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The Suspense Is Killing Them

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The worst thing was Tony Stark couldn't blame it all on booze. For the record, he'd never abused it as often or with the volume the tabloids liked to proclaim. But his major misjudgments did usually go hand-in-hand with more than one glass of scotch. Except post-Avengers, he never drank more than two in an evening and one was the norm mostly because he could not stand being on the receiving end of one of Steve Roger's patented (or at least the damned things should be) 'Captain American is so utterly disappointed in you' looks.

Besides, scotch didn't really fit with the whole hot wings, nachos and football party taking up the media room of Stark Towers. Luxury suite in the stadium, yes; living room tailgating, no. Not that he couldn't have afforded one of those suites, but having one might make the stadium a target and filling it with partying Avengers and SHIELD higher ups would have pretty much guaranteed it. So at home tailgating and viewing it was.

The particular game they'd settled on was the New York Giants versus the Atlanta Falcons. Just to be a dick, Clint Barton declared the Falcons his soulmates and insisted on rooting against the home team. Tony decided it served the traitor right when the Giants were 14 points ahead with two minutes to go.

"My guys will rally and win this," Clint insisted around a nacho during the two-minute warning commercial break.

Tony snorted. "Not a chance, bird boy."'

"Care to make a wager on that, Stark?"

He should have stuck with rolling his eyes, but not only would it serve Clint right to lose, it would also get JARVIS off Tony's back. "Fine, Giants win you stay out of the air vents until next week's game."

Clint scowled as crawling around in them was one of his favorite pastimes, which was normally fine with Tony, but JARVIS wanted to do some security updates without dealing with Clint's intrusions, but Clint hadn't seen the problem. Tony had tried to stay neutral, but JARVIS had started nagging. "Okay, but if the Falcons win …" Clint's voice trailed off, a considering look on his face.

It was just Tony's luck that at that moment an ad for the next Victoria's Secret Fashion Show filled the big screen TV. Of course Steve blushed, normally a sight Tony greatly enjoyed, but a calculating look crossed Clint's face. Fuck. "If they win, you have to watch the next game in women's lingerie and heels."

Tony glared at him, but hey, Giants up by 14 and no more nagging from JARVIS. "Agreed."

Almost as if they'd been waiting for a signal from Clint, the Falcons rallied and the Giants caved. Two interception runs for touchdowns and a safety later the clock ran down. Clint crowed in triumph, all eyes turned to Tony and … sometimes he really hated his life.


The next morning Tony dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen for his morning fix … um, cup of coffee. Took him halfway through his second cup to realize a note was pinned to the top of the coffee maker. Toll free number. "JARVIS, what number is this?" he asked, like he couldn't guess.

"Victoria's Secret, Sir," came the expected answer.

Tony snorted, wadded the paper up and tossed it into the recycle bin. A Stark never welched on a bet, but they didn't do mass market either. Even a specialized mass market. He headed down to his workshop and secured the door behind him. "JARVIS, get Charlie on video conference."

A minute later Charlene DeCourt's lovely image appeared on his central screen. "Tony, darling, how nice to see you."

"Good to see you, too, Charlie. But I'm afraid this isn't a social call. I need a favor."

She frowned. "More gifts for your lady friends? Rumor had it those days were behind you."

If Tony had led a different sort of life he would have blushed, but he hadn't so he smirked instead. "Reading the tabloids again?"

"Gal has to have a hobby," she answered with her own smile. "But are you saying you haven't been keeping company with a certain tall, devastatingly gorgeous blond?"

He thought of pizza and a bottle of wine in his workshop; of a solid presence at his side during the last few PR events; of restaurants and museums and quaint little pubs explored; and of lips pressed to his; and the eventual – or God, at least he hoped so – feel of the delicious burn as a hard, thick length pushed into his body; thought of all of that and smiled. "I think you can assume there's truth to those rumors."

"So no trinkets for a casual conquest. Did you tick off Pepper again?"

"Constantly," he admitted, "but I'm not calling about her either." Charlie had been Pepper's roommate in college and Pep had talked him into investing in her company. The investment had been repaid years ago, but there was no one else he'd even consider calling for this sort of merchandise.

