his sheets.
“Oh,” he says faintly because Tony is a smaller man in stature, but certainly not in this area.
The gold is disconcerting, as is the squishy, almost jelly texture but –
The dildo curves slightly and there’s a pronounced vein on the underside. Hints of other veins snake up to the head, proudly pointed, and the vague shape of balls at the base.
Steve’s mouth dries as he wraps a palm around it, noting the way his fingers barely overlap around its girth. His breath is harsh in the quiet room, a pant, like his lungs can’t quite get air, and he is acutely aware of how illicit this feels, how that thought sends a spike of lust through him.
He slides his thumb over the slit, imagines collecting drops of pre-cum to lick up and groans involuntarily. His jeans are so tight, too tight – he fumbles with the fly, easing it over his bulge and shoves the denim and his boxers down in a frantic motion.
Heat burns through him as Steve works a hand around his own cock, gripping the base tightly and flicking his hand up. It’s a little rough, his palm catching slightly, and he hisses.
He wonders what the dildo – Tony’s cock – will feel like in his mouth so he brings it to his lips, lets it rest there a moment before darting in to lick the head. It doesn’t have a taste, he notes, but he rolls his tongue around the head one more time before spreading his lips across it and sucking it into his mouth.
His jaw stretches around it and his hand speeds up on his dick as he imagines it stretching his hole in the same way, letting an embarrassed moan huff in the back of his throat.
It slams into him that this, an imitation of Tony, could be inside him and Steve’s hand stutters for a moment, precum making it slick, hips jerking, and he gasps in a loud breath and forces himself still.
Sweating, flushed, he grabs the packet of lube and tears it open frantically. Suddenly, he can’t wait any longer, can’t tease and he opens himself with almost clinical fingers.
Steve rolls onto his knees and elbows, ass spread to the open air, face mashed into the pillows and it feels positively indecent. Lube leaks down his crack. He feels like a porn star.
“God,” he bites into the pillow, hips jerking a little as he runs the head of the dildo through the mess around his hole, circling it slightly. He forces himself to relax his muscles, pushing in slightly.
There’s a slight burn that clears quickly when the head pushes past the rings of muscle and he rocks slowly against the toy, taking a few more centimeters every time he thrusts back into it until he bottoms out. Steve stills for a minute, panting, every muscle clenching sporadically. If this were Tony, would he moan? Would his hips twitch, resisting the urge to roll and plunge and thrust? Would the feel of Steve’s muscles drive him crazy until his pupils were wide and sweat beaded across his skin? When he finally moved, would it be visceral and wild and oh-so-Tony, all uncontrolled finesse?
Steve moans again and brings a lube-sticky hand back to his waning erection. The pressure makes his knees falter and he tenses for a moment until he balances out again, snorting a wet laugh into the pillow.
He pulls the toy out slowly, hyperaware of every drag and resistance, and reseats it with a quick flick of his wrist, groaning, “oooohh, god” into the fabric. He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping between his hand and the downward thrusts into his ass. It’s like Tony’s cock was molded for him, filling and pressing and owning every inch of him. There’s a sheen of sweat over him and he glides against the sheets like some sensual creature, tactile and yearning like he’s never been before.
The pillow swallows his cries, a litany of “god”s and “fuck”s and even a “Tony!” the “y” strangled when he hits his prostrate just right. The pleasure builds low in his belly, tingling through his toes and spine, and he’s like a tightened string, taunt, straining, on the verge-
Steve rolls onto his back and stares at the molding on the ceiling, muscles slowly pushing the dildo out of his body, come cooling on the sheet, face burning, coming down from the best orgasm of his life, and thinks,
Steve can’t stop watching Tony. Every movement, every ripple of muscle, the way his forearms clench when he crosses his arms, how he leads with his hips. Steve’s mind provides him with very detailed memories of the dildo, how it felt inside him, the stretch of his mouth around it, the heft of it. But knowing doesn’t ease the burn even a little, because he’s dying to know what his sweat slick frame feels like under his palms, the exact notes of his cum, the slide of his goatee all over his body. He wants to study Tony’s cock, find all the imperfections in the toy. He wants to be able to write a dissertation on its accuracies and inaccuracies.
