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Come Ride with Me

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Tony’s had a long and rough week, alone in the middle of nowhere, and when he touches down at Eden Landing, he just wants a hot shower, a proper meal and ten hours of sleep. Everything aches—there’s plenty of physical stuff to do even if he leaves the heaviest lifting to his rusty but trusty bots—and he's covered in sweat and regolith. The coppery dust always gets everywhere, suits and airlocks or not.

Of course, he finds himself perfectly willing to rethink his priorities as soon as he steps out of his battered little ship and spots Steve.

Captain Rogers, of the Ares Confederate Police, is standing in the landing bay right next to the ship, arms behind his back, which makes his upper body look even more triangular than usual. His midnight blue uniform is spotless as always, the pleats crisp as if they’d just come straight off the trouser press. You'd never believe he's the sole representative of the planetary police force in a tiny, grimy backcountry outpost, far from the safety and luxury of the domes of Hellas Planitia.

“Howdy, sheriff,” Tony greets him cheerfully, and even throws in a salute. “Is there an issue of some sort?”

“That's for me to find out, Stark. I need to see the documentation for your latest dig,” Steve says in his haughtiest commanding voice.

Yeah, that shower can wait a little longer, Tony decides.

“I've got all the paperwork in there,” Tony nods towards his ship.

“Lead the way, then,” Steve says, and follows Tony into the Golden Avenger.

It’s a rundown, repurposed private surface hopper, something that was positively lavish a decade ago. Now, the gold paint is faded, and the whole thing would probably be worth more as spare parts. Tony’s stripped away most of the interior to make space for the tech and cargo he needs to carry. The cabin is cozy, with just enough height that Tony can stand up straight, which means Steve needs to crouch a little.

The second the door's closed, they're all over each other.

“Friday, dim the windows, and make sure we're not disturbed,” Tony manages, while Steve grabs hold of his coat's lapels to pull them close together.

“Sure thing, boss,” the ship’s AI acknowledges. “Want some music?”

“No, we’re goo—mmmmmf,” Tony doesn’t quite get to finish his sentence, because Steve decides to smash their lips together that very moment.

Steve’s mouth tastes minty, like toothpaste or mouthwash. How is it humanly possible for him to remain so damn clean in this place, in every way imaginable? Tony’s pretty sure what Steve’s getting in return as their tongues meet and teeth clash is sand, maybe with a tinge of oil. Not that nice.

“I stink,” Tony notes.

“I think it’s hot,” Steve returns, and moves his lips to Tony’s throat, sucking lightly at his already racing pulse, then nibbling far less gently.

Well, if Steve’s not going to complain, Tony has no reason to apologize. Suddenly he’s not feeling so tired anymore.

After that, there aren’t many words left, just hands, working off Steve’s uniform jacket and Tony’s worn leather coat, groping under waistbands, roaming over slick skin and smooth muscle, as if in a desperate hurry to touch every single square inch.

Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s thighs, and Steve slams him against the fuselage with enough strength to make the ship rock in its place—which is even more impressive considering he can’t even stand straight in the low cabin. Tony retaliates by biting at Steve’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

Okay, so, it’s been a while since they’ve last done this and they’re both a bit eager.

Tony lifts his head to bring his lips right next to Steve’s ear. “Top or bottom?” he asks, letting his breath tickle Steve’s skin.

“I think I'd like,” Steve begins huskily, and slides the hand that was grabbing Tony's ass under his clothes to his front, to curl his fingers around Tony’s cock where it's straining against the thick fabric of his jeans. “...to have this in me,” Steve finishes the sentence.

Tony lets out a pleased groan. When he finds his voice again, he adds, “Pilot's chair.”

The interior of the ship really is quite snug, and while there's a bed in one corner, the ceiling is so close to it that it makes anything other than sleeping in it a seriously claustrophobic affair. Instead, Tony guides Steve towards the front of the ship, and presses him against the back of the chair.

