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“Tony,” Phil says.

There is more in his voice than Tony knows what to do with, and it puts him on edge. Sex, sure, he can do that, has done that with more people than he can recall off the top of his head, but up until the last month or so, that's always been casual. No strings, no intimacy, and – with the amazing, wonderful exceptions of Pepper and occasionally Rhodey – no subbing. He's done enough of it that he knows what people sound like when they get him alone for a night, some needy, some cocky, arrogant, curious, wanting to know if the man measures up to the legend, some just looking for the pleasure and heat.

Phil doesn't sound like any of those. There's just a shade too much warmth there, and far too much knowing.

“Agent,” Tony replies, and maybe he's pushing, but he wants to see if Phil can actually bring him down like Pepper thinks he will.

Phil's face crinkles at the corners. It's not quite a smile, but it's not too far off. “Phil,” he says, “for right now. Or sir, if you'd prefer.”

“Let's not go with sir,” Tony says, “I'm not sure I can actually call people sir with anything other than sarcasm, it's a deep personal problem of mine. You know what I mean, don't you, Phil? Phil, Philly, Flip, huh, work with me here –“

“Just Phil,” Phil says, and there's a thread of amusement there, Tony can hear it, and he's about to go after it when Phil pats the cushion next to him. “Why don't you come here?”

Phil, not Agent, here because of Pepper and Clint and not Fury – Tony goes. The couch is comfortable, he knows this from experience, but there'd been enough strength in Phil's voice that Tony finds himself stopping short of it, dropping to his knees just in front of Phil, near enough to pick up the low-grade arousal simmering about him. He tips his head up so he can see: Phil's shaking his head, but that not-a-smile has turned into a proper one, albeit small still, and Phil's eyes are warm. “I'm here,” Tony announces, mostly so that he can have something to say, and dips his head so he can look up through his lashes. “Whatever will you do with me?”

“I can think of a few possibilities,” Phil murmurs. He lifts one hand just enough to draw Tony's attention. “I'd like to pet you while we discuss them.”

Tony's eyes zero in on that hand, just like that. It's not a particularly big hand, but Tony's seen footage of what Phil can do with nothing but his hands and a bag of flour, and given Phil's general levels of competence he has no doubt he's going to be dropping out of that discussion in no time whatsoever, which is not even a tiny bit a discouragement. “Hell yes,” he says. “Go wild. Well. As wild as agents of SHIELD are allowed to go, I understand the suits hnnngh oh my god.”

Phil's hand keeps on kneading away right at the base of his skull, and Tony's pretty sure that that quiet sound is Phil laughing at him, not that he can bring himself to care. Phil's hands are made of magic. It is an effort for Tony to uncross his eyes, and he only manages to keep them that way for about five seconds before they slip shut entirely.

“I'll have to thank Pepper,” Phil says.

“Cheating,” says Tony. “Both of you, just—”

Phil's thumb digs in harder. Tony makes a strangled noise and stops talking.

“The common script suggests a bit of humiliation and then either a paddle or a light flogger, handcuffs optional. Your sadistic tendencies are well-documented,” Phil says meditatively. “But I've made a bet with myself that you don't enjoy receiving pain quite so much.”

Phil's fingers are strong and unrelenting along his neck; Tony's proud of the affirmative noise he manages, to hell with actual words. His reward is another of those tiny smiles.

“I prefer other things myself,” Phil says. “How do you feel about bondage?”

This is apparently something Phil wants a more detailed answer to, because his hand stills. Tony grumbles a bit of protest, opening his eyes and straightening himself out – he'd curled inward, trying to get more of those fingers, but now he'd rather be able to look Phil in the eye.

“It's awesome,” he says, mouth curling up into a smirk before softening into a memory-filled smile. “Rope, cuffs, saran wrap, chains, if you can think of it I've enjoyed it. Not predicament, though, doesn't do anything but knock me out of the scene and piss me off.”

“Straitjackets?”

“Not as good as the cling wrap. Tried them a couple times, one of them smelled and most of them itched, do you know how hard it is to drop when you can't get to that itchy spot at the small of your back?”

“I have some idea. Safeword?”

“Color system. Or laryngitis. There's a story, you probably don't want to hear it, let's just go with the colors.”

“Of course.” Phil's voice is dry and amused, but his face is sober. “Are there any triggers I should avoid?”

