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dazed in the final count

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This is not how Tony had expected to spend the evening.

Steve is warm and solid against him, though, and, god, he's had a crush on Captain America since he was eight, he's wanted this since they pulled him out of the ice. Already his breath is ragged in his throat and they still have their clothes on, Steve's dick is like a brand against his hip, desire a burning coal in his belly. Steve's hips roll against his and he throws his head back, moaning, whining as Steve lunges forward and mouths along his throat, breathing wet and hot against his skin, nipping sharply. Tony wants, too much, too strongly, wants to be on his knees with Steve's prick in his mouth, pressed into the bed with Steve's teeth on the back of his neck and his cock in his ass, against the wall with his legs around Steve's waist and hands held above his head, on his back with Steve heavy above him, thighs spread wide around his hips.

They're both a little drunk, Tony more so. Janet had thrown a party celebrating-- something, Tony's brain isn't functioning well enough to recall what. There had been copious amounts of alcohol, and Steve had just looked so good in his simple jeans and t-shirt that it had left Tony's mouth watering. Then things got a little hazy, somewhere between swaying dizzily into Steve's shoulder and being pressed roughly to the wall in Tony's room.

Steve's hands are large and hot on his ass, squeezing with every thrust of his hips, and then he bites down on his shoulder and Tony jerks with a shout. He wants-- He has to--

"Steve," he gasps, pressing against his shoulders, and god, Steve is just so big, so solid, it makes him want to melt. "Steve. Let me-- Let me go for a second."

Steve pulls back only a little, flushed pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, eyes wild and hazily confused. He rasps, "Tony, what," in a voice that rattles down Tony's spine.

He shivers and drops to his knees, fumbling at the zipper of Steve's jeans. His fingers brush against Steve's dick and Steve's hips jump, and Christ, he can smell him, thick and musky. He can't help but press his face to the bulge in front of him, moaning hungrily, nuzzling at the hard length he feels through the denim; above him he hears a hoarse groan, and then a large hand falls lightly to the back of his neck. It's tempting to tease, Tony has always gotten almost more joy out of driving his partners wild than he has from the actual sex, but right now all he really wants is to feel Steve's dick in his mouth.

His fingers are slow, clumsy, it takes longer for him to get the button undone than it reasonably should, and then the zipper flies open and Tony groans, wild with need at the sight of Steve's prick encased in white boxer briefs, already slightly damp with precome. He dips his fingers beneath the elastic and pulls, and Steve's dick springs forward and almost knocks him in the nose.

"God," he says, voice strangled. Steve's dick is gorgeous, long and thick, red and dripping at the tip. He laps at the head, the taste of precome exploding across his tongue, and he moans at the same time Steve does, hands shaking as he braces one against a strong hip and wraps the other around his cock to hold it steady. When he looks up, Steve is braced with one arm against the wall, head fallen forward; the flush has spread to his neck, his eyes glittering.

"God," he says again, and takes Steve's dick into his mouth, closing his eyes as the weight settles heavy on his tongue. He's wanted this for so long, the knowledge that he has Steve's dick in his mouth leaves him breathless like he's been punched in the stomach. He suckles briefly at the tip, then bobs his head, feeling his way around -- it's been a long, long time since he's done this -- and then something clicks and he falls into a steady rhythm. His mouth is stretched wider around Steve's dick than he can ever remember it being, before, and he shivers, the slick, wet sounds fueling his desire until he is whimpering around the cock on his tongue.

Above him Steve makes a low, rough noise, hips moving restlessly beneath Tony's hand.

Tony moans in encouragement, wants Steve to fuck his mouth so badly it almost hurts. He feels Steve still all over for a second, and then the hand on his neck settles firmly at the base of his skull and Steve's hips thrust sharply forward.

Tony's hips jerk and he whimpers in the back of his throat.

"You want this?" Steve asks, voice rough. Tony can only whine and suck harder, trying to remember how to relax his throat to take Steve in all the way. "God, Tony," he says, utterly shot, and Tony humps empty air like a dog when Steve pulls back and starts to seriously fuck his mouth. Steve moans, sides heaving beneath Tony's hands with his every breath, and the fingers at his nape tangle themselves in his hair.

