Work Header

Close Shave

Work Text:

It all started because they were holed up in some little hotel room together, waiting on AIM scientists to finish partying on the beach and get to brokering their multi-million dollar arms deals. Okay, so maybe the hotel room wasn’t so “little” so much as “the honeymoon suite”, because Tony did nothing by halves. But they still had only one bathroom—his and hers sinks notwithstanding—which meant Tony saw Steve’s ridiculous toiletries bag. And Steve in turn saw his. And scoffed, naturally.

“You sure you’re not going to burn your nose off with that thing?” Steve asked as Tony switched on his LASER hair remover. He raised an eyebrow over at Steve.

“You sure you’re not going to slice your nose off with that thing?” Tony fired back, nodding at the straight edge Steve had carefully unfolded from its handle.

Steve grinned and flicked the knife around a little bit, showing off his skill. “I know you’re going to go all futurist with me, but you can’t deny there’s no shave smoother.”

Tony gestured with his LASER. “Can and do. Your straight-edge doesn’t penetrate the pores and burn the follicle root right out from under the skin, now does it?”

Steve snorted and flicked his shaving cream brush at Tony, speckling his face with the foamy white stuff. Tony gasped, laughter caught in the back of his throat by surprise, though he shouldn't have been surprised that Steve could be a little shit when he chose to be. Tony glanced down at LASER laser hair remover, then back up at Steve, bereft of retaliatory options at hand. Steve seemed to figure this and grinned all the more, before turning back to continue shaving his face.

“Looks like there's some things my shaving kit can do that yours can't.”

Tony let him win that one, not because he couldn't think of a good response, but because it was so obvious how much more multi-functional a LASER was than a sharpened piece of metal. Judging by Steve's smile in the mirror, he didn't find that obvious at all. That's what Tony got for trying to drag a dinosaur into the twenty-first century.

Two, three more days passed hold up in the hotel room, and Tony was starting to go a little stir-crazy. Don't get him wrong: he was getting plenty of work done, catching up on all sort of patent paperwork and Stark Industries hostile takeovers and more. Not to mention hashing out some problems in his latest few inventions that he just hadn't had the time to work out all the details of between the normal hectic pace of his life.

Clapthump, clapthump, clapthump

Tony chewed on the end of his tablet pen, staring down the cooling system of this latest reactor. It just wouldn't slough enough heat from the core quickly enough to avoid going into catastrophic meltdown.

Clapthump, clapthump, clapthump

And Tony was damned if he couldn't figure out a way to get around it. Maybe he was bumping into the limit of Moore's Law... but, no. Tony hadn't run into a limit that he hadn't then run right the hell through, eventually.

Clapthump, clapthump, clapthump

There had to be a way. He just needed to think about this from a different angle...

“Steve, for the love of Tesla, could you give it a rest?”

Pausing in the middle of his push-up, Steve turned to look at Tony from across the room. “Sorry?”

Tony gestured with his stylus at Steve. “The work-out routine. Guy can't hear himself think.”

Steve smiled in apology and pushed himself to his feet. “Sorry, Tony. Didn't think of it. I'll hit the showers.”

“Shower,” Tony corrected him, because as lavish as the suite was, there was still only one shower. Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly, breaking his stride just long enough to tap Tony upside the head as he passed.

“Smart guy,” Steve accused him.

“You know it,” Tony mumbled. But his head was already bent back to his schematics, mind a hundred miles away and a thousand years in the future. He couldn't get around the density limit with quantum technology, not in this case. And radiation was too slow of a heat dispersal method. Unless...

Tony came up for air a half hour later, a faint, rhythmic noise drawing his attention away from his increasingly-implausible schematics. Skrtch, skrtch, skrtch. Tony stood and stretched, popping his back as he cast his gaze around the room. The open bathroom door answered his question quickly enough: he could see half of Steve inside it, right hand up at his cheek. Him and that ancient tool. Shaking his head, Tony drifted toward the bathroom, leaning against the doorjamb as he watched Steve work.

“The cream is good for your skin,” Steve observed, not breaking his rhythm for a second.

“I can put cream on my cheeks designed for exactly that,” Tony pointed out.

Steve's eyes flickered to Tony's in the mirror, lips not moving, but eyes smiling. The razor moved steady and sure in his hand, revealing clean, pink skin with every swipe. “Eyes a little green?” he asked.