Tony notices the staring.
He uses the toy three more times before he admits that he may be a little obsessed with his best friend’s cock.
The dildo is hilt deep in him, his hips lifting off the bed and hand flying across his cock when there’s a sharp rap on the door. Steve’s heart stutters to a stop and he fumbles with his blanket, throwing it across his legs, thankful he hadn’t bothered to shuck his shirt in his earlier haste.
“Come in!” he yells, grabbing a book off his nightstand and flipping it to a page, hoping he doesn’t look too flushed. The dildo is still deep inside him, pressing him exactly right even when he doesn’t move. It makes him want to squirm and fidget, pant and arch against it.
His door swings open.
“Hey Cap,” Tony says, squinting in the dim light of his room. “What are you doing?”
“Reading,” Steve squeaks as Tony shuts the door.
“Can you even see?”
Steve swallows. “Yeah, fine, just fine-” Tony flicks on the light switch and Steve frantically and desperately tries to looks normal.
It’s useless, though – his chest is still heaving, he’s flushed and sweaty, his hair probably looks like it went four rounds with a leaf blower, oh, and his ass muscles are twitching and undulating around a plastic representation of a penis, the model of which is standing in his room, watching him.
Tony raises an eyebrow, the other furrowing. “You okay?” he asks, even as he comes closer to the bed. “You look a little sick…”
“I’m fine!” Steve squeaks again, shying away from Tony’s hand on his forehead, then gasping when the movement drives the toy right into him. His hips thrust up, just a little bit, and-
“Steve, what’s wrong?” Tony yanks the blanket from the bed in one smooth motion.
- and he wants to die. He wants to melt into the blankets and never ever face Tony again.
Steve closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to watch Tony, doesn’t want to see his face when he zeroes in on his cock, so hard it’s twitching, doesn’t want to see the dawn of comprehension at the hint of gold between his legs.
There’s no response. He’d expected a slammed door by now at the very least, some objects hurled at his head, angry words, something more than this bracing silence. Steve feels cowardly and he doesn’t like it, so he forces his eyes open and looks up.
A hint of saliva glimmers on Tony’s slack mouth, his lips parted. Even as he watches, Tony draws his lower lip into his mouth and it puckers around his teeth. Steve tracks up to his eyes, lidded and dark.
“Steve…” he groans quietly and Steve’s hip buck involuntarily.
Tony leans closer. Steve is on fire, electrified, all at the same time. A litany of his name falls from Tony’s mouth, wrapping around him, and Steve had no idea anything could be this intense when Tony’s hands aren’t even on him, just his eyes, memorizing him.
“Steve,” Tony groans again. “Can I, please, god, say yes, can I touch you?”
“Fu- yesss,” Steve hisses as Tony skates a hand down his chest, straight to wrap around his cock and Steve arches so hard, he comes off the bed, muscles clench.
“You’re so beautiful, so, so, so beautiful,” Tony rambles and Steve drags his head down, tries to nip at his lips but just drags his tongue across them instead. Tony gets the idea and presses kisses into his neck, his jaw, finally into his lips, bruising and desperate.
“Tony,” Steve says nonsensically when he pulls away but Tony slides into his mouth easily, teasing and overwhelming, molding right into places Steve didn’t know he had.
Steve’s head falls back, away from Tony’s dizzying kisses, when the hand on his cock dips lower. At the first thrust of the toy in him, Steve shouts, can’t stop himself, feels so needy and more turned on than he’d ever thought possible, ready to unravel at the slightest touch.
“Steve, Steve, Steve,” Tony whispers into his neck. “You have no fucking idea how hot this is, how hot you are, do you? I haven’t gone from zero to sailing at full mast since that time with two nuns and a stripper.”