Turning his face away, Tony breathes in and out and in again, because this is definitely a question he has to answer, but that doesn't make it pleasant. Phil makes a soft, sympathetic sound and cards his fingers through Tony's hair, and Tony takes a few more breaths before responding. “No standing water. I won't flip out if you brush over the reactor, but don't linger on it. The Chitauri, that whole deal, no idea why you'd talk about it during this, but, uh, just don't, I might freak out and I'd rather sleep after than do that.”

He bites himself off there, but Phil cups his skull and tilts his head back, pinning him in place with his eyes. “What are you leaving out?”

“Blockers,” Tony hears himself say, and scrambles to correct it. “I know the stereotypes, omegas can't really go down if the top's being influenced, the dom's too swayed by scent and all that, but I swear it's not true for me and it's just with bondage. I can't – enjoy it if the top's blocked off. If that's a problem, if you don't want, we could just avoid bondage and find something else—”

“It removes your safety net in case something goes wrong,” Phil says, slowly, but he looks certain of his words. “Tony. That's not a problem. I'd rather be able to check in on you that way anyways. We won't use them.” He brings his other hand over to settle on the side of Tony's face, thumb stroking over Tony's cheekbone. “Somehow I doubt you enjoy humiliation. How do you feel about sensation play?”

“Love it,” Tony sighs out, eyes slipping closed. “Soft and rough and scratchy, hot, cold, anything in between. If you're down for fireplay I might actually propose.”

There's that quiet laugh again. Strange at first, but it's growing on him. Enough time and he'll probably grow to crave it, do just about anything to get it. Tony's self-aware enough to realize this about himself, and smart enough to know that it won't make any difference: if Phil's staying this way, the net good'll be well worth spending the effort to make him laugh.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Phil's thumb sweeps absently back and forth over Tony's cheek. “It's not something for a first date, though.”

“That just means you didn't bring some of it down and you don't want to stop to go get it,” Tony says, “I know you, Agent, you're going to show up next time with fireproof ropes and oil, admit it.”

“Mm,” goes Phil, which is absolutely not an answer. “Electricity?”

“Low doses,” Tony says. “And yes, I like anal play, and fucking of all kinds, and oral of all kinds, and no, I'm not into scat or blood, and ageplay doesn't do it for me.” He pauses. “Petplay, sometimes, if it's nonsexual.”

“'Oral of all kinds,'” Phil said, and yeah, Tony had kind of predicted that one; people generally had a thing about Tony and talking. “You like being gagged.”

It's not a question, but Tony nods anyways.

“And also being blindfolded,” Phil says, his thumb sliding up to brush, incredibly soft, over Tony's eyelid; Tony shudders and leans into Phil's hand. “You don't want to be helpless, but you don't want to be responsible. You don't like pain, but you need distractions to get you out of your head.”

Tony hums, low in his throat, and doesn't bother opening his eyes when he nods.

“I can work with that,” Phil says, hands gentle in Tony's hair and on Tony's face, and Tony doesn't need to see Phil's face to hear the smile in his voice. When Phil guides him forwards, he goes willingly, shuffling between Phil's knees. Phil closes his legs around him, holding him there; maybe Tony could escape, maybe he couldn't, Phil's as much a super-ninja as Natasha, but all he feels is safe and more than a little turned on, so instead of testing the grip he huffs out what feels like all the breath in his lungs and goes boneless, letting Phil's legs and the couch support him. His head falls on Phil's thigh, and he nuzzles blindly at Phil's belly.

This close, Phil doesn't need to be putting off scent markers for Tony to read him. Every breath Tony takes tells him that Phil is hovering between contentment and arousal, the perfect control in Phil's hands and stomach letting him know that Phil is completely focused on Tony.

Just that idea is enough for Tony to shudder. Phil's beta markers are common enough, sure, and it's perfectly normal for betas – especially doms – to make themselves attractive by means of competence. But Phil is something far and beyond that, like Pepper is far beyond that, and it's entirely possible that having Phil focus all of that competence on him will melt Tony's brain, will actually kill him of pleasure, and then where will the bots be?

“I'll remand them into Steve's tender care,” Phil says dryly.

Tony laughs into Phil's belly because he can. The air is warm and damp reflected back onto his face – he opens his mouth and huffs. If the shirt's wet, Phil will probably take it off, and Tony wants to know what that looks like. But Phil tightens his hand in his hair, just enough to get his attention.