"Oh? So just who is it you wish to adorn in my finery?"


He hadn't known how she would react and had been worried she'd be offended. He thought he might have preferred that when her face lit up with unholy glee.


The shoes arrived Wednesday. Six-inch heels custom-made for his feet and a perfect tawny brown to match his eyes. Charlie had insisted on that color despite normally favoring less … chocolaty colors. "A shame you don't have your built-in accessory anymore. It would have given your chest a filled look and I could have matched the color. But you'd look silly in a bra, Tony," she'd said as if he wasn't going to look silly otherwise.

Fine, whatever. He put the heels on and practiced walking in them. Not that difficult given he spent a good part of his life balancing on repulsors. Let him spend less time worrying about falling and breaking his neck and more on practicing the perfect strut across the room.

The rest of his ensemble arrived Friday, but he didn't open the box until Sunday before the game. He'd showered and, as he'd promised Charlie he would, shaved his legs (never appreciated lotion as much as he had after he'd finished and his legs seemed desperate for moisture.)

Naked, he padded over to the box he'd left on his bed, then finally lifted off the lid. A robe without much fabric to it rested on top and his fingers brushed over the silk before he lifted it out. Silk was Charlie's medium of choice with even the stockings containing only enough nylon to keep them from running too easily. That was another thing he'd had to practice during the week – donning stockings without putting his fingers through them. Again not as hard as it could have been given he'd always enjoyed removing them from his paramours, but it had required a different touch. Dark for a dramatic contrast with the rest of his attire, everything else was a perfect match for his shoes and eyes. No two ways about it, Charlie was an artist.

The suspender belt was elegant, but it wasn't elaborate like many of her designs. She'd said, "We want to emphasize that gorgeous waist and ass of yours."

He'd protested that given his awareness of how his abs staked up against Steve's or Thor's. "You're not honestly going to whine about not having the same body as a super-soldier and a Norse god?"

"Um … no?"

She'd rolled her eyes. "Does your man like your body?"

Given how often Steve eyed it, even if he hadn't staked a more intimate claim, Tony had to admit, "Yes."

"Then don't worry about it."

He stepped into the belt and settled it into place around his waist. Next came the panties. He'd insisted there be enough cloth to them to prevent any unwanted peek shows or his ass sticking to the sofa. It had led to a very intimate fitting and a Brazilian wax job that had hurt more than the time a Doombot had dislocated his shoulder. There might have been tears, but he wasn't talking.

The scrap of silk covered his groin perfectly, but nothing else up front, while the back was a modified thong – Charlie loved thongs – with a 2-inch wide span covering the split of his cheeks. The sides had her patented quick release fasteners, and he rolled his eyes at the tiny star decorating each one. No one would have called them modest, but he wasn't going to be flashing anything either.

He slipped on the stockings, then fastened them to the belt. Again a small star adorned each clasp making Tony think Charlie was spending far too much time imagining Steve taking things off him than she should. Then again, it was an interesting image. And no, none of that. The panties had been made to cover his groin, not hide an erection.

Feet into the shoes, and the robe to cover it all until the big unveil. Although 'cover' was a bit of an overstatement. The thing only fell a couple of inches below his ass. He glanced at the clock. Game started in five minutes, so he guessed it was show time.

He walked out of the bedroom, down the hall and to the elevator so he could take it down the two flights to the common floor where they gathered for shared meals and media entertainment. He could hear the commentators droning on with last minute predictions as he stepped out of the elevator and into view. They kept talking, but everyone else fell silent.

Tony let them take in the preliminary view for a few moments, then he unfastened the robe and let it slide to the ground in a sensuous flurry of silk. "This do, Barton?" he asked, doing a slow turn to display every inch.

"Ah … yes?" Tony grinned enjoying the look on the man's face. Apparently good old Hawkeye hadn't thought this bet through to the actual visual. Guy looked like he'd rather face an army alone with an empty quiver than deal with this.