"How--" Steve stops, clears his throat, has to try again. "How much can you -- Jesus, Tony -- how much can you take?"

In answer Tony swallows him to the root. He can feel his throat stretch to accommodate, breathes harshly through his nose as Steve shouts something wordless, hips jerking helplessly. "Fuck," Steve says, and just goes for it, holding Tony's head in place and just using his mouth.

Need is a frantic thing in his belly, rushing through his veins. His knees are beginning to hurt, jaw aching. Steve is everywhere around him, huge and solid and so unbearably sexy Tony could almost cry. He sucks urgently, wanting, needing, Steve to come, to taste it, feel it filling him up. Wants to remember this because he knows, he's always known, that nothing he wants will ever last.

Steve's moans are reaching a fever pitch, breath rattling in his chest, he's fucking his mouth faster with every heartbeat; Tony can feel the blood pulsing in his cock, feel the surge that means he's close. He moans, shivering wild and unabated, and sucks desperately, breathing through his nose. He wants this, needs it, heart thudding in his chest, arousal roaring through him.

Then Steve makes this sound, deep in his chest, this gravelly little noise that has to be painful, and his hand clenches down on the back of his neck, and Tony's whole body quakes as he comes, entirely untouched, with the taste of Steve's come in his mouth.

For a long moment they remain as they are, Steve's thighs shuddering with aftershocks, cock slowly softening in Tony's mouth. When Tony can finally breathe normally again he pulls back, lets Steve's dick slip from his mouth with a wet little noise that makes his prick twitch valiantly. He rests his forehead against Steve's hip, swallowing thickly, working his jaw to ease the ache. This is always the part he hates the most, after the adrenaline has worn off, when his partner inevitably wants to leave; it never hurts any less, no matter how often he does it, but he thinks this time, with Steve, may just kill him. He places a light kiss to the tip of Steve's cock and tucks it back into his boxer briefs, then settles back onto his heels.

Steve, when he finally gathers the nerve to look up at him, is staring at him like he's never seen him before. Then, so, so gently Tony could cry, he tangles his fingers in his hair and urges him to his feet. Tony follows, can't help but follow Steve, and then Steve's mouth has slanted over his and he licks his way into his mouth.

Tony's breath leaves him on a sob, opening before the kiss, and his arms come up without his bidding to wrap around Steve's neck. This, right now, Steve's tongue sweeping into his mouth, along his gums, drawing Tony's tongue into his mouth to suckle, is so sweet it aches in Tony's chest. Steve, beautiful, chivalrous Steve, has always been too kind for his own good. Even as Tony follows him to the bed, lets him pull him down and wrap him naked in the sheets, head pillowed on Steve's chest, he knows this won't last.

Steve is too good for him.

Tony is gone in the morning.

 

For two weeks Tony lets Pepper rush him from one tedious meeting to another. It doesn't stop him from thinking, about Steve's teeth on his throat, his hard thigh between Tony's, the feel of his dick in his mouth, but it does help him avoid him. He can't bear to see him, now, can't see the shame and pity he knows will be in Steve's eyes.

At night, curled up between high-count hotel sheets, he presses his fingers to the fading bruise Steve left on the back of his neck and jerks himself off to an orgasm that leaves him cold and shaking. He sleeps very little, eats even less.

Day by day the circles under his eyes darken to bruises. He doesn't like looking at himself in the mirror.

Pepper calls, the end of the second week, tells him to "get your ass back home, I've been helping you hide and now I'm done. Do you know how many times Steve has asked me where you are?"

So he goes, because he can really do nothing less. He hides in the office for a day and Pepper forces him to eat something, light Vietnamese take-out that sits like lead in his stomach, and then she sends him home like a naughty schoolboy with a slap on the wrist to "get some sleep, dammit." Not that he does. He opens the door to his room and is assaulted by the memory of being held against the wall, of falling to his knees and taking Steve in his mouth, of curling up together on that bed. He lies awake for hours, twisting the sheets between his fingers. Somewhere around three o'clock in the morning he rolls over and is immediately hit by Steve's smell, somehow still lingering on the sheets, and his whole body jerks and he gasps for breath, pressing his face into the pillow. He is instantly, painfully hard. He feels like he's been slapped in the face.

