It happens when Tony's working at an actual desk with actual papers and actual pens – this does not happen most of the time. Ordinarily, he's got holographic displays and styluses if he needs something more pinpoint accurate than his fingers, and he'll usually be wandering around the workshop to make the whole place look like Christmas, but today he needed traditional methods so he set to work on the papers he's supposed to sign and then got sidetracked.
He's Tony Stark, he always gets sidetracked, and he always comes up with something awesome when he does.
But he got back to the papers eventually, which is another achievement for him. Usually, he doesn't bother and it's annoying as hell that the day he's using a pen and paper at his actual desk after he's actually gone back to finish the irritating paperwork is the day that he gets told off for working too hard.
Steve Rogers is, quite possibly, the best thing that's ever happened to him. Because, for a start, Steve doesn't try to change him. On occasion, Steve will show up with food or come in and distract Tony until it's bedtime or whatever, but Steve doesn't tell him off for working too hard unless it's been absolutely days and Tony should be in bed. He doesn't tell Tony off for losing track of time. He doesn't tell Tony off for making awesome stuff when he should be sleeping or attending meetings.
But what he does do, Tony discovered rather quickly, is invite himself in when his body tells him to.
By which Tony means that he's fallen in love with a twenty-six year old blond guy from the 1940s, who's the peak of physical perfection and who just so happens to run four times faster than everyone else.
And by that, Tony means he's dating a kid whose hormones are raging harder and faster than anybody else's almost all the time, and who spent his life up until dating Tony Stark not actually doing anything about said raging hormones that didn't involve his own hand.
Because Steve is really good at not telling him off for stuff, but he's pretty much the closest thing to a nymphomaniac Tony has ever had the fortune to share a bed with. Steve is always up for something a little risky, always up for something new, always up for round two, always up when Tony wants him to be, and that means Tony spends way more of his downtime these days having sex with Steve Rogers.
Taking a break after lunch? Steve will suggest sex. Taking a shower? Steve will share it if he can and turn it to his advantage. Waking up early in the morning? Steve will give him a reason to stay in bed. Steve gropes Tony in ways nobody can see, kisses him when nobody's looking and obliges his every (or nearly every) sexual desire – from a blowjob while suited-up to pinning him up against the windows in the penthouse. (The windows are reinforced, there's no danger, and they have a mirrored-on-the-outside setting – which Steve engaged without telling Tony. So nobody could see them but Tony hadn't known that at the time.)
And it's not just that – it's that Steve's quite happy either way. He loves to give, he loves to take, and Tony couldn't have described the feeling when Steve first said 'no, I want you in me tonight,' but deliriously happy is along the right lines. And it's not like Steve's doing it to oblige Tony, not at all. He's vocal as long as nobody's in the immediate vicinity, he smiles like a madman when he's having a good time, and watching Steve come undone under his hands is indescribable.
And Tony sometimes stops to think how great it is that he manages to keep up. He's not old but he's not as young as he was, and he once thought maybe Steve might wear him out. But he didn't – because Steve knows Tony's limits and, if Steve wants sex and Tony's tired, or Tony's body's tired, or Tony's arms just won't hold him up any more, Steve will smile and croon endearments and take it slow, do all the work. They switch, so much so that Tony likes running it through his mind that they neither of them have a preference, and they know each other well enough to be in synch most of the time. Hell, all of the time.
But today, Tony is really, really trying to be good. He's doing his absolute best to finish his work even though he'd really, really like to be examining the mechanics in Clint's grappling-hook arrowhead to make sure it holds even on crumbling surfaces like limestone, or digging about in the electronics of the next-generation tablet he's been specially modifying to fit Bruce's needs.
And so what if he took an hour (or five) to change some of the paneling on his suit, and to make better straps for Steve's shield, and lots of other things he shouldn't really have been doing when there was paperwork to do? So what? He came back to this, dammit!
Which is why he's concentrating so hard on it. Which is why he doesn't notice Steve.