“I have jute with me and I assume you have whatever you like here,” says Phil. “I'd like to tie you up and explore you for a while, maybe use a few toys, different textures. After that I'd like to re-tie you so that I can fuck you. Does that sound good?”

A jolt of lust goes straight through him and leaves him shivering between Phil's legs; he clenches involuntarily, slick trickling down. He's definitely not going to be walking out in these jeans afterwards. “Fuck yes.”

“I hoped you'd say that,” Phil says, both his hands working through Tony's hair and then down his neck and spine to rest on Tony's shoulder blades. Tony's t-shirt is worn and thin and does nothing to disguise the solidity of them. “Do you have any favorite textures?”

“Pinwheels,” Tony says immediately, because those can leave him shaking and strung-out in all the best ways. “Vamp gloves if you're careful with 'em, there's some temperature-changing oils in the drawer there, I love those, Pep loves those, Rhodey doesn't so there's gloves in there too if you want, you're probably going to use those, aren't you? Mess and all that. There're towels under—”

“I'll take that into consideration,” Phil says, loosening the hand he'd clamped around Tony's nape. “Right now, I want you to go kneel on the bed and wait for me. You can open your eyes to get there, but I want them shut once you're on the bed.”

“Sir yes sir,” Tony says, and then, when Phil doesn't actually let him go, opens his eyes and amends it. “Yes, Phil.”

“Better,” Phil says approvingly, and runs his hand through Tony's hair one more time before giving him a gentle push away.

Tony rocks back onto his heels, considering. Phil hasn't said how he wants Tony to get to the bed, which means Tony's free to crawl there as suggestively as he can, waggling his ass on the way and taking the time for a luxurious stretch when he reaches it. It's a pity when he gets up on top of it and sneaks a glance in Phil's direction – Phil's somehow appeared bent over the bedside table and isn't even watching.

“I said eyes shut,” Phil says mildly, without looking up.

“Are you psychic?” Tony demands, but he shuts his eyes. “Seriously, is that your super power? That you can tell when people aren't doing precisely what you tell them? Does SHIELD know this, is it part of your contract with them?”

“My contract with SHIELD is none of your business until after tonight,” Phil says, still by the table by the sound of it.

“You didn't say anything about psychic powers, though,” Tony feels compelled to point out. “This is important information, Phil, this is something you should tell your partners beforehand, I'm surprised at you. I thought you were more responsible than this.”

Phil ignores him. Tony can hear him moving things about in the drawer, and, if he focuses, can sense the slight vibration of the bedspread when Phil begins setting things on it. The temptation to open his eyes is high – one look, one quick glance, Phil would never notice and what Phil doesn't notice can't hurt either of them –

“Ah,” says Phil, almost a rueful tone in his voice. “My apologies. I should have expected that. I'm moving onto the bed now.”

Sure enough, the bed dips, and Phil is suddenly close enough for Tony to smell again. “Expected what?”

“Curiosity is one of your strongest motivators,” Phil says, as even as if he were discussing the stock market or the benefits of white bread vs. wheat. “I didn't mean to give a difficult order this early. I'm going to touch your face.”

Tony will never tell anyone, but he appreciates the warning more than he can put into words. The light touch against his cheek is a welcome caress, instead of startling him, and when he rubs his face against Phil's hand he can feel something soft and slick. “That's a blindfold,” he says.

“Yes,” Phil says. “I'm going to put it on you for a little while.”

“Hiding yourself from me already, and we haven't even really gotten started yet,” Tony laments, but he can smell his own scent spike with arousal, and he knows Phil can, too.

“Think about it as removing temptation,” Phil says, settling the strip of cloth across Tony's eyes and tying it in back. “It makes it easier for you.”

To be good, Phil doesn't say. Tony hears it anyways, tilting his head back towards Phil. When Phil finishes the knot Tony rubs against his hand again until he can pick out his own markers on Phil's skin. “I'm a fan of easier,” he says, surprised at how rough his own voice comes out. And it's not a lie: strange as it might've seemed just a few years ago, he wants to be good for Phil, wants to earn more of those smiles.

“I know,” Phil says gently, and rests his forehead against Tony's shoulder for a moment before pressing a kiss to Tony's neck. “Are you good for the moment?”

“Just waiting on that jute you were talking about,” Tony says.

The curve of Phil's lips against his skin satisfies some wordless desire inside of him, so that Tony's eyes slide closed behind the blindfold. He pulls together every scrap of uncertainty he can find and huffs it all out in one long breath, and then, bolstered by the warmth of Phil's head next to his, says,

“Phil. Please?”