"Fuck," he mutters, and throws himself from the bed, scrambling into a pair of loose sweats and a white tank. He's in his lab so quickly he may as well have flown.

He doesn't come out for two days. When he does, Steve is waiting for him, wearing a shirt that looks obscenely good stretched across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, arms folded and all but tapping his foot in impatience.

Well, shit.

"Steve--"

"Come with me," Steve says, and walks away.

Tony gapes. "I-- What?"

Steve turns around, and there's a look in his eyes that Tony's never seen before. "We are going to go up to your room, where we can have some privacy," he says, "and then we are going to talk."

Tony can only stare at him. "Steve, what--"

"This is not up for negotiation," Steve says, eyes narrowing. Tony opens his mouth to say something, can't think of a thing, and Steve nods. "Good. Now let's go." And then he turns and leads the way to Tony's room, and as usual, Tony can only follow.

Once there Steve takes hold of his arms and pushes him down to sit on the bed, looms over him for a long moment while Tony can't help but stare at his crotch, level with his eyes, and lick his lips. Above him Steve huffs a short breath, something that sounds fond and exasperated to Tony's ears, and drops to his knees between Tony's thighs, a hand on each of Tony's knees. It leaves Tony higher than him, and he can feel the breath catch in his chest at the implications.

Then Steve meets his eyes and Tony sees confusion and something that leaves him warm all the way down to his toes. "Tony," Steve says. "Why did you leave?"

Suddenly he can hardly swallow around the lump in his throat. "I--" His voice cracks. He stops, clears his throat, pinned by how blue, how steady Steve's eyes are. Steve waits, patiently, thumbs rubbing circles in Tony's knees. "I thought--"

Voice gentle, soft, Steve says, "I hadn't intended for it to happen only once," like he can read Tony's mind. His eyes are quiet, serious. "Tony, even if I were the type for meaningless flings -- which you should know I'm not -- our relationship is far too important to lose."

Tony swallows, shaken to the core. "You were drunk," he whispers through the rocks in his throat.

"Tony," Steve says, in that tone of his that implies 'you should know better than that.' "I need a lot more alcohol than that to get drunk."

Right. He'd forgotten. He turns red, mumbles, "Oh."

A faint smile curls Steve's mouth. Then his mouth flattens and he simply looks at Tony for a long moment, still idly rubbing circles into his knees. "Do you have any idea," he asks, "how it felt to wake up and find you gone?"

Guilt hits Tony like a punch to the gut; he feels sick to his stomach. "I--" He stops. He's shaking, he realizes. He whispers, "No."

"I want this to work, Tony," Steve says. "I want to go to bed with you and wake up with you beside me. I want to be able to kiss you," he presses a kiss to the inside of Tony's thigh, right above his knee, "whenever I want," the inside of his elbow, "wherever I want," the center of his chest, right above his artificial heart.

Tony's breath hitches so roughly it sounds like tears.

"Steve," he says, voice cracking. He has to close his eyes, so overwhelmed he physically cannot look at Steve and still breathe. "Steve, I've-- I've tried that before." His voice is so strangled he hardly recognizes it. "It's-- it's always fallen apart."

Steve sighs heavily and then leans up, licks his way into Tony's mouth. His hands move to curve big and warm around Tony's face, and Tony whines, presses into him like he wants to melt beneath Steve's skin. Slowly, Steve crawls up onto the mattress, knees braced between Tony's thighs, and presses him back into the sheets. His mouth is hot and wet, the weight of his body quite possibly the most glorious thing Tony has ever felt; he moans into the kiss, spreads his legs around Steve's broad waist and arches helplessly against him.

"God, Tony," Steve breathes, rolling his hips. Tony cries out, throwing his head back and grabbing Steve's arms where they rest on either side of his head. He hears a throaty moan, and then Steve's lips are on his throat, kissing and biting a trail along the lines of his tendons, nipping sharply at his Adam's apple. "Tony," he says, like a prayer, "Tony."