Steve has codes that he uses, and he uses them because Tony gave them to him, but what surprised Tony at the start of their relationship was that he uses them when he's not supposed to. Or, at least, he uses them when it's not an emergency and, more fool Tony, he didn't think Steve was the kind of guy to use them outside of emergencies. But Steve does – oh, wow, does Steve ever. He uses them when he's bored, he uses them when Tony's working too hard, he uses them when he wants to talk to Tony and Tony's in one of his moods. And he uses them whenever his Super-Serumed Libido – and, oh yes, it gets a capital 'L' – decides his body's been off, or away from, or out of Tony's for too long.
And he's apparently used them now.
“Hey,” Steve says, his voice low and his breath hot against Tony's ear, and Tony startles, but only a little, and then Steve's mouth is against the side of his throat, the back of his neck, Steve's hand is on the back of his shoulder. “Working?”
“Yeah,” Tony answers, keeping his eyes open because he knows what will happen if he closes them – he'll forget about work and it'll all be about Steve. He's not even kidding himself; it's only a matter of time.
“You've been working a long time,” Steve says, other hand on Tony's other shoulder, and they slide up, they move and Steve's hands are good for a lot of things – flinging shields is one thing, giving kick-ass massages is another. Tony groans as a knot he didn't know was there comes undone under Steve's hands, and he tips his head back, just a little. “Better?” Steve asks, his voice like chocolate, like velvet and he knows, of course he knows, what it does to Tony. The thing is, it's not even really for Tony's benefit – he's just like this. He's strong and gentle and he cares and he's gorgeous, and he has a voice that sends the kind of shiver down Tony's spine that settles low in his stomach.
“Mmm,” he answers belatedly, figuring he should give Steve an answer – he is getting an awesome massage out of this.
Steve keeps going for a little while, and Tony makes a halfhearted attempt to continue with his paperwork, but it's not going to last. They both know that. Still, pretending to resist is half the fun and Steve has always known the difference between 'no, I'm serious' and 'I wasn't planning on it and I'm busy, but I can be persuaded.'
And when Tony's arms have gone from being stiff and heavy to feeling like they might accidentally float away if Steve lets them go, Steve slides his hands forwards and down, over Tony's chest, and he rests his chin on Tony's shoulder. Except he doesn't really, he just puts it there – if Steve actually rested his head on Tony's shoulder, he'd gouge a hole in it.
“What are you working on?” he says, and Tony sighs as he shakes his head slowly.
“Just...ugh,” he says. “Paperwork.”
Steve presses a kiss to Tony's temple, keeps them pressed there for a moment or two. “I remember that,” he mumbles against Tony's skin, and Tony sighs again.
“I don't wanna,” he says, and Steve smiles against his temple, Tony can feel it. He can also feel the pressure of Steve's hands increase and he knows exactly where this is going. Where they end up when it happens is a different matter but it's inconsequential, really.
“I can offer you an incentive,” Steve says, and he moves his head a little, nuzzling Tony's skin, dropping his head a little so that his nose is pressed below Tony's ear, again so his mouth is back on Tony's throat. “Or a distraction?”
No, Steve, I have to finish this paperwork. It is very important. You being an incentive is lovely but you should probably just go while I still have some resolve left. “Distraction.” Dammit. But not really dammit at all.
Steve chuckles, and stands up straight – doesn't move his hands until he's dragged Tony's chair back and away from the desk. Luckily, it had wheels. Tony had learned pretty quickly wheels were easier, otherwise Steve tended to just haul him backwards. Or lift the chair, and Tony wasn't about to pretend that wasn't a thrill.
“Stand up for me,” Steve says, and that's what does it, every time. It's not just 'stand up' or 'lie down' or 'you can make noise if you want;' it's 'stand up for me,' 'lie down for me,' 'let me hear you.' All for Steve. Tony's perfectly happy to be all for Steve, and Steve isn't even saying it just to get to Tony. He's not saying it so Tony will do what he asks – he's saying it because he means it.
