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Sex on the Beach

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He hadn't thought this through; Tony shifted his weight from foot to foot on the hot sand of the private beach below his rebuilt Malibu mansion and spread his towel out on the sand. Taking Steve to Malibu and teaching him how to kitesurf on the one weekend in the foreseeable future where he didn't have shit to do for SI or the various contracts he was working on had sounded like a fantastic idea. And, well, to a large extent it still was. Steve in a pair of wet board shorts clinging to his every muscle was practically a monument to science.

The downside was, it was turning Tony on. It wasn't the most comfortable state of affairs.

He'd cried uncle after a half hour or so of that tease. The first fifteen minutes had been fun; Steve's insane learning curve and physical dexterity had combined to amazing result. It hadn't taken longer than those fifteen minutes for him to start experimenting with tricks, throwing in jumps, twists and even a flip or two, sometimes soaring meters into the air in the process.

It was a display that simultaneously left Tony smug, turned on, and envious. He simply didn't have the strength for a few of those stunts.

After the aforementioned half hour had been up, Tony had headed for shore. Steve had followed shortly after, clearly not believing Tony's protestations that he wanted a break to watch instead.

By the time Steve had strolled up out of the waves, Tony had arranged himself comfortably on his towel and peeled his rash guard off.

Steve hadn't bothered with a rash guard of his own, confident that any minor injuries he picked up would heal quickly thanks to the serum. It had left his broad chest bare, and Tony had definitely appreciated the view out on the waves. It was still damn good here, but Steve wasn't fighting the kite, so his muscles weren't quite as ridiculously defined anymore.

Steve came to a stop next to the towel and dropped down to one knee in the sand. "Tony?"

"Mm?" He tried to play off everything. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah," Steve replied, seemingly torn between amusement and worry. "You're here instead of enjoying yourself with me."

"Oh, believe me," Tony leered at him, "I can enjoy myself from here."

"Is that so." Steve leaned over him and planted a fist on the towel by Tony's ear. "Come on, Tony," he tried again, "what's wrong? You can't already be tired."

Steve wouldn't let it go. Tony had learned that lesson the hard way. Raising his eyebrow at his lover, he replied. "Nothing's wrong, Steve. I just didn't want to try surfing with a hard-on."

The worry cleared, and Steve snickered at him. "I could help you with that, you know," he offered. "But if I do, you're coming back out into the water with me."

"Better make it good, then," Tony answered, calling Steve's bluff. Not that it was much of a bluff to begin with.

Leaning in for a kiss, Steve paused for a beat. "Well, I've never had any complaints. Pretty sure I know what I'm doing."

With that, he closed the small distance between them, kissing Tony possessively enough that he couldn't find the words -- or the will to break the kiss -- to reply.