Tony's breath is sharp in his lungs, and god, Steve is hard against his hip, burning through their clothes, so solid between his thighs. He's wanted this for so long he doesn't even know what to do, how to react.

Then Steve pulls away, slightly, and Tony whimpers, eyes flying open as he grabs frantically for Steve's arms.

"Hey, hey," Steve says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'm not leaving," he soothes, "it's okay."

Shivering, Tony falls back against the mattress, a little frightened by the strength of his reaction.

"It's okay, Tony," Steve says into his hair, soft. Tony finds himself relaxing, muscles loosening. "Good," Steve murmurs, pressing another kiss to his temple. Then he leans back on his heels, thumb stroking Tony's cheekbone, and looks at him with something vaguely like awe in his eyes. "God, Tony," he says, "I can't believe how gorgeous you are."

For a minute Tony thinks he's hallucinating. Then he says, "What? I'm not-- I'm not a girl."

Steve quirks an eyebrow, smirking a little. "No," he agrees. "That doesn't make it any less true." Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Steve shakes his head, and he falls silent. "I want this to work," he says, "but Tony, you have to trust me."

Tony stares for a long moment, heart in his throat. He can hear his blood thudding in his ears. "Steve," he says, voice breaking, because that hurts. "It's not you I don't trust, it's--"

"You?" Steve asks, eyebrows raised. Tony falls silent. Steve sighs and leans forward, placing an achingly sweet kiss on Tony's lips, and then meets his eyes and holds them, so concentrated he cannot move. "I love you," he says. "I'm not going to leave you if you make a mistake." Then he frowns in concern. "Tony, you're shaking."

A hand comes up to cover his face as Tony nods miserably. He can't help it, he's never wanted something this much before. The intensity is a little disturbing; being this open with someone, even Steve, scares him.

"No," Steve says, gently nudging the hand over his face, "you don't have to hide from me. We can't do this if you hide from me."

Tony takes a deep, shuddering breath, hears his throat click when he swallows, and lets his arm flop back to the mattress.

"Hey, there you are," Steve says, fondly, eyes warm with a smile. Tony shivers.

"Kiss me?" he asks hoarsely.

Steve immediately leans forward, slants his mouth over Tony's, and Tony trembles and opens before him, takes Steve's tongue into his mouth like the gift it is and suckles, breath rough as Steve traces the insides of his mouth with a thoroughness that makes him whimper. He realizes his arms have moved to curl around Steve's neck, fingers tangled in the short hairs at the base of his skull. His hips twitch, unbidden, where his thighs are spead wide atop Steve's own.

When they break the kiss and pull back slightly they're both breathing heavily; Steve's flushed skin is a beautiful thing to look at, his eyes blazing with things Tony is afraid to name. "I didn't think you actually wanted me," Tony admits, voice ragged.

"I know," Steve murmurs, pressing another, lighter kiss to his mouth. Then he rolls his hips, prick a hard line that sears Tony wherever it touches, and he throws back his head with a shout, thighs slipping wider apart. "Tony," Steve says, deep and throaty, "does it feel like I don't want you?"

"No," he sobs, crying out sharply as their hips meet again and again, igniting a fire in his blood. "Oh God-- Steve, I want--"

Steve groans, vibrating through his chest, Tony can feel it, gets his hands on his hips and just holds him down, the force of his thrusts rattling Tony's bones. His mouth is at Tony's throat again, breathing hot wet air against his skin, mapping a stinging line to the dip of his collarbone with his teeth and tongue. Tony whimpers, following the hard planes of muscle down Steve's spine to the bottom of his shirt, slips his fingers beneath the hem and pulls.

"Off," he mutters, breathing hard and fast as Steve's tongue dips into the hollow his throat, flicks in and out, goosebumps rising on his skin.

He is left suddenly cold as Steve leans back on his heels, stripping off his shirt. Tony's mouth literally waters as he watches his muscles ripple, and he inhales sharply, hands flying to trace random patterns across the broad chest, the fans of muscle along his ribcage. Steve catches one of his hands, presses a damp kiss to the center of his palm, and then uses it to pull Tony upright to sit on his thighs. "Hi," he says, nipping playfully at Tony's bottom lip, hips shifting restlessly.