Tony frowned, not getting it for a second. When he did he laughed incredulously. “You think I'm jealous? Of your ancient razor? Come on, Steve-”

“What if we swapped for a shave?” Steve asked. “I'll do you and you do me.”

Tony's pulse quickened at Steve's tone. His voice was steady, words slightly mumbled as he kept his lips as still as possible. But his tone had gone deeper and gravely, and his eyes in the mirror held a promise. Or maybe a challenge. It always seemed to amount to the same thing, with Steve.

Tony swallowed as he ran through the possible scenarios in his mind. It'd been longer than Tony cared to admit since he had someone warm his bed, and he knew for Steve it was even longer. They’d done this a couple times before. But not in a while. Back then, Tony had always figured it was a kind of “soldier’s helping hand” thing to Steve: a way for comrades-in-arms to blow off some steam, no emotions, just biology. Steve had always been with women in relationships, and though Tony dated either men or women, he’d always assumed Steve wasn’t interested in anything other than a post-battle fumble with men.

But Tony wasn’t seeing anyone right now. And neither was Steve. So maybe dating didn’t really factor into anything at just the minute, and Steve was looking for one of those “helping hands” again, albeit less heat-of-the-moment than usual. They were going to be stuck in this hotel room for another who knows how long... Tony nodded, trying to keep his cool.

“Sure, Cap. And you'll see exactly how silly that old razor of yours is.”

Steve shaved the last corner of his face with a flourish, rinsing his razor carefully in the sink. He smiled darkly at Tony through the mirror. Tony's mouth might have opened on its own accord.

“Well? Grab yourself a seat, mister. You haven't shaved yet today.”

Tony scratched at his cheeks. Usually he'd wait one more day before using the LASER on himself, but there was a hint of a stubble. Good enough.

Tony dropped himself down on the toilet and smirked up at Steve. “I don't think I've ever been to a spa that offered the oh-so-luxurious accommodations of a toilet seat in lieu of a barber's chair.”

Steve ran a clean towel under the faucet. “Better get all those smart-aleck remarks out now while you've got the chance, mister.”

“Franklin Delano Roosevelt called, he wants his grandfather's shaving kit back. Seems you nicked it on your last White House visit.”

“Any more?”

“How much is it appropriate to tip in a situation like this? And can I pay more for a happy ending?”

Steve crossed the bathroom in two long strides, steaming towel in hand. He wrapped it over Tony's face, pointedly draping the last end of it over Tony's mouth. He stared down at Tony as Tony smiled up at him—from beneath the steaming towel, but Tony knew Steve could tell he was smiling under there. It was all in the eyes.

“That's better. Now try and hold still for two minutes as I get the cream ready.”

Steve paused, as if waiting for Tony to say something. And Tony could admit it was tempting, what the way Steve's mouth hummed around “cream” and all. But Tony could be good, if he needed to be. So he kept his mouth shut and smiled with his eyes up at Steve, the picture of the perfect spa patient.

Steve stepped away to the sink to get the shaving cream ready, leaving Tony to sit and wait as his pores opened. Tony breathed through his nose and relaxed against the toilet, enjoying the feel of the steaming towel on his mouth and cheeks. He certainly was familiar with pampering, at least. You didn't grow up heir to Stark Industries without picking up a few epicurean indulgences. Tony watched Steve's back as he worked: he was shirtless, just dressed in some boxers after his shower. They were actually kind of tatty: the elastic band was loose, the hem fallen on one side, fraying on the other. Tony frowned at the blue boxers and made a note to send a pallet of new underwear over to Steve's Brooklyn address when they were through with this. Imagine if a villain tore off Steve's costume during a battle and America got an eye-full of Captain America's tattered undies. Definitely wouldn't do.

“Alright, ready to hold still?”

Tony met Steve's eyes and quirked his eyebrows in challenge. Steve tried not to smile back, but he didn't succeed in the slightest. When he unwrapped the towel from Tony's face Tony remained silent, the picture of perfect patience. Steve eyed him like he was a birthday present signed by AIM: not trusting him an inch. He knew Tony so well.