There's a cut-off sound in his ear, Phil's scent spiking in his nostrils. When Phil speaks he's lost just a bit of that steadiness to his voice, and gained a sharp edge of desire to replace it. “Of course.”

Phil slides away from him, off the bed, and heads toward the bag he'd set in a corner. Tony is at least 98% sure that the only reason he can tell this is that Phil is deliberately making noise when he walks, which paradoxically does wonders for Tony's peace of mind. He's on a bed waiting for the agents' Agent. There is just about nothing on Earth and not many things off of it that could get through without being stopped first, which makes Tony as safe right now as he ever is, maybe safer. With Phil in the room and focused on him like this, Tony can just... relax, let himself enjoy everything that comes.

That realization sinks into him, sliding him down just that bit more to where he stops fidgeting and settles into place. He can wait for this.

It's not long before Phil returns, setting another couple of items beside him before crawling onto the bed, stopping close enough for his breath to whisper across Tony's face. “Where are you at?” Phil asks.

“Starting to drift.” Tony breathes in deep and easy, breathes out again. “Did you bring me a present, Phil?” The name comes out affectionate and the question eager despite himself.

Phil doesn't seem to mind. “I did,” he says. “I'm going to undress you now.”

Tony makes an affirmative noise and lets himself float. Phil's scent is strong and steady now, blending with Tony's own, and Phil's hands are gentle and sure as they peel away the t-shirt and unbutton his jeans, tugging them down to Tony's knees. Tony lifts his legs one at a time so that Phil can slide them off, balancing against Phil's shoulder. With them gone, his scent floods the air around them, absolute evidence of Tony's arousal, and Tony knows he's not imagining the way Phil tenses against him.

The clothes disappear off the bed, and Phil lifts Tony's arms out and to the side. The rope, when it settles around his neck, is rough and pliable, smelling only faintly of Phil. Soon Tony will be covered in Phil's scent, and Phil, when he leaves, will reek of Tony to anyone who walks by.

That makes Tony maybe a little more smug than it should, but to hell with it – regardless of the final outcome of this date-night experiment, Tony already counts Phil as one of his, and Tony likes ensuring that everyone can tell what belongs to him.

Under his arms, around his torso, around again. Phil takes one of the trailing ends and curls Tony's arm up, wrapping the rope around his wrist and below his armpit and then repeating in a two-column tie; he moves from that to a simple cuff low on Tony's bicep, and hitches both back through to the harness he's making before pausing. “Talk to me.” His voice is quiet.

Tony's elbow is down and back, his hand is by his shoulder, and he can't move his arm. It's wonderful. He says as much to Phil and is rewarded by fingers checking the tightness of the ropes and prodding at his joints before repeating the process on the other arm. Each loop binds him deeper into his flesh, ratcheting his arousal higher. His skin prickles from the rough jute and Phil's fingers; by the time Phil finishes, pausing, Tony's firmly grounded in his body and just this side of shivering.

“Checking in,” Phil says, one hand rubbing warm circles into the small of Tony's back.

“Doing really good,” Tony says, “really very good, fuck, Phil, are you going to make me wait?” Tony doesn't think he will, it's too early, too much of an experiment, and besides that Phil's leaking lust all over the room despite his self-control. But Phil is not moving, and also he is sometimes a bureaucratic paperwork-loving taser-packing sadist, so Tony's not entirely sure. “I think you should know that I really really would like more at this point,” Tony offers helpfully. “More rope, hands, toys, you may not have noticed but I'm kind of easy about all that, god, you don't get off on that whole denial thing, do you? Because that would suck.”

Phil has the audacity to laugh at him. “You can settle down,” he says, his voice far too bland to not be making fun of him. “I'm only taking a moment to decide how to tie your legs.”

“How long is a moment?” asks Tony suspiciously.

“As long as I say it is,” Phil says, his hand meanwhile curling so that Tony gets nails dragging across his back. “There's a lattice-work tie for feet that I'm fond of. The weave is beautiful. But I'm not sure I'm that patient right now.”

“I vote for impatience,” Tony says. “Save the weave for next time so I can see. Or we could get off now and then do the weave and then get off again.”

Phil laughs again. His voice loses the bland tone, nothing in it now but fondness. “An excellent suggestion, Mr. Stark.”

