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stay in shape

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“How are you not tired? I know you’re a supersoldier and all that, but this?” Tony asks, waving a hand in Steve’s direction. “This is ridiculous.”

Tony lays his head back down on the floor, where he’s currently sprawled like a jellyfish out of the water. Steve had invited him to spar earlier and Tony, who is a great, big idiot physically incapable of saying no to Steve outside a mission, had said yes. Sparring wouldn’t have been too difficult anyway, they do it enough times already that Tony could have survived with his ego and his body mainly intact. The warm-up exercises though? Those can go fuck themselves.

“It’s important to stay in shape,” Steve says, barely pausing to speak as he does his what? Hundredth sit up? Ridiculous, just fucking ridiculous.

Steve has the nerve to flash Tony one of his perfect, colgate king smiles as well. If Tony didn’t have a crush on him - he’s such an idiot - and if he didn’t feel like he’d just climbed Mount Everest, he’d try to punch Steve. As it is he settles for flipping him the bird, and even that requires more energy than he can spend at the moment.

“You’re a freak, Steven,” Tony replies, no heat in his voice. Steve just laughs, open-mouthed and gorgeous, already knowing too well when not to take Tony seriously.

After a couple more sit-ups, Steve lies down on his stomach and laughs again at the flabbergast look on Tony’s face. “Time for push-ups,” he says, making Tony gape at him further.

‘Time for push-ups’? Steve had been doing warm-up exercises - or should they be called relaxing exercises? They’d already sparred, so now they were just trying to decompress - for the past half an hour. Tony had managed two feeble sit-ups before he flopped down on the floor, and here’s Steve, covered in sweat, with his shirt clinging obscenely to his chest, still looking like a model straight out of the catalogue and wanting to do another one hundred push-ups, or some other ludicrous number, after having already done god knows how many sit-ups.

“How?” is the only thing Tony can ask. How are you real? How are you so handsome it makes me want to claw my eyes out? How are you so goddamn perfect?

“You said it yourself. Super-soldier,” Steve says, smiling as he pushes up. His movements, from an aesthetical point of view, are beautiful. He never hesitates, never takes a pause to get back his bearings, never breathes loudly like doing this takes any sort of effort. His posture is textbook perfection, and all Tony can think is that he wants to mess with that more than he wants to keep breathing.

He gets up slowly, still too tired to be anything but an oversized oyster, and goes up to Steve’s side. Steve doesn’t stop moving when he feels Tony’s presence next to him, but he does turn his head around to look at Tony, eyebrows frowned and mouth open to say something Tony never gets a chance to hear, since he sits down on top of Steve's back at that moment.

Steve falters for a fraction of a second before he picks up the pace again. If Tony weren’t literally sitting on him, he’d say nothing as changed from the way Steve keeps doing push-ups like they’re the easiest thing on earth to do.

Alright, it's time to step up his game.

He knows what he’s going to do next is far beyond the realm of ‘appropriate things teammates do to one another’, but it’s not like the Avengers are known for how professional they are. Also, the point of this whole thing is to make Steve give up. It’s irrelevant whether he does it because he can’t continue anymore, or because he has to push Tony off him.

Since sitting on top of someone doing push-ups and staying in balance is apparently far harder to do than they make it look like on television, Tony lies down on top of Steve’s body, chest to back. He strictly avoids thinking about what he’s doing in case he gets any inappropriate thoughts and subsequent inappropriate actions like, say, getting a boner while pressed against Steve’s ass. Now that would be crippling, and horrifying, and so damn embarrassing Tony would have to steal one of Richards’ dimensional portals to get away and never face Steve again.

Of course, he could always blame it on natural chemical reactions or some other bullshit, but Steve isn’t dumb, far from it in fact, and Tony is literally pressed against his back (and ass, his brain adds helpfully).

All things considered, this is not his brightest idea.

Well, here goes nothing, Tony thinks. He settles his hands on Steve’s torso and waits for a reaction. When he doesn’t get any, he starts to trail the tip of his fingers over Steve’s side, touch light and skittish. He has always wondered if Captain America is ticklish, and now he is finally getting the chance to find out.

Steve stops moving only for a fraction of a second. He grits his teeth and steels his jaw before he says, "I'm not ticklish."

He sounds angry, frustrated at Tony's antics even though they've known each other for over a year now and Steve should, by all accounts, be used to it already.

