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Last Night I Dreamt I Was In The Labyrinth

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"Quit that," says Steve dizzily, and tries to move his hips away. That only stirs the fingers inside him, and he lets out a rough gasp.

"Stop wriggling," says Tony, in a somewhat muffled voice.

"This is not a blow job."

"Pretty certain this isn't your thumb I'm sucking on."

"You - " Tony swallows him all the way, and Steve can't focus enough to speak for a long moment. "Oh God." His body jerks again, and he groans at the twin sensations. "I don't - don't like it."

Tony pulls off him then, twists his fingers, presses firmly, and Steve fights his body's urge to arch and twist. He can't stop his ass from clenching tight or his thighs from spreading, though, and this groan is one of embarrassment.

"Liar," says Tony, smugly, and this time his fingers stroke gently and Steve's body just melts. Letting Tony talk him into bed is rapidly becoming one of the stupidest decisions he'd ever made, but at the time - looking at Tony's soft red mouth, while Tony straddled his lap and promised him in soft earnest tones that he'd give Steve the best blow job he'd ever had - and it had been such a shitty week, and it had been a hell of a long time since anyone even hugged him, let alone - it was still incredibly stupid.

He's never had sex like this, never felt his body respond like it's not under his control, like it knows what it wants and isn't going to listen to whatever feeble objections his brain puts up.

Tony's mouth is on him again, tracing - licking around his own fingers, around - Steve makes a helpless noise and covers his face, can't bear to think about it, but the quivering threads of sensation that shoot through him like fire -

"Don't," he forces out, and Tony's mouth leaves him, presses a kiss against his thigh, bites the cord of muscle there, and Steve shakes under it. Tony's not holding him down, but his fingers hooked inside keep Steve still, a bull with a ring through its nose, too tender to struggle.

Tony licks his cock again, broad sloppy stroke, and that's good in a way he can understand; he relaxes a little as Tony dabs his tongue into sensitive places, drawing out sighs, sliding wet lips over the head and sucking hard, and when he rocks into that he rocks himself onto Tony's fingers again, and he stills, thigh muscles quivering, caught between the urge to move and the need not to. Tony mumbles something that's probably meant to be reassuring, takes him deep again and twists his fingers, and by the time Steve's got some control again, stops the writhe of his hips, he's aware Tony got a third finger into him when he was spreading his legs wide, and he feels full and stretched in a way that's miserably good. The pressure just seems to make his cock harder, more sensitive, so even Tony's breath on his cock makes him moan. He's not going to beg, he won't beg Tony, and he just hopes Tony gets bored of tormenting him soon. It's not like he has a long attention span. Just a little more of this, and then he can go home and forget about it, except maybe when he's jerking off.

He's thought of Tony before, while jerking off. Not much, and not often, but there's a distant guilt when he thinks of Gail or Jan, and sometimes he wants to think about some he knows, someone who knows him. Tony wouldn't care if he knew, that sometimes Steve pictures his mouth, wonders what he does with all those women to make them look at him with soft eyes even while he's showing them the door.

 

He lies, limp, and blinks blearily at Tony. Tony gives him a strained little smile.

"Roll over," he says, and Steve does. His body moves under Tony's hands, and though he's vaguely aware he should object, he's too wrung out to really care. When Tony enters him, it's not even uncomfortable, just a long press inside of him like a hand sliding over tense muscles. Tony rests his head against Steve's shoulder, rocks slowly, and as pleasure slowly fires in Steve's body he starts to remember all the reasons why this is a really stupid idea. But it's too late now, Tony's fucking him now, and he's enjoying it, enjoying the slick feel of his body being opened, the drag and thrust of Tony's cock in him. He makes a noise of distress, and Tony stills, rubs a hand over his hair.

"You all right there?"

"Don't stop," he says, because it's too late now, and even worse would be asking Tony to stop, and having to be grateful to him for stopping.

"Fine. Just- say something if- " And Tony starts to move again, and Steve tenses against the pleasure, bites back the little gasps he wants to let out.

 

He can't stop shaking, body feeling like it wants to pull itself apart; he buries his face in his arms and ignores Tony's touch, pretends he's not there. When he's sure his legs will support him, he bolts to the bathroom, drinks a glass of water and doesn't look at himself in the mirror. He won't look any different; you can't tell that kind of thing just by looking. He showers, washing off all the smears on his skin, and when he puts his foot up on the edge of the tub and touches cautiously, he feels - looser than he should. He's pretty certain that'll pass.

When he leaves the bathroom, Tony is sprawled face down in the pillows, asleep or faking it; Steve can -

His clothes aren't where he dropped them, and Steve grits his teeth. Even if he could find something of Tony's to fit, he needs shoes, and he's damned if he's going to wander out barefoot into the night because he can't look Tony in the eye. Which is probably exactly what Tony was counting on. Which means Tony isn't asleep at all, he's waiting. The thought of applying violence is very tempting, but Steve's been in the army a while, he knows exactly what he thinks of men who have sex with other men and then beat them up, and frankly he'd rather be a faggot.

He wonders if Tony knows that too, or if he's just counting on their friendship to defend him from Steve's anger. Or maybe he expects to be beaten up, and thought it was worth it. But he wouldn't have hidden Steve's clothes if that were the case; he's got to be pretty sure Steve won't hurt him, and that gratifies him a little but makes him angry too, because Tony took advantage of him, and it's not like he didn't know Tony did that kind of thing, but he hadn't expected Tony to do it to him.

If he wants to go, he has to have an argument with Tony, and if he stays - if he stays this will be normal, Tony will get up in the morning and offer him vodka for breakfast and talk while Steve ignores him and reads the paper.

Does Tony want Steve to stay? Is hiding his shoes Tony-speak for 'stay'?

If he's been taken advantage of, he should leave. If he leaves, he's been taken advantage of. Tony's letting him choose -

 

Right at the end, when he was shaking and exhausted from trying not to come, Tony had put a hand to the back of his neck, rubbed his hair the wrong way, pressed his face to Steve's neck. It wasn't quite a kiss; when his lips moved, it was to mutter Steve's name. He'd done something with his hips, then, good and hard, but Steve didn't lose it until he felt the slickness inside him and realised that it was Tony's come.

 

He drops the towel on the floor, and gets back into the bed. Tony doesn't so much as twitch, no shift in his breathing; sometime, Steve will give him some tips on faking sleep better. He switches off the lamp and lies on his back, hands folded over his belly, and after a minute, he feels the slow shift of the bed as Tony makes tiny movements. When he falls asleep, he can feel Tony's skin grazing his at their shoulders.