God.

"Hi," Tony says, and his voice is so hoarse he hardly recognizes it.

Steve sweeps in and kisses him again, long enough to make Tony dizzy, and then settles back to pull his tank over his head, dipping down just as quickly to take one of Tony's nipples between his lips. Tony makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise, tangles his fingers in Steve's hair and rises on his knees to press closer, breathing high and ragged. His eyes roll back in his head when Steve worries at it with his teeth, hips bucking.

"Damn," Steve mutters, moving away. Tony whines, drunken-eyed, sways towards him. Steve pushes gently against his chest. "Hold on," he says, sounding vaguely amused. "We need to get out of these pants or we're going to regret it."

Tony immediately strips out of his sweats, eyes greedy on Steve as he unbuttons his jeans, swearing lightly under his breath, shimmying out of them and his boxer briefs in a way that makes Tony snort helplessly with laughter. Steve mock glares, but his eyes are sparkling and there is a faint curl to his lips. Then he's naked and Tony's breath catches in his throat, desire flaring in his belly at all the bare skin, the heavy muscles, his dick, thick and proud and so hard it's almost parallel to his stomach.

He doesn't realize he's made a needy little noise until Steve chuckles softly, steps forward and presses him back into the sheets. He drops a kiss to the bottom of Tony's chin, spreads a broad hand across the inside of Tony's thigh and puts light pressure on it, spreading him wider around his hips. Tony arches and groans, sliding a hand down to Steve's hip.

"Fuck," he whispers, spine curling, fingers digging into skin and bone. "Steve--"

Steve rumbles a laugh into his skin, lipping at his ear, the hand on his thigh moving to wrap long fingers around Tony's dick, twisting slowly, so slowly, Tony keens, a muscle in his thigh jumping. A thumb flicks the head of his prick, presses just below, and Tony sees stars, jerking helplessly.

"Please," he begs, arousal roaring through him.

With a low groan Steve backs off just enough to hike Tony's ass further up his thighs and fumble for a bottle of lube in the bedside drawer. Their mouths meet again, sloppy, lips and tongue, and Steve breathes, "Tony," right before his first finger slips inside.

Tony hisses through his teeth, shoving back on the finger and throwing his head back, a low moan falling from his lips. Steve's finger thrusts, curls, finding his prostate with unerring accuracy, and Tony sobs, arching violently. "Oh god," he whimpers, fingers scrambling at the back of Steve's neck, other hand clenching spasmodically around Steve's hip. "Fuck, fuck!"

Head hanging so that his hair tickles Tony's forehead, breath hot on Tony's neck, Steve slips another finger in. It hurts a little, enough to make him shiver with want, the pain blooming into a slow burn that sets fire to his bones. He hears himself making low noises, hips rolling helplessly, sweat slick on his chest.

By the time Steve has a third finger in him Tony is rocking back on them desperately, breath whining through his nose, sweat gluing his hair to his forehead as he stares dazedly at the ceiling. He can feel Steve's breath rocketing in his chest. "Steve," he sobs, "now, now--"

Steve groans in his ear, shoves his fingers in hard and twists, and Tony's spine cracks when he writhes, wailing. "Fuck, Tony," he gasps, "okay, okay, just hold on, I've got you--"

He rears back, slips his fingers out, slicks his cock with lube, and Tony rocks impatiently, breath stuck in his throat. He turns his hand, places a wet kiss on the inside of Steve's wrist, takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks, wanting to feel some part of himself filled up, blinking up at Steve through eyes hazy with lust. Steve's hips buck, he swears under his breath, and then he's lining himself up and he slides up and in and Tony shudders with his whole body, gasping frantically for air.

He says, "Holy," voice so choked as to be almost inaudible, heartbeat deafening in his ears, breath torn uneven from his lungs.

Steve's hands are wide on his hips, holding him in place. He breathes ragged and jungle warm in Tony's ear, the muscles across the line of his shoulders twitching with the strain to keep still.