Steve starts to frown, but then Tony twists the dildo just right and the thought scatters. “Fuck!”
“I love that mouth of yours. You have cocksucking lips.” He pulls the toy out, then pushes it all the way in and Steve feels the motion everywhere. “Did you put this in your mouth? Suck until your jaw hurt, touching yourself, slipping fingers in to loosen yourself up?”
“Yes,” Steve moans, fingers twisting in the sheets. They shred under his strength.
“Jesus Christ,” Tony whimpers into his neck. “You’re killing me.”
Steve pants, can’t quite get enough air into his lungs or enough blood to his brain to focus, but he manhandles his way into Tony’s trousers and strokes him through his boxers, rough and possessive. Tony comes undone, rolling up into his hand, mouth forming words that don’t quite finish, prayers and curses and pleas and filthy, filthy suggestions, so very Tony that Steve feels drunk on it.
“What do you want?” Tony asks suddenly.
“I want to ride you,” Steve growls before his brain catches up. But he can’t argue with the results, not when the sound Tony makes is ragged and cracked at the edges, not when he rolls off him, tugs his pants off. It’s something Steve has imagined, Tony below him, writhing and needy, Steve in control, taking Tony at his own pace until they both can’t handle it and Steve comes all over Tony’s chest. He tried it once with the dildo, but it was too difficult so he’d turned onto his back and fucked himself hard instead.
Steve pulls the dildo out, gasping when the head catches against his prostrate.
“You’re going to kill me,” Tony wheezes. He’s lazily pulling at his cock, slippery with lube already, and Steve feels a moment of disappointment he wasn’t able to do it himself.
“Shut up,” Steve replies. He knocks Tony’s hand out of the way and straddles him. Tony’s eyes go wide, but Steve doesn’t give him time to protest, just lines him up and takes him all the way in one stroke until he’s seated as deep as he can go.
“Ohh, fuck! Steve!”
“That’s the idea,” he says and rolls his hips experimentally.
“Someone’s getting snarky.”
Steve doesn’t respond, concentrates on the feeling of Tony filling him, both familiar and not. The shape, the girth, the length all feel familiar, but nothing could have prepared him for the heat, for the nuances of Tony’s gasps and twitches, his hands sliding down his arms, across his abs, playing across his cock and behind his balls.
Tony’s fingers grip his hips tightly, urging him faster, and he complies, easing some of his body weight off Tony so he can get leverage and with Tony thrusting in tandem, it gets so much better.
He lets his head fall forward, blindly seeking Tony’s lips, and their mouths skate messily together
“Fuck, Steve,” Tony mumbles against his mouth.
“Yeah,” Steve pants back.
Tony’s hands find his ass, clenching, and Steve moans, tightening around Tony. Tony swears and his fingers are suddenly everywhere, fisting him just right, hard, twisting around his head and gripping the base of his cock hard, and Steve doesn’t realize he’s coming until his vision whites out and his come is cooling on Tony’s chest.
“Sorry,” he starts to say, but Tony’s hips stutter a bit. He keens, eyes closed and mouth pursed together, and falls limp, panting heavily. It’s so quiet, contained, the antithesis of Tony and Steve feels privileged to have seen it, his enhanced memory already replaying every detail.
Steve braces his arms on either side of them, trembling and weak and so, so satisfied, just staring at Tony. His eyes are still closed, but he’s grinning and flushed. His hair is mussed, in a way not even a five-day science bender can achieve and Steve swells with pride. I did that.
“If that was revenge for that quip in the meeting, I’ll never behave again,” Tony says.
Steve laughs. His arms are no match for the afterglow, still shaking and dubious against his weight, so he pulls off of Tony and collapses next to him.
Something jabs into his stomach. “What? Oh,” he says, pulling the dildo out from under him. Tony stares at him as he wipes it down and stashes it under his pillow.
“Looks like someone got some big boy toys,” Tony says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh my god,” Steve groans, breathless, pushing his face into the pillow. “I honestly cannot believe you just said that.”