Tony grins, chin propped against the back of Steve's neck. "Not even a little bit? What about your enhanced senses?"

"They didn't enhance everything," Steve puffs. He now sounds exasperated more than anything else, and Tony sighs.

Tickling doesn't work then. What else can he do? Steve isn't an easy man to rattle. You can always phase him by saying something completely inappropriate at the worst possible moment, which Tony likes to do from time to time just to see Steve blush, but he gets over it pretty fast. Tony needs to do something that will effectively freeze Steve's movements and thoughts. Something big, something he'd never do at any other moment.

When the idea hits him, Tony realizes this won’t be so difficult after all.

He starts off small, wanting to see if just shaking the waters will be enough. Secretly, in the vast confinements of his mind, he hopes it won't be, hopes he'll get the chance to take things a little further, fully in the knowledge that he'll never get another chance. It is a horrible thought to have, he knows. Tony is basically taking advantage of his incredibly male, painfully straight best friend, but he's an idiot, never been anything else.

He lets his hands trail to the front of Steve's chest, slipping underneath his shirt, and kisses the back of Steve's neck. At first, he keeps the press of his lips against the warm skin light, enjoying the sensation, before he opens his mouth and darts his tongue out. Steve’s skin doesn't taste like anything, but Tony imagines that it does. It tastes of oranges, Steve's favorite fruit, and vanilla, from his body wash. It tastes of gunpowder, from all those years in the war, and leather, from his red, white and blue suit. It tastes forbidden, something Tony isn’t allowed to have, and full of promise.

Tony is doomed. He is waxing fragmented poetry for the first time in his life and it’s about Steve, of all people, and he is one hundred percent, truly, completely doomed.

Steve, who tenses underneath him, every muscle coiled and ready to snap as he stalls. Tony waits for the kick, figurative and possibly even literal, but it doesn't come. Tony wrinkles his nose and feels the corners of his mouth turn down. He'd thought this would be enough to get Steve to shove him away and call it a day, but Steve resumes his movements shortly after, like having Tony's hands underneath his shirt and Tony's mouth pressed against his neck is a totally normal, common affair.

Tony had secretly hoped Steve would do this, but he never expected it. Not that it matters. He's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He bites Steve's neck, hard enough to break the skin if Steve had never taken the serum, and then laps his tongue against the mark, kissing it softly. Steve shakes. He visibly shakes, little tremors going down his entire body, and Tony can feel them, every single one of them, passing through Steve's body to his own. Steve’s movements freeze again, and it takes him longer to push up from the floor.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Steve asks and he sounds wrecked. His voice is hoarse, like he's just run it to the ground shouting in the battlefield, and his breath is coming out in short puffs of air. If Tony didn't know any better, he'd say Steve is tired, but he knows, from many months of working and practicing by Steve's side, that a couple of push-ups would never tire him like so much.

"I'm..." Tony says, trailing off, suddenly unsure of what he's doing.

He waits for Steve to say something, but no other words come out of his mouth as he keeps pushing up and dropping down in a steady rhythm, and after a while Tony forgets - but not really because he's Tony Stark, and Tony Stark never forgets - who he and Steve are, and just lets his body keep moving.

He presses another kiss to Steve's neck, this time lower, just above the line of his shirt, and begins to suck a mark there. He pulls the skin between his lips and teeth and loses himself in the idea - the sweet, dreamlike, almost poisonous idea - of Steve walking around for days with proof that Tony was with him on his skin. He knows it's never going to happen, and for the first time in his life, Tony curses Steve's advanced healing factor.

But maybe that is for the best. He has no idea what they're doing, much less have any clues what is going to happen afterwards, and he's not sure if he wants a proof that something between he and Steve happened if he later learns it will never happen again.

He's going to do this though, until the other shoe drops and Steve kicks him off, Tony is not going to stop.

His hands are moving on their own accord, back and forth across Steve's chest, lazily mapping every line and dip and curve of his muscles, and there are a lot of those. Steve’s body comes straight from the dreams of humankind, enhanced to the point of physical perfection. Tony could spend hours tracing Steve’s body and he’d never get tired, never grow bored, but now is not the time for that. He begins to pull his hands down, inch by inch, until they're at the hem of Steve's sweat pants.