"Okay," Tony husks, and Steve groans and slides in on a long, slow thrust, the head of his dick dragging along all the nerves within to make Tony's eyes roll back in his head. "Okay," he says, "fuck me, please."

For a moment Steve only breathes heavily in his ear, then he shifts a little, eliciting a low moan from Tony, rearranges Tony's hips for a better angle, grabs both of his wrists in one hand and presses them into the mattress above Tony's head. Tony trembles, heat flaring in his chest, twists and struggles for a moment to test Steve's grip, then subsides with a shiver, falling limp back to the sheets. "God," he whispers, voice breaking.

Steve draws back, then snaps his hips forward in a way that Tony feels through every nerve in his body. Tony wails, back arching so far he thinks for a moment it will surely snap in two, and then he simply keens as Steve fucks him good and hard, dragging a hand down his thigh to grab tight to his hip, press him down into the mattress. Steve hovers over him as he fucks, like an awkward bird of prey caught midflight, eyes glinting and breath hissing through his teeth.

Tony is hypersensitive to everything, the way the fine hairs covering Steve's body tickle the inside of his thighs, the play and shift of muscle between his legs, can smell sweat and aftershave, a faint hint of leather and something sharp and vaguely spicy that must be Steve's natural scent. Steve is sweating, now, dripping from his nose to splash the hollow of Tony's throat. He keeps making these little noises, soft and low, like he can't help it, deep in his diaphragm so Tony can feel them. His whole body radiates heat, his hands on Tony's wrist and hips like brands that sear him to the bone.

The sound of skin on skin permeates the room, Tony's startled-sounding cries ringing in his ears. Steve is so large above him, solid muscle keeping him in place, opening him up and owning him.

He's had a lot of sex before, but never anything this intense.

Steve places a couple of particularly hard thrusts directly against his prostate, wringing a high wail from his throat, and suddenly all Tony can hear is the roaring in his ears, skin tightening, fire shooting down his spine. "Steve," he sobs, sounding terrified even to his own ears.

"Don't worry," Steve pants, licking a long line down his throat, placing a sucking kiss beneath his jaw. "I've got you."

Then he presses closer, the sweat-slicked skin of their chests sliding along each other, moves the hand at his hip to open Tony's thighs wider and bottoms out once, twice, three times, and Tony splinters at the seams, flying apart in orgasm, vision white-washed and hearing totally shot. He knows, vaguely, that he is screaming, sobbing, that hot come is splattering his chest. He jerks helplessly, back bowed, then drops slack to the bed.

Above him Steve's breath is coming in short, loud gasps, chest heaving like a bellows. His thrusts now are uneven and wild, stuttering out of rhythm. Then he fucks in, once, and freezes, making that same gravel-throated, painful-sounding noise he had before, and if it were physically possible Tony would come again simply at the feel of his orgasm.

Slowly Tony's breathing returns to normal, and he relishes in the feel of Steve still hovering above him, sheltering him. He feels like he's been made new, whole, pieced back together in a way that fits better than the original.

Then, in a single movement, Steve flops to the side and pulls Tony with him, sprawled across his chest. Tony blinks up into his face, feels his stomach flip at the faint smile on Steve's lips, and swallows, throat clicking, presses a light kiss to the center of Steve's chest. One of Steve's hands is sweeping up and down the length of his spine, the other still curled possessively over his hip.

For a long time there is only silence, the steady beating of Steve's heart beneath his ear, the rhythms of their breath synchronizing. Tony maybe dozes for a little.

Eventually, Steve murmurs, "We need to work on your trust issues, Tony."

He can't help but snort. "Understatement of the year," he mumbles, eyes half-mast, fingers tracing idle patterns across Steve's pectoral.

Steve makes a low sound of agreement, entirely nonjudgmental, and Tony feels a sudden surge of affection. He adores this man, has almost for longer than he can remember, more than he knows what to do with.

"Steve," he whispers, because he wants to, has to say something. "Steve--"

But Steve just rests a finger against his lips, making soft shushing noises. "Not yet," he says, "not just yet, Tony. All I need to know is, do you trust me?"

He answers without thinking.

"Yes."