Tony gets up and Steve basically just slides the chair out of the way, pressing himself up against Tony's back. Tony drops the pen on the desk because he's lost so many pens like this before, and he's hoping he won't drop this one randomly and have it roll away like all the others, but Steve chuckles in his ear, a different kind of chuckle now, one that's low and rich as he settles his hands on Tony's hips, his mouth against the side of Tony's throat, and he's already hard against Tony's ass so, when Steve reaches forward and pushes the papers out of the way, Tony's too busy trying to get a little friction for himself as he pushes back to care about the high clatter as another pen disappears into the ether.
Steve pushes him forward – he doesn't shove him, because that's not how Steve is, and he's got enough of a grip on Tony's hips that Tony only stumbles as far as Steve wants him to – and then Tony's up against the desk and he always forgets that he's actually designed the desk for this to be comfortable.
If Tony were going to top, Steve would have moved them to the workbench, which is better for his height. Or maybe the couch, so they can lie down. Or just the floor. But apparently Steve's feeling in-charge today, which is fine because Tony's had enough responsibility to have a massage and not care about losing a million pens. Actually, he's lucky Steve shoved the paperwork aside because Tony couldn't care less, and he doesn't need the kind of hassle explaining things to the Board would entail.
I'm sorry I need a couple of extra papers to scrawl my name on – I came all over the last ones.
Steve's hips shift forward enough that the movement presses Tony's forward, too, the edge of the desk biting into the front of his thighs because the desk is mercifully low enough that it doesn't pin his erection. And then Steve's hands slide up from Tony's hips and push his shirt up, too, baring his skin to air that's cool and conditioned and still somehow drawing heat in their wake, sending heat rushing down and up.
Tony turns his head back to kiss Steve and, even like this, it's slow and languid. He knows that, if he asked, Steve would move them both – over to the wall, maybe, so Steve can hold him up – but he likes where this is headed and smiles into the kiss when Steve covers the arc reactor with one hand, the other dropping to Tony's fly.
That used to be a problem for Tony – that Steve didn't mind the arc reactor. Because it meant that Steve wanted to see it, wanted to touch it and, for a long time, Tony didn't want him to. When Steve's hand splays over his heart, big enough that the tips of his fingers are on skin while his palm is on the reactor, Tony's pretty damned pleased he got over it, but he doesn't think about it for long, mainly because Steve's other hand is inside his jeans, stroking him hard.
“Have you on the desk?” Steve asks when they break for breath, and Tony nods, scraping his teeth over his lower lip.
“That's the plan,” he says.
Steve laughs. “So that makes you the man with the pla-”
“Oh my God,” Tony snorts and there they are, just like that, still making jokes when they're standing like this. Tony's just as in love as Steve and it's a better feeling than anything else in the world.
Steve's hips move forward again, more of a flex than a thrust, and Tony pushes back against it the next time, and the next, while Steve's other palm just rests over his erection. They could take it slow, it would be so easy, especially with Steve's strength and his penchant for making sure they both enjoy themselves. But Tony has paperwork.
“Come on,” he says, head still turned back to look at Steve to breathe his air, shirt still bunched up by his collarbone, Steve's hand still in his jeans. “I gotta finish working at some point.”
Steve's eyes crinkle at the corners and his smile widens. “Go on then, lie down.”
Tony looks Steve's face up and down for a second or two – bright blue eyes, full, red lips – and then he pulls away as much as he's going to, letting Steve's hands push the denim down over his hips so it drops to his ankles as he tugs his shirt over his head. He doesn't ask if Steve has lube – Steve came down here with this in mind, he wouldn't have left it upstairs.