“As always, Agent,” Tony says magnanimously, and ruins it by adding, “Wait, which one?”

Instead of answering him, Phil wraps one hand around the central column of the harness and takes hold of Tony's shoulder with the other. “I'm going to lower you to the bed,” he says. “Straight on your belly, legs together.”

Tony grumbles something mostly incoherent even to himself and follows Phil's direction, which turns out mostly to be not resisting while Phil tips him forward at a slow and controlled pace. When he's nearly down Phil moves the hand on his shoulder to turn Tony's face sideways. It's not a necessary gesture, but it's a thoughtful one, and Tony presses a quick kiss to the inside of Phil's wrist.

Then, of course, he nips it and gives it an exaggerated lick before Phil pulls it away, grinning smugly.

“Brat,” Phil says, not without affection. “Be still or I won't tie your legs.”

Tony comes perilously close to arching his back and shaking his ass – Pep would swat him, Rhodey would laugh, but he's not so sure about Phil, and so he complains instead. “That's cruel and unusual, you are clearly horrible, did they teach you this sort of stuff at Agent School?”

“I'm afraid that's classified.” Phil smooths one hand along the back of Tony's leg and lets it rest at the top of his thigh. “Lift your hips for me.”

The rope goes under his thighs and around, and then again, before tightening between them. Tony can't see to be sure, but he thinks Phil leaves it as a simple hitch before moving onto the next set of cuffs above his knees. The safety measure would fit him.

Phil finishes the second set and starts in on the third. This one, just below Tony's knees, will dramatically limit Tony's ability to bend his knees; he'll have lost almost all mobility in his arms or legs, and struggling won't matter, because he can already tell that Phil is far too good with the ropes for Tony to escape that way. The rough bite of the jute is added encouragement to stay very, very still. There is absolutely nothing Tony can do but be still and present.

By the time Phil ties off a fifth set at Tony's ankles, Tony's breath is coming fast, he's leaking slick between his thighs, and Phil's threat is the only reason he's not rutting hard against the bed. Phil takes his hands off of Tony when he finishes, and Tony is suddenly aware of a whining sound coming from his own throat. “Please,” he says, because suddenly all he wants is hands back on him where they should be, warmth and contact and security all in one. “Phil, please, I need – don't leave me here, okay, just–”

There's a sudden inhale and motion making the mattress quiver, and then Phil is laying all alongside of Tony, pressed half-against and half-over him, still in his suit pants and shirt. “Shh, I'm here.” He laces one hand into Tony's and runs the other up and down Tony's back, petting him. “I'm right here, Tony,” Phil soothes, “I have you,” and keeps talking until Tony shivers once, all over, and goes still.

This is not part of the plan. Tony didn't intend to show off his neediness like this, not when they're just feeling each other out, seeing if there's a space for Tony-and-Phil in this makeshift hive that's growing around them. He knows Phil knows it's there, because Tony is 98% certain that Phil is like Pepper, he knows everything even when he shouldn't, or more, but he didn't want it to come out tonight and now that it has – there's a flicker of humiliation at the edge of this warm space he's been sinking into. He doesn't want that, either, so he makes his voice purposely bright, maybe just a bit too hard, and says, “Sorry about that, apparently my subconscious—”

“Tony,” Phil says. It's not loud, but it cuts right through Tony's words; they run out of him all on a breath.

“'Phil?” His voice sounds small.

“I'm changing the game plan,” Phil says.

“Okay.”

“I'm going to kneel up by your side. I'm not going to break contact. Don't argue.”

By this point Tony doesn't really feel like arguing anyways. “Okay,” he says.

True to his word, Phil never stops touching him as he levers himself up, his folded legs one long solid point of contact along Tony's ribs. Tony can feel the shift in the bed as Phil turns to reach for something. There's the pop of a cap coming off; a moment later he smells cinnamon.

“I'm moving again,” Phil says.

“Okay.”

More shifting, bigger movements this time. Phil settles straddling Tony. He's heavier than he looks, probably from the muscle required for Agent-levels of bad-assery. Those damned pants are still on, but Tony can feel the bulge of Phil's cock rubbing against his ass. Tony's definitely going to enjoy that, later. Phil's hands come down at the small of his back, slick with oil, rubbing circles low on his back. The oil doesn't take long to start warming up, pleasantly hot on his skin, and Tony's a sucker for that melting sort of heat – it takes even less time for tiny groans to escape his throat, going louder when Phil presses the heels of his hands hard on either side of Tony's spine.

“There,” Phil says, voice so intent Tony feels like he should be burning underneath it. “There you are. My God, Tony, the way you look right now.”

Tony can't help but shiver, moaning louder.

“Caught in my ropes,” Phil says. “You're out of words and precisely where I want you. I can keep you right here and out of trouble, bound up and blissed out.”

A small part of Tony's mind latches onto that, wondering if that's what Phil gets from this, the ability to keep people safe and where he can take care of them – letting his agents into the field has to be hell on him, this could be the outlet for that. But one of Phil's hands presses hard at the base of his spine and the other kneads at the back of his neck, and the thought shatters into a fresh wave of whimpers and groans.

Phil's scent is clouding Tony's mind, as blatantly aroused as the hardness pressing into his cleft and the roughness creeping into Phil's voice. “You'd like that,” Phil says. “I could do that for you, Tony. I could keep you just like this, safe, contented, without a care.”

Tony can't help the whine that escapes from his throat. Phil groans in response, hips twitching down into Tony's in a way that pushes Tony right up to the edge of need and drops him off of it. “Phil, please,” he says, begs, “fuck me, please, I need it, you said you'd take care of me—”

Phil curses under his breath, hand going tight at Tony's nape as his scent spikes, and Tony arches into it as best he can with his arms and shoulders and legs all bound. His own scent is heavy with need; he knows, distantly, that this room would be full right now, this bed crowded, if the bedrooms hadn't all been airlocked when he'd built the Tower, but right now he only cares that he's ready, past ready, and there's a spectacularly competent beta right there to catch his scent and pin him down and take him until Tony is limp and exhausted and quiet in his own mind.

“Down,” Phil says, “be still,” raising himself off of Tony. There are hands tugging at the knot by his ankles and then the jute slides away in loops; the imprints left behind are hot and sensitive, and Tony can't wait to see them when they're done. Phil slides the last loop of rope from beneath his thighs and tugs his hips up and back.

Tony goes willingly. The harness around his chest and arms forces him to arch his back as he does, and the way Phil stills him, knees spread and ass up, it's got to look like an utterly obscene presentation, the sort to take pictures of and enjoy later. That it's not his doing, that it's Phil arranging him like this, to look at and have access to, makes him clench with want.

Which gives him immediate confirmation that Phil's watching – his breath hisses out, and his hands curve out from Tony's hips, thumbs sinking into the crease and pulling his cheeks apart. There's, Tony can feel Phil's breath gusting hot against his hole, and he chokes out a sound that's nothing but want, spasming reflexively. “Please,” he starts to beg, but Phil interrupts him with a light swat to one cheek, a huff of air against that incredibly sensitive pucker.

“Hush,” says Phil. “I promised to re-tie you, and I intend to do so.”

Tony makes a protesting noise. That is clearly going to take far too long and he wants Phil, wants the clothes gone and Phil curved over his back and Phil's cock sunk deep into his ass. What he gets is Phil's mouth on his throat, open-mouthed kisses that move up to the tiny gland just beneath Tony's ear and suck at the skin there. The air floods with his own pheromones, and later he'll be impressed that Phil has the presence of mind to reach for the rope and start tying Tony's leg into a forcibly folded position; right now, it drives him higher with frustration. He has never liked waiting. But Phil, implacable, ties first one leg and then the other, until Tony can bring them closer together or spread them wider but has not a chance in hell of straightening them out, and only then breathes out a shuddering sigh.

“I'm moving back for a moment to undress,” Phil says. “I'm not leaving the bed.”

Despite the promise, Tony tracks Phil by the way the bed shifts and the faint heat emanating out from Phil's body. At one point Phil leans all the way across the bed to put something on the opposite corner, probably his clothes, brushing against Tony's ass in the process.

Then he's back again, hands sliding up and down over Tony's spine. He stretches himself out across Tony, covering him, all warm skin and firm muscle beneath it. It's not his full weight, but it's enough to drag a low, throaty sound from Tony, going higher-pitched when Phil nuzzles along Tony's neck and, very careful and deliberate, sets his teeth high on Tony's jaw, right where it meets his skull.