Still, when Steve reached out with his left hand to steady Tony's chin and started lathering his face with his right, Tony stayed obediently silent. Steve's hands were gentle but strong, making efficient work of Tony's face until he stepped back a minute later, satisfied. Tony kept his mouth shut and waited.

“You're being so good,” Steve murmured. Arousal hit Tony like a punch in the gut. He shifted on the toilet as Steve continued: “You must really want to show me how well your laser works.”

It took every ounce of Tony's self control not to say something at that. And Steve knew it, knew how it had sounded, because he waited a beat for Tony to break his silence and respond. When Tony just stared up at him (albeit with a slight squirm on the toilet seat), Steve's eyebrows slowly climbed.

“Hmm.” Steve turned away from Tony just long enough to pick up the razor before turning back. He stepped close, towering over Tony. His bulk made it feel like Tony was cut off from the rest of the world, in a cage made entirely back Steve's shoulders and arms. Tony's neck craned, tilting himself towards Steve's touch like a sunflower seeking out the sun. He wasn't quite sure what they were doing, with the quiet praise and challenge of obedience, but Tony ached to find out.

Steve's hand on his neck sent a shudder of pleasure through Tony, one he fought to hide from Steve. He wasn't sure he succeeded, especially with the way Steve's lips quirked into a smile as he lifted the razor. “Now hold still for me, alright? Wouldn't want to lob off the side of your goatee.”

Tony's eyes fluttered closed as Steve lowered the razor to his cheek. His heart pounded in his chest as Steve oh so gently scraped the straight edge along his skin. The smell of shaving foam was overwhelming, clean and fresh, only undercut slightly as Steve leaned in closer and Tony caught a hint of Steve's soap. Tony's palms broke out in a cold sweat as Steve scraped the razor again over Tony's cheek. He couldn't lick his lips without getting a mouth full of shaving cream, but his mouth watered with the need.

“You alright?”

Steve's voice was whisper-close, minty breath fluttering over Tony's nose and eyelashes. Tony squirmed. Why did everything about Steve have to be so clean and fresh? He was just asking for someone to mess him up, drag him down, dirty him up.

“Yeah.” Tony had to swallow past a lump in his throat just to croak one word out. After a minute he tried again. “Not ready to admit there's any merit in this yet, but.”

Two fingers grasped Tony's chin, turning his head gently but firmly to the left. Steve hummed as he continued shaving that cheek. Tony imagined he could feel the vibrations in his jaw, throbbing down through his neck, into his chest.

“I'm going to touch your nose,” Steve warned him. Tony smiled, eyes opening.

“Go right ahead.”

Steve's eyes were crinkled with a smile as he delicately shifted his nose to one side. The straight edge slid over Tony's cheek effortlessly, smooth glide so perfectly angled and twisted in Steve's hands. Damn, those hands. Steve moved Tony's nose to the other side.

Tony shifted on the toilet. He didn’t need any of his advanced Iron Man scanners to confirm that Steve was getting turned on: that was plain as day, just a few inches from his face. Those ratty boxers really did nothing to hide Steve's burgeoning erection. If it was at full-mast, Tony knew those boxers wouldn't have done anything to maintain Steve's decency. Tony stared at the slit in the boxers and imagined reaching in there and pulling Steve out, of pressing his mouth inside and sucking Steve to full arousal. Tony swallowed and stayed still. He closed his eyes again, as if that would reduce the temptation. As if his own sweatpants were doing much to conceal his own interest. He was sure his erection was start to tent them obscenely, could feel the fabric stretching over his half-hard dick.

Steve's thumb moved to Tony's jaw as he carefully shaved around the perimeter of his goatee. Once, his thumb pressed to Tony's lips, as Steve shaved any stray hairs under his lip that didn't fit into his goatee.

“I need to do your neck,” Steve murmured.

Blearily Tony blinked his eyes open, Steve's face swimming into focus in front of him. Steve was frowning at him, or more specifically, at his neck. Tony almost laughed at the expression, but the moment was too pregnant with tension to cut through it with inane laughter. He ended up smiling instead, sloppily.

“Okay,” Tony prompted when Steve said nothing more.

Steve looked up at him, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I mean: I can't do that from this position.”

Oh. Tony laughed then, just softly, when he realized the problem. Damn arousal muddying his thinking. He glanced around at the toilet seat. “Well, I could turn around and lean ba-HCK!”