Tony lets his upper body rest on the desk, naked aside from the jeans bunched around his ankles, and he listens more carefully as he hears Steve's zipper – it makes sense to undo it now instead of after he's done prepping Tony, or he'll get lube all over the front of his pants. Tony hears the sound of a condom being opened, too, and that's more for his benefit than Steve's – saves on the cleanup if he's going to get back to work when they're done. He gets one for Tony, too, and Tony tries not to be disappointed – he kind of likes the idea of coming all over his desk. But it would make the paperwork difficult.
And then, there it is, the sound Tony's been waitng for; Steve gets his fingers slick, and Tony presses himself to the desk and waits, biting his lip around a smile.
Steve is right behind him, and Tony's willing, which means Steve doesn't actually have to tap the inside of Tony's ankle with his toes to make him spread his legs a little more. Still, Steve knows Tony likes it – it's such an authoritative thing to do and Tony can appreciate authoritative when it's coming from Steve – so he does, gently enough that Tony feels it but firmly enough that it's still like an unspoken order, rocking his weight from foot to foot until his legs are spread enough that Steve's satisfied.
The first touch is cool but not cold, lube not entirely warm on Steve's fingers just because he's used so much – he loves to use tons of it, he gets it everywhere and thinks it's hilarious – but the heat of Steve's fingers chases it away a moment later and he's slow, careful; he circles first and dips inside without pushing, and it makes all the blood rush to right there under Steve's fingertips, brings Tony's sensitivity way up, and he tips his head back and smiles. He can't get his head back very far, not lying with his upper body on the desk like this, but it's enough, and the tension in his spine and his neck distracts him, helps him hold back instead of begging Steve to just do it now.
The kiss to the small of his back is unexpected but Tony's not really surprised; Steve likes kissing his skin, likes staying in contact with his body, and the kiss is enough to relax him, to have him focus on the fact that Steve is affectionate rather than the fact that that Steve's fingers are pretty big, and when the next kiss comes just a little further up Tony's spine, Steve's first finger eases forward, a slow, hot drag against the inside of Tony's body and he moans softly, eyes slipping shut.
“Sometimes I really wish I didn't have to do this,” Steve breathes between Tony's shoulder blades, and he draws his finger back again, pressing it forward again while Tony hisses a breath in through his teeth and feels his fingernails scrape on the varnished wood. If he were on a bed, he'd be grasping the sheets but he's on the desk, and he moans again because he knows Steve likes to hear it. “Wish I could just...” Steve whispers, but he doesn't finish his sentence.
Tony knows what he means anyway.
“Then gimme another one,” he says. “I can take two, come on-”
Steve laughs breathlessly and hints at trying it, and Tony goes very still before Steve is thrusting shallowly with one finger again. “Too soon, see?” he says, and Tony nods, as much as he hates that Steve's right. “Patience. Plus, you need to be able to sit down to do your paperwork, right?”
“Ugghhh, I guess,” Tony says, and Steve's free hand rests against the side of his ribcage, mouth trailing a hot, wet line up his back. It's annoying that he will actually need to sit down because he could do with that not being an issue.
“We're gonna shower later,” Steve tells him, always so unafraid to ask for what he wants, “and I'm gonna rim you 'til you can't stand.”
It's not an idle threat either, and Steve's huge finger twists as he turns his wrist, eases back a little and-
“Ah!” Tony says, and he hears Steve hum through his nose. Second finger's always a burn when he does it himself – Steve's right, he's impatient – but it's never like that with Steve. Steve always knows his body better, knows how to take advantage of the moment he relaxes and it pushes heat and pleasure up inside his body – not enough, but they'll get there soon.
“One day I'll sit you in my lap and we'll see how much paperwork you get done then,” Steve says, and Tony closes his eyes and moans as Steve opens his fingers just a little, opening him up just a little more, the idea of Steve's words forming hazy images behind his eyelids.
He'd like that, if only for the pretense; there's no way he'd get anything done with Steve inside him, but he likes the idea of the pen in his hand, of the two of them moving slow and quiet together until Steve tells him to work in that do as I tell you voice and he leans over the desk to gasp for air as his signature scrawls right off the edge of the page.