“If you could see yourself like this.” Phil's breath skates across Tony's cheek, and he wraps his hand around Tony's wrist, just above the rope cuff. “You're beautiful, Tony, just like this, the way you want it, it's filling up my eyes and nose and how much you need this.” His hips rock forwards, the tip of his cock rubbing between Tony's cheeks but not yet pushing in. “You're so far down you're not even talking,” he says, “I never would have called that, for you to need to shut down like this, be taken care of like this.”

Tony's eyes are closed behind the blindfold as he sobs out, “Phil,” face turning uncomfortably backward. Phil makes a harsh, bitten-off sound and then turns his own face into Tony's. The angle is awkward but the kiss is firm and reassuring and precisely what Tony needs.

Phil breaks away, rubbing his cheek once more against Tony's, his hands going to Tony's hips. “It's okay,” he says, voice rougher than Tony has ever heard it, “I'll take care of you.”

There's probably a wet spot on the bed from Tony's slick by now. Phil pushes into him easily, a slow glide that ends with Phil's hips pressed against his and Phil's cock satisfyingly deep inside. Tony clenches around it and moans.

“Just like that,” Phil murmurs in his ear. “You feel so good, you know that?” He pulls most of the way out and shifts just enough that he rubs against Tony's prostate on the thrust back in. Tony arches his back as best he can and whines.

“Please—”

This time Phil doesn't soothe him with words but with action; his hips roll, cock pressing in and out of Tony's ass and hitting that spot more often than not. It's precisely what Tony's been wanting and the sound of his own whining and moaning and begging slides straight off of him, far less important than Phil moving inside and above him, the pressure and heat of Phil's cock and the weight of Phil on his back and the wet warmth of Phil's mouth tracing the skin by the ropes. Their scents mingle and rise in a cloud around them, and every breath of it sinks Tony deeper.

One of Phil's hands slides away from his hip and up underneath his chest. The caress is good; the ache of pleasure when Phil starts playing with his nipple is better. Phil makes a harsh, dark sound when Tony yelps, pinching the nub before switching to the other one.

Tony is floating, everything in him channeled down into his body. No sharp darting ideas for tech development, no worries for the hive that might be, possibly, forming – everything is rough rope, skin and heat and sex. He feels safe as if he were in a cradle, being rocked in the warm darkness and borne up by Phil's musk and touch. The only drive in him right now is towards completion, and even that isn't under his control. Phil's got him, and Phil makes sure that things run exactly according to his plans.

Phil's hand skims down his stomach, curling around his cock. Tony shudders, trying to twist against the ropes, taking the bite of them on his skin before settling back down, and at least some words come back to him. “Please, please, Phil, touch me please–”

An inarticulate noise comes from Phil's throat and his hips stutter, slamming hard into Tony before going back to that deep measured pace; Tony moans, tilting his ass up into it. “Christ,” Phil groans, his breath hot on Tony's shoulder. “Tony.” His grip firms as he begins to stroke Tony's cock, a little more slick than Tony's used to and just the right amount of pressure, working counterpoint to his cock in Tony's ass.

Tony's one continuous soundtrack of needy, eager noises. There's a line of fire running all the way through his spine up into his skull and down, flaring out through his groin, and he can't fly away from it because of the jute keeping him put and Phil holding him down, and it's not going to take anything to tip him over the edge so long as Phil keeps that rhythm between hips and hand. Phil's got to be close, too, his nails are pin-pricks of pain in Tony's hip and no-one who smells that way is ever more than a hair's-breadth away from coming. That only ratchets Tony higher, the rocking grown to waves of pleasure buffeting him from every side.

Phil grunts into Tony's back, pushing in hard and fast, and twists his hand just right. Tony cries out and jerks against the ropes, and just as he's cresting Phil leans up and bites the spot below his ear, not particularly gently, bright shock of pleasure-pain.

Tony shrieks, convulsing. Everything goes white-hot and he shakes apart through a wrenching orgasm. Dimly he's aware of Phil's hips snapping against him, his name rough in Phil's voice, and then those disappear and he drops into warm aching darkness.

He comes back to Phil's thumbs rubbing circles over his shoulders. Phil is draped over his back, still inside him; he can't have been out long.

Phil, of course, notices that he's awake well before Tony can say or do anything, squeezing his shoulders lightly. “Welcome back.” His voice is warm and affectionate. After a scene like this, it doesn't even sound strange on him.

Tony shivers underneath him, turning his head as far backwards as he can. “Phil,” he says, and then has to take a second to remember words past that. “Blindfold?”

So maybe he's still out of it.

Phil only chuckles, low and warm, and reaches up to undo the blindfold, setting it aside. He strokes a thumb along Tony's cheekbone. “There you go.”

“Mm.” Tony lets his eyes wander over Phil's face, still a little flushed, his hair no longer perfectly in place, and down to Phil's bare shoulders. He can't see anything else because of their positions; that doesn't bother him as much as he thinks it should. “Phil.”

“Tony,” Phil says, the smile on his face spreading wider. He pulls out, and Tony considers protesting but then Phil leans up far enough to kiss him, sweet and gentle and still completely in charge, and Tony winds up humming into the kiss instead. Phil takes his time with it, mapping out Tony's lips and mouth before breaking away. “I'm going to lift you back up onto your knees,” he says. “Okay?”

“Mhm,” Tony agrees easily. That means he'll be able to see more. He is all about this.

Phil lifts him up as easily as he'd lowered him the first time, one hand wrapped in the rope between his shoulder-blades and the other on his shoulder. Once Tony's up he balances him there for a moment. “I'm going to undo these,” he says. “Can you hold yourself up?”

Tony probably takes too long to think about that before deciding that he can, because Phil gives him a mildly skeptical look before Tony feels his fingers start untying the harness. The rope loosens, coil by coil, and in less than a minute Tony has one arm free. Phil checks it for circulation, and then has Tony rest it in his lap while Phil undoes the other one. Tony obeys, mostly, turning it every little while to admire the red marks from the jute, but not trying to raise it.

Phil finishes quickly, shuffling around on the bed so that he's in front of Tony. Tony takes this opportunity to look him up and down, slow and appreciative. Phil is amazing, lean and in the sort of shape that allows him to kick ass and take names with the best of them, and Tony kind of wants to find out what all that feels like under his hands and his tongue, but he is hollowed out right now in the best sort of way. It'll have to wait until the next time.

Tony is going to make damn well sure that that next time happens soon. His brain is coming back online, albeit slowly, and he's got six plans already for a repeat.

Phil's smile quirks to one side. “You're already coming back up,” he says. “Why am I not surprised? —No, Tony, it doesn't matter. Come here.”

Phil's hands wrap around his biceps, tugging him in. Tony goes willingly, licking at Phil's chin and jaw until Phil redirects him into another kiss. Phil makes a chiding sound when Tony starts to lift his own hands; he's still down enough to settle them back obediently in his lap.

“You're really good at that,” Tony says when Phil lets him go. “Really really.”

“Thank you,” Phil says, cupping Tony's cheek in his palm. “Would you rather have water first, or the rope off your legs?”

“Water, please,” Tony says, nuzzling into Phil's palm and letting his eyelids slip to half-mast.

Phil watches him. “You're sweet like this,” he says. “Water it is, and then I'll let you go.”

He slides away from Tony to the edge of the bed, coming back up with a bottle of water and tipping it to Tony's lips. Tony accepts it passively, leaving his hands where they are, and doesn't miss the way Phil's eyes go dark all over again.

He's going to have a lot of fun with this.

When Phil takes the water away to undo the rope cuffs on his legs, it's Tony's turn to watch. Phil's hands are a wonder to watch, and the line of his back curves beautifully regardless of the scars littering it, the largest still pink beneath his shoulder where Loki had tried to take him away. Phil coils the rope when he finishes, setting it off to the edge of the bed, and sits back onto his heels, eyes steady on Tony.

Tony turns his palms up in his lap and ducks his head, looking up at Phil from beneath his lashes. “I was pretty out of it,” he says, pitching his voice quiet and low. “You probably shouldn't let me go yet. Who knows what might happen? I could crash from low blood sugar or anything.”

Phil shakes his head, lips twitching.

“There's chocolate in the drawer,” Tony adds.

Phil ducks his head, covering his face with one hand. His shoulders are twitching with what Tony is 94% sure is laughter, and when he lifts his face he's smiling. “Far be it from me to leave you without proper care,” he says. Two seconds later he's retrieved the chocolate from the drawer and is somehow back right up in Tony's space, bearing him down to the bed and catching him right before he hits. “I'll simply have to stay the night.”

Tony's eyes run up and down Phil, propped above him on one elbow, and his grin is probably sappy in levels generally reserved for Rhodey and Pepper but he just can't see where that's a bad thing. “Sounds good to me,” he says, tugging Phil down into him. “JARVIS? Lights.”