Tony keeps grinding his hips against Steve's while he reaches over for the mechanism to tilt the chair’s back forwards, providing a nice inclined surface to rest against.

“Turn,” he tells Steve, and follows up the verbal command by placing his hands on Steve's biceps to twist him round. Steve goes with it, turns his back towards Tony and bends over to lean on the back of the chair, positioning his ass nicely just where Tony wants it.

Steve pushes his pants and briefs down in one move, while Tony tries to multitask, fumbling at the buttons of his jeans with one hand, reaching out with the other to grab the lube that he always keeps on a shelf close to the console, just in case—ah, there it is, and there goes the last button, finally, because those jeans were starting to feel painfully restrictive.

“Get on with it, citizen,” Steve barks in that commanding voice that gives Tony chills.

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice; obviously neither of them is in a mood for something slow and gentle. He takes just enough time teasing Steve’s ass with lubed fingers to make sure he’s not going to actually hurt Steve, and pushes in.

The guttural sound that Steve makes at that is almost as much of a turn-on as the feeling of that tight ass clenching around Tony’s cock.

“That about right, officer?” Tony asks, struggling to keep his voice casual.

“Getting there,” Steve replies, his voice about as badly controlled as Tony’s.

Steve is holding on to the chair’s back with both hands to keep himself in position, so Tony wraps one hand around Steve’s erection as he starts thrusting, going for a similar rhythm with both the hand and his hips.

“I’m not going to break,” Steve grumbles. It sounds very much like a dare.

Tony’s never one to refuse a challenge, so he ups his game, going faster and rougher, making Steve grunt and the metal of the pilot’s chair complain, and yeah, to be honest, Tony’s not exactly being quiet, himself.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s better,” Steve comments, his breath catching as Tony rams into him. He’s pretty sure Steve’s close now, all muscles taut and trembling where Tony’s holding on to his hip.

Tony’s definitely not far behind. A few more thrusts, and he’s done, spilling into Steve with a higher-pitched moan.

Steve lets go of the chair with one hand, and takes hold of Tony’s where he was jacking Steve off, guiding him to grab a little tighter and to go even faster.

Soon enough, Steve peaks with a shudder and a gasp, his come splattering the back of the chair.

Tony definitely doesn’t mind that; the covering’s easy enough to clean, and Tony’s very, very proud of his ability to turn the spotless captain so unashamedly filthy.

They rest against one another for a short while afterwards, Steve’s forearms on the chair, Tony’s chest against his back, the only sound their slowing breaths. Then, Tony pulls out and moves away, heading over to the washbasin to grab a towel for Steve.

“I kinda missed you out there,” Tony notes, offhand, as Steve’s cleaning himself up.

“I never would’ve guessed,” Steve replies, just as casually.

A few more minutes, and the captain looks almost as immaculate as when he walked in—hair neatly combed, uniform jacket perfectly smooth, but his pants ever so slightly crinkled from having been carelessly pushed to his ankles.

Steve steps to the hatch and stops in front of it. “Don’t think for one minute, Stark,” he begins, pointing an accusing finger at him. “That I don’t know your latest dig is venturing awfully close to HammerSpace territory.”

Tony replies that with his most disarming smile. “What’re you going to do about it, sheriff? Arrest and handcuff me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve returns with a mildly amused look. “Officially, I don’t have a clue.”

“Officially, you shouldn’t be involved with a borderline outlaw anyway,” Tony notes.

“Who says I’m involved with anyone?” Steve says. “This has been a routine inspection.”

“Which I assume I passed.”

“With flying colors. Though, really, Tony,” Steve begins, his voice suddenly taking a different, more demanding tone. “Be careful, okay? If you do anything stupid–“

“You’ll do what’s right and not what’s best for me. Yeah, I know.”

Steve gives him a rueful look, and opens the hatch. “Go take a shower, Stark, you stink,” he says as his parting words.

Of course, that’s even truer now, though there’s a nice hint of Steve’s aftershave on top of everything else.