If until that moment Steve was being affected by Tony's actions, he was doing a hell of a job at hiding it. Besides the quickening of his breath and the little tremors that had coursed through his body when Tony bit him, Tony hadn't noticed any changes. Now, however, Steve is no longer able to hide how affected he is, or maybe it's Tony's hands slipping underneath his boxers that get to him. Either way, he's shaking, from his shoulders to the his feet, and he's making these little sounds, shy and so perfect. His movements are sluggish, full of effort and lacking any of their usual finesse.

Steve must be one step away from collapsing on the floor, Tony can feel it, but he still keeps moving. Tony wonders if this is a challenge to Steve, like it had been to Tony at the start, or if maybe, Steve just doesn't know how to stop, doesn't know if he can lay down and still have Tony pressed against him afterwards. Tony certainly knows that feeling.

Steve is already hard when Tony finally wraps a hand around him, but that's not really a surprise. Not sure how Steve likes it and too self-conscious of the fragile bubble they've placed themselves in to ask, Tony jerks Steve off the way he himself likes it: fast and rough and just a little too teasing.

He alternates between ghost touches and a tight grip, keeps his thumb pressed against the head as he moves the palm of his hand in short, aborted motions that push Steve near the edge but never over it. Tony’s mouth is still working on Steve’s neck, kissing, licking and biting the skin there over and over again as he strokes Steve’s cock.

The noises Steve had begun to make grow louder, as if Steve just can’t help himself, overworked groans and every once in a while, when Tony picks up his pace before he decides to drop it again, a breathless moan that Tony makes himself commit to memory.

“Tony,” Steve breathes out, just once, and if that isn’t the best thing Tony’s ever heard, he doesn’t know what is.

“Yeah, it’s ok. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Steve,” Tony replies on automatic. He sounds as debauched as Steve does despite the fact that Steve’s hands have been firmly pressed against the floor since this whole thing began, and he hasn’t touched himself once.

Tony doesn’t know how long it takes until Steve comes all over Tony’s hand, just knows that it’s only then that Steve finally gives up, falling on the floor with a silent groan.

Unsure of the proper etiquette of what to do after giving your best friend a handjob, Tony stays right where he is, on top of Steve with his cock straining against the fabric of his sweats and pressed against Steve’s ass, because for some reason Tony believes that Steve will only be able to tell Tony is hard if he moves. Not the most logical thought he’s ever had, but his brain sort of left the house when Steve breathed out Tony’s name and made it sound like Tony was the only thing keeping him together.

And then Steve pushes Tony off him, waking him to the side with one hand. Tony has a small moment to panic, inhaling sharply as his eyes going wide eyed, before Steve kisses him, hard, shameless and possessive, holding Tony’s face with one hand as he licks Tony’s mouth open.

“We’re going on a date. This friday. We’re going on a date, just the two of us,” Steve says when he finally breaks off the kiss. Tony thanks the heavens he mastered the art of breathing through his nose while kissing someone ages ago, or he would have passed out.

The thought of stopping the kiss himself doesn’t ever cross his mind.

“Okay?” Tony asks. He’s not sure he’s reading things right, but he’s pretty sure he is because Steve kissing him and telling him they’re going on a date can’t be read in many different ways.

“Okay,” Steve repeats, before he smiles, cheeks flushed and with two cute, little dimples on each cheek, looking so damn gorgeous and happy Tony has a hard time believing the smile is directed at him. The corner of Steve's eyes crinkle as he laughs, a bit too shaky, like he's having as hard a time as Tony in believing this is really happening, but he drops his forehead and lets it rest against Tony's, so Tony takes his laugh as a good sign.

"I need to take a shower," Steve says, getting up quickly and walking towards the locker rooms. Tony stays on the floor, staring at Steve in confusion for couple of seconds before Steve turns his head around and asks. "You coming?"

Tony still thinks he’s an idiot, a doomed idiot on top of that, and Steve is ridiculous, with his love for rabbit food and exercise, but Tony is happy, he reckons both of them are. And Tony is not going to overthink this, he’s not going to worry or say anything too stupid or freak out. He’s just going to follow Steve into the showers, go on a date with him on friday, and enjoy the wonderful aftereffects of his idea to mess up with Steve’s workout.

Not as deep inside of him as he’d like, Tony is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that’s alright. Eventually he’ll figure out it already has.