“Please,” Tony breathes, and Steve's fingers open just a little wider.
“Not long, I promise,” he says, and he's still in control, Tony can hear him – he's always still in control.
The third of Steve's fingers is easy when it comes, Steve makes sure of it, just like he always does, and there have been occasions where Tony's done this himself when he knows Steve's on his way just so they can get right to it, just so neither of them have to wait.
And Steve's good at not leaving him wanting, always has been. When it comes time to withdraw his fingers, he does it slowly enough that the next time they push in it makes Tony moan, and then he does it again, pressing down with the tips just to hear the hitch in Tony's breathing when he presses right there, and the third time it's not his fingers anymore.
Steve's free hand drags down his side, settling at the small of his back to keep Tony still as he pushes in, and it's a good job he does really given that Tony's whole back bows and his head comes up as his brow furrows. “Yeah,” he manages to mutter, and Steve's mouth is on his spine again, kissing all the way up until his body's bent over Tony's, until his mouth rests against the back of Tony's neck.
“You just tell me when,” he says, and Tony bites his lip when Steve's still lube-slick fingers settle on his hip, when Steve's free hand finds Tony's and laces their fingers.
“Whenever you're ready,” Tony answers, although Steve never goes by that. Steve's ready the second he pushes in, obviously, but he waits for Tony's body to relax around him, waits until the grip of Tony's fingers in his own eases enough to tell him he can move.
And he does, but not fast, the way Tony's expecting. He draws back like they have all night and breathes Tony in like they're still in bed, and Tony almost forgets the way he's locked his knees so he doesn't slide backwards and take them both down.
Steve's hips ease forward again, and he makes the softest noise deep in his chest so that Tony only half hears it, feeling it through his back instead. And then Steve picks up his pace a little, enough that it scratches the itch, pressing his mouth to the back of Tony's neck.
Tony reaches down with the hand not holding Steve's, covering the hand at his hip instead, and he turns his head just far back enough that Steve understands, lifting his upper body clear of Tony's to kiss him properly. But it's slow and it's loving and that's not the problem – Tony loves this kind of kiss, especially like this because it's messy and uncoordinated.
But he pushes back against Steve's next thrust and Steve draws a sharp breath in through his nose. “Come on,” Tony hisses when they break for breath. “Come on, not slow, not tonight.”
And Steve nods slowly, Tony hears him swallow hard. And then he shifts, so that he's not lying on top of Tony any longer, shifts so that he's curled over the top of him instead, forehead coming to rest between Tony's shoulder blades. “You sure?” he says, his voice low and rough, and Tony pulls their twined hands forwards so he can rest his head on their forearms.
He tightens the fingers of both hands, his fingers in Steve's, his hand over Steve's on his hip. Silent answer while he breathes so hard condensation clouds the desk.
Steve gets the point, understands what Tony can't actually breathe enough to say, and it's still not harsh or hard, still not too much, still doesn't skirt the edge of pain. It's nothing but pleasure as Steve puts all his strength into rolling his hips forward, again and again, his mouth open against Tony's back.
Tony can feel him breathing, can feel him kissing the skin there when he remembers but he pushes back and rolls his head on their arms, tries to use his shoulders for leverage.
“Trust me?” Steve murmurs, and Tony whines at him, actually whines and he's glad Steve's not the type to lord that over him.
“Trust you,” he answers, a rush of breath that barely forms words at all, but then they're moving somehow, back a step. Their arms drag on the top of the desk with a squeak of skin and sweat on wood, Tony's locked knees protest at moving backwards, but it doesn't matter because one-step-back gets his hips far enough away from the desk that Steve can let go of Tony's hip and reach around him instead.