"Something the matter, Clint?" he asked, doing a picture perfect runway strut over to the sofa. "I mean this was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

He would have finished up by sitting on Clint's lap, but he seemed to anticipate this and scrambled to his feet.

Hmmm, what now? Rub up against him like a cat? Nah, that was overkill. Instead he settled down in his usual spot on the sofa next to Steve and crossed his legs like a perfect princess. It should have been a moment of supreme triumph – tables turned on the arch nemesis … okay, the guy who had dared to bet against the Giants and the wiles of Tony Stark – but through the shoulder casually brushing up against Steve's he could feel the other man's tension and oh, shit. He'd been so fixated on teaching Clint a lesson and maybe having a fantasy or two … okay 100 … of this getup finally getting Steve to make a move beyond kissing that he hadn't stopped to consider maybe this should have gone at the top of his 'don't push the man too hard' list. He should have gone for a new 'forget about the bet and it's all yours' bow.

Now that he'd let himself think in terms of 'big, big mistake,' he noticed the tension in the room. No one seemed too pleased with his … display. Damnit, he hadn't wanted to make everyone squirm. Just Clint. So what now? Did he declare the bet met and retreat to his room and a change into a comfy pair of jeans and a t-shirt? Clint looked uncomfortable enough he'd allow it without screaming forfeit. And given Natasha's calculating stare it might be the only way Tony would survive with all his poorly protected parts in one piece.

Before he could make up his mind, the lethal redhead in question leapt to her feet. Tony froze, unable to decide what to try to protect first, but it was Clint she grabbed. By the arm she used to haul him into the elevator. Huh. He stared at the closed doors long enough for the car to return to this floor. "Well, guess that's that," he decided and stood up. No sense in making everyone else unhappy when the reason he'd dressed this way had just been dragged off to his doom. Or something. Besides, if blood entered the picture, Tony wanted to be dressed a bit more appropriately for a trip to the hospital.

He retreated the way he'd entered, pausing briefly at the robe as he considered the logistics of picking it up. And no, just no. Walking on these damned heels was one thing, stooping down in them was entirely a different matter. Instead he walked into the elevator. He'd only gone a few steps inside when he heard someone following him. He turned, but before he could even focus on his pursuer, his momentum was used to pull him up off his feet and over a broad shoulder. He found himself dangling with a perfect view of an ass he loved ogling and huh. Score one for fantasy ice breakers, he decided as Steve carried him to Tony's bedroom, then dropped him on the bed with a swiftness that should have negated the gentleness of it, but Steve was a man of many talents.

"Got something in mind, Cap?" he asked unable to contain his smirk.

Steve gave him an exasperated look, but reached down and yanked the panties off – the little stars performing as designed to prevent the ruin of the fine silk. Between the sudden rush of air and the sudden hungry look in Steve's eyes, Tony hardened so fast he made a soft grunt. Not the sexiest of sounds, but Steve didn't seem to mind as he yanked open his zipper freeing an erection every bit as impressive as Tony had dreamed.

"Side drawer," he rasped, nodding toward the night stand on the right.

With gratifying speed, Steve dove toward it, swiftly returning with his prize of a bottle of lube. The man wanted Tony so much his cock was oozing, but he took his time getting Tony ready. Normally that would have been agonizing, especially given how many weeks Steve had made him wait for this moment, and he'd have been nagging at Steve to get on with it. But … the man's careful touch made Tony feel kind of … cherished. Didn't stop him from writhing on first one, then two, then three, -- and yeah, given the size of him four wasn't overkill – fingers.

Tony moaned, his legs falling open. Steve shuddered, his jaw clenching and body going still as if he were trying to hold back, then pulled out his fingers and lowered himself on top of Tony. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered into the nearest ear.

"So are you," Tony murmured, then arched in pleasure as Steve's cock finally slid into him. Waited so long, with a degree of patience he'd never known he'd possessed, and it had all been worth it. Never made love with another man before and it left him feeling almost virginal as Steve began to thrust, his length impacting with Tony's prostate on every stroke.

Made him see stars as his body moved to match Steve's, and bless the super-soldier serum, Steve was tall enough to easily devour Tony's mