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Art of War

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Tony was watching the pigeons. He had a whole half hour free, with Pepper guarding the door, because power naps were in again, and that meant thirty blissful minutes of drinking Scotch and watching the pigeons fuss at each other. He slumped lower in his chair, and kicked off his shoes.

He heard the sound of the door, and lifted his head; then grinned at the click of bootheels. Boots and getting past Pepper could only be one person.

"It's polite to greet people when they come into your office," said Steve in tones of reproof, and Tony spun his chair to face him. For some reason Steve was in full costume, lovely, maybe he could be persuaded into a little bit of groping. He was scowling, though, and holding the shield as if he were expecting Tony to throw something at him.

"Hello, darling," he said, and Steve's frown deepened. "You're looking delightfully dour today; is that a new stick up your ass?" All right, he wasn't getting any this afternoon.

"We need to talk."

"You speak cliché so fluently. Translation: I'm going to talk, you're not going to like it." Tony tipped his head enquiringly. "Do I need another drink?"

"Yeah, well." Steve said, and someone less familiar with him wouldn't have caught the flex of his empty hand, the darting quality of his glance as he looked about him, finally settling on staring out the window. Steve was nervous. Tony flexed his toes against the carpet, and waited. Steve took a deep breath, and the tension in his shoulders released as he began talking. "I've been thinking about the future. And this, you and me - " he flapped a hand between them - "It's not, I don't - I don't want - this isn't -" he trailed off, and gave Tony a sharp sideways look.

Well, that was unexpected. Steve wasn't exactly a font of emotion, but Tony had devoted extensive study to his little tells and quirks, and he'd been as sure as he could be that Steve was happy, was comfortable, was entrenching himself into a routine that involved Tony. Tony had ... well, he'd been looking forward to things staying the same. Quite a lot, in fact.

"I see," he said, and he didn't quite manage the casual tone he aimed for. Steve gave him an almost guilty look, shoulders hunching; good. Yesterday he'd been perfectly content; he'd even tolerated Tony ruffling his hair under Clint's amused gaze. What had changed? Was it the reason why he hadn't come round last night? Ridiculous to suppose he'd found someone else, but - still, he might be able to talk Steve round. "What is it that you do want?"

The question spurred Steve into action; he strode round the desk, grabbed the arm of Tony's chair and dragged it round, and Tony bit back a yelp. He looked up at Steve's glower with his best poker face, raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to think there'd been some misunderstanding, there was no reason Steve should be angry with him - Steve dropped to his knees, and grabbed his hand roughly.

"I want us to get married," he said, and put his hand on Tony's crotch.

"You - " Tony broke off as Steve squeezed, and then the hiss of the the zipper and Steve ducked his head. "Wait - " The gorgeous wet heat of Steve's mouth, and Tony dropped a hand to his head, to - to push him away, because for once, they really did need to talk - but his hand slid over the sleek leather, and his libido pointed out, breathlessly, that Steve was blowing him in the costume, Steve never left the costume on, this was an opportunity not to be missed - they could talk after - the wet flicker of Steve's tongue, and Steve's gloved hand creeping into his boxers, to cup his balls gently, just how he liked it - he had a distracted moment of regret for all those hours spent teaching Steve to be so damn good at this.

He looked down, at Steve's bobbing head, the broad sweep of his shoulders, his back curving away, all gleaming and gorgeous - he stroked Steve's head, opened his mouth to say something encouraging, and something caught his eye.

Steve had put a ring on his finger, that was, okay, he couldn't let Steve blow him if he was going to say no, that was just rude. Sex after a proposal - Steve had proposed to him - was a yes, everyone knew that. He tightened his grip at Steve's neck, he was going to pull him away. Any moment now.

In his office, though. Jesus, how many fantasies had he had about this? Steve just dropping down and sucking his cock, while he looked out over the city, king of the world with Captain America on his knees for him - he glanced blindly out at the view, then looked back at Steve. Married, though, he didn't want - that was ridiculous, he wasn't going to get gay married to Captain fucking America, the press would - the stock prices - Danvers would -

Steve squeezed his balls very gently, and sucked him down deeper, and Tony slouched in his chair to give him better access. God, his mouth. He had wanted Steve to stay with him. His gaze passed blankly over the window again, and then he squinted, trying to make sense of the reflection.

The door was still half-open, Steve hadn't even shut the door before going down on him, he'd just - he'd just -

Oh, fuck it, there was always divorce. He could afford it. Tony tightened his grip, and shoved up, fucking Steve's mouth, and Steve let him, let Tony's cock slip into his throat, swallowed around him, and Tony's nails scraped furrows in the leather. He managed to keep the noise down as he came, only a heartfelt groan as Steve sucked him wet and sloppy, licking him clean with a rough efficiency that made Tony shiver.

He stared, dazed, as Steve tucked him away, zipped him up, then stood up and leaned over him. The leather of his glove was cool against his skin as Steve turned his face up for a kiss.

"That's settled then," he said briskly and Tony nodded.

"Sure, sure, just let me -" he reached for Steve's belt, but Steve backed away, grabbed his shield, and marched out, slamming the door behind him.

Tony stared at the closed door. He looked down at the plain gold band on his finger, experiencing a weird feeling of vertigo. Was Steve - what had just happened?

 

Pepper stood with her back to the outer door of her office, staring at the half open door to Tony's office. The - noises - suggested that whatever Captain America's plan was, it was working. A groan, and then the sound of the Captain's voice, and footsteps - she darted over to the computer as he strode out, and tried not to notice his wet mouth and the bulge in his pants.

"Send it," he said curtly, and she hit send. She didn't usually send press releases personally, but she had the last time Tony got engaged, so this would have the ring of authenticity, enough to counteract the surprising nature of the news.

"He said yes, then?" she said, and the Captain nodded. There was a distinctly smug quirk to his mouth.

"He did. I'm going to ground; contact me if he does anything unexpected." He hesitated, and gave her a sheepish little smile, a faint flush showing under the cowl. "Uh, thank you, Ms Potts."

"Happy to help, Captain. And congratulations." Pepper kept her bright professional smile on until he was gone, and then dug in her purse for a tissue, ignoring the flash of the intercom light. It was silly, of course; but engagements always made her cry.