Tony makes an incoherent kind of noise when Steve's huge fingers wrap around his length, hand reaching back to grasp Steve's hip instead, to pull him closer, and Steve answers with a groan of his own when Tony's body responds, changing the cant of his hips just a little until-
“Yeah,” Tony says, a smile on his face as he grinds his head down into their arms, “yeah, that's it, yeah,” and that's pretty much all he manages. His brain shuts down and won't tell Steve that he's amazing, that he feels amazing, that this is what Tony lives for and he wants everything Steve has to give. Instead, he's just saying it over and over, “yeah,” he says, “yeah,” and he'd hope Steve understood what he means by it if he didn't know already that Steve feels exactly the same.
Steve's fingers tighten just enough around him, just too much, and he has about ten seconds – he could count them down if he really wanted to – but Steve is breathing a litany of his own against Tony's back. “Tony, Tony,” over and over and it's poetry tumbling from Steve's lips.
Tony turns his head back again, eyes shut tight so he's searching blindly and Steve, oh Steve, knows exactly what he wants and kisses him as Tony's body curls in on itself, as pleasure that's hot and sharp and bright unwinds like a whip between his legs. He comes with a cry and Steve doesn't stop, pushing him as far as he can go.
He follows a few seconds later, breaking the kiss for just a moment to breathe “Tony,” against Tony's mouth, and then comes the full-body shudder that passes from Steve's body to his as Steve kisses him again, chasing Tony's orgasm with his own while Tony swallows the moan he gives.
It takes them a while to come down, and Steve doesn't move, not anything. They keep on kissing, Steve's fingers still wrapped loosely around him, Steve's hand still held in his own, until Steve's kissing the life back into him, helping him breathe and letting his heart rate come down.
By the time Tony thinks that maybe he'll be able to move again some day, Steve's kissing his face, his neck, the back of his shoulders, the top of his spine, and Tony whines again when he moves away.
Steve, because it's Steve and he always does, has prepared for this moment. He's brought one of the towels from his suite and he pulls out, moves away enough that he can take off his condom and clean himself up quickly before he does the same for Tony – who, for the record, was still covered in way more lube than Steve.
Tony laughs into the crook of his own elbow when Steve tugs his jeans up again once he's clean and kind of rolls sideways on the desk so they can kiss again.
Steve helps him stand, face a little flushed, hair a little damp on his forehead, and he smiles as he hooks his foot around the chair to bring it back.
“You dropped your pen,” he says, kissing Tony again for good measure. Tony rolls his eyes. “How long are you gonna be?”
Tony shakes his head, framing Steve's face in his hands while Steve wraps his arms around him. “Not too long,” he says, still out of breath, and Steve flashes a broad, white grin at him.
“I'm heading to bed for now,” he says. “Come get me when you're done.”
He kisses Tony again and lets go of him, lifting one hand to brush the sweat-damp hair off Tony's forehead. Nice to know they're similarly affected.
“Yeah,” Tony says, for lack of anything else to say. Steve just smiles and lets go reluctantly, the same kind of rueful I wish I could stay smile that he always wears at times like this turning the corners of his mouth.
And then he turns away and walks away across the room. Tony makes doubly sure his hands are actually clean before he pulls the papers back and tries to organize them, and then he ducks his head under the desk to look for his pen.
What he sees is an expanse of floor with tools and toolboxes and various pieces of wire and metal and he shakes his head as he stands up. He's lost another pen. They've lost another pen and Tony finds himself not really caring. They're all Stark Industries pens – he's got boxes of them. And, even if he didn't, he could afford more boxes.
He stares at the papers on his desk a little longer, scraping his teeth over his lower lip while he makes his decision. And then he goes after Steve.
He catches up to him at the elevator, and Steve smiles when he sees Tony heading towards him. “I thought you had paperwork,” he says.
“Can't do paperwork without a pen,” Tony answers, and they step into the elevator together. “Besides, it's late.” Steve loops an arm around his waist and hauls him close to kiss him, but Tony shakes his head as he cards his fingers through Steve's hair. “I had paperwork,” he says softly, “I was going to be good tonight.”
Steve just smiles and leans down to him. “Never mind,” he says as the elevator doors close. “You can try again tomorrow.”