The last word snapped off as Steve stood and, without a word to Tony, swung his leg over the back of the toilet behind Tony. He slid down, groin flush with Tony's back, one hand settling gently on the side of Tony's neck, the other holding the razor a safe distance away from them both. A shudder moved through Tony, impossible to repress. Steve was so hard behind him, full length of his erection at attention and straining against Tony's backside. Tony swore Steve humped against him, just once, grinding his hips firmly against Tony's ass for a long, impossible moment until he settled into position.

“Lean back.” Steve's words were whispered against his neck, and Tony went without hesitation, resting his head against Steve's shoulder. Steve smiled beatifically down at him.

“If only you followed orders as well in the field,” Steve observed. He lowered the razor back to Tony's skin, shaving his neck with care and gentleness.

“Not a soldier,” Tony pointed out.

“I know.”

Tony's eyes shut against Steve's smile. He fought the need to swallow as Steve moved the straight edge carefully over his throat. His pulse pounded, suddenly hyper-aware of every twitch of his carotid. It wasn't that he didn't trust Steve: it was that he did, completely and utterly. Steve's hand on his neck, the razor running over his skin, wasn't sending off anything like danger signals inside Tony. Just the opposite, really. Tony exhaled from his nose as Steve's fingers stroked, maybe subconsciously, over his neck.

“All done.”

Tony stretched back against Steve, rubbing his cheek against Steve's shoulder. “Fuck me. Please. You're going to fuck me, right? Because Steve, if that isn't how this ends-”

“Bend over the sink.”

Tony was off the toilet seat in a flash, sweatpants shed as he bounced from foot to foot, shaking them off. Steve was right behind him, tossing his straight edge to the far side of the counter as he crowded Tony against the sink. They both groaned as Steve pressed his hips against Tony's back. Steve's hands only pulled off Tony long enough to tug off his own boxers before they were back, roaming up and down Tony's chest and stomach. He took Tony in hand just for a moment, stroking him a half dozen times before he moved on. Tony groaned in frustration and pressed his ass invitingly back against Steve.

“Pass me my kit.”

Tony almost threw the kit at Steve, contents clattering inside as Tony yanked it across the counter. Steve rummaged for half a second before emerging with a condom between two fingers and a bottle of lube between the other two.

“Expecting to get lucky with one of the AIM goons?” Tony managed to croak out, though he was so much more interested in Steve's weight and heat against his back, his erection digging into Tony's ass, than making any suitably wry quip.

“Always prepared,” Steve murmured, words pressed into Tony's shoulder as a kiss.

“Boy Scout.” It was more of a moan than a jab, Tony leaning back and running his hand over Steve's thigh as Steve slicked him up. The condom wrapper tore open, there was a pause and a tell-tale slick noise as Steve prepared himself. Tony trembled in his arms, hands roving, anticipating. Steve entered him with a grunt, drowned out by Tony's noisy moan. Fuck, it'd been a while. Tony dug his fingers into Steve's thigh as his muscles burned around the thick—so thick, shit, shit—intrusion.

“You alright?”

“Move, move,” Tony pleaded. Because as much as it burned, as painfully stretched as he felt, it was good, too good. His dick was leaking into his (LASER-groomed) pubic hair, his body was aching for Steve to just fuck him, fuck him hard.

It was stiff and a little awkward at first. Tony could tell Steve was too wound up, ready to come from the minutes of build-up. His thrusts were jarring, dissonant movements, shoving Tony's thighs against the bathroom counter. Tony groaned, eyes shutting for a minute as his body adjusted to Steve, to Steve's heat, to Steve's bulk, to Steve's stupid, perfect fresh smell. He forced his eyes open as they fought for a rhythm (mostly failing), meeting Steve's gaze in the mirror. Steve was staring down at him, mouth open, eyes a little too close to adoring for Tony's tastes.

Tony winked at Steve, making him smile bright and happy in return. Tony laughed and slid his hand up Steve's thigh, grabbing tight to his ass when he reached it. “You know, I don't think we’d get beard-burn,” Tony pointed out.

Steve laughed and leaned forward, wrapping one arm around Tony's chest as he pulled him into a kiss. Tony moaned into it, happily scrubbing his lips and chin against Steve's in a sloppy, raw kiss. It was a pretty smooth shave—not that Tony would admit it to Steve. And of course his LASER was a smoother shave still.

“I didn't trim your goatee,” Steve pointed out against Tony's lips. His thrusts sped up a little, fucking Tony harder into the counter. Tony was going to have bruises on his thighs for a week. Worth it.

“I'll live,” Tony grumbled back at Steve. He grabbed his hand, bringing it forward to his groin. “Now, if you could focus…”

Steve laughed even as he gripped Tony's dick in his hand, stroking him slick and fast. “You telling me to focus...” Tony groaned and fell forward, barely holding himself up on the counter with both hands. Steve pressed his forehead between Tony's shoulders, panting softly as he worked Tony from in front and behind. Tony made the mistake of glancing down to see Steve's big, strong hands wrapped around his dick, fist pumping powerfully but tenderly at him. Tony groaned and grabbed at Steve's forearm as he orgasmed, come dribbling between Steve's fingers onto the counter and tile floor.

“Just a moment…” Steve panted, fucking hard into Tony. He almost laughed at Steve's soft request, but then Steve was bottoming out inside of him, hips fucking so hard once, twice, that Tony swore as his thighs slammed into the counter. Ow. Bruises for two weeks, now. Steve's hand dug into Tony's hip as his orgasm continued to rush through him. Tony sighed and leaned against him, feeling Steve's breath pant hard between his shoulders. Steve's orgasms always seemed to last twice as long as they should. Might be the serum. Might just be Steve was the sort of guy to get blown away every time he got laid. Tony kinda suspected it was the latter.

It hurt when Steve slid out. Tony groaned and limped down the counter a little ways as they separated. It was a mistake to go with so little prep. If the AIM goons attacked right now, Tony would pretty much be out of commission. Well, okay, he'd still put up a fight. But it wouldn't be pleasant. Oh well. Hopefully they'd be considerate and wait a couple days before their big arms deal.

“Shoot, Tony-”

Tony waved Steve away with a huff. “Trust me, Steve, it was good. Just gonna lie down for a bit. Wait for the feeling to return to my legs. That sort of thing.”

Steve maintained a series of worried glances at Tony in the mirror even as he pulled off the condom, folded it into a tissue, and tossed it carefully in the trash. Tony raised his eyebrows at Steve and nodded at the trash. Steve flushed all the way down his chest.

“So the housekeeping doesn't have to… see it.”

“You're too precious, you know that?”

Steve shrugged. To Tony's horror, he made his way across the bathroom to Tony and pulled him in for a tender, breath-stealing kiss. “Well, you're not so bad yourself, mister.”

Tony had no response to that. He shrugged and squirmed away. He didn't dare meet Steve's eyes, either in the mirror or actuality.

“You going to do me tomorrow?” Steve asked, barely panting at this point.

Tony blinked at him, mind swimming with the possible positions. Not to mention the visual of Steve's ass, rock-hard and perfectly pert, presented for Tony to do whatever filthy thing he wanted to it. Steve had to be tighter than Tony, even, what with him mainly dating women (though he supposed that didn't necessarily make a difference…)

“Tony.” Steve waved his hand in front of Tony's face, smile crooked. Tony snapped out of his daze.

“Sorry, uh-”

“Your laser. You'll do me, right?”

Oh. Oh. The LASER, right. Tony laughed and rubbed his face, hand sliding smoothly over freshly shaved skin. “Sure, Steve. Right. Yeah, just don't shave tomorrow, maybe day after. It needs a little bit of growth to work with.”

Steve frowned, making Tony think for a second he'd done something wrong. But then Steve took a step closer, eyes down in that coy, aw-shucks way he had when he was trying to flirt. “Oh. Two days? That's too bad…”

Tony made a show of glancing at his watch and feeling his pulse on his wrist. “Hey hey, listen, give me… about forty-five minutes, and I'll be ready to ‘shave’ wherever you want. Less, if you want to put some work into it. Not much less, though, sorry. Biology and history of a bad heart, you know.”

Steve laughed and took a last step into Tony's personal space, arms going up to envelop him, pull Tony in for a smooth-cheeked kiss.

“Your goatee still tickles,” Steve huffed.

“Too bad.” Tony kissed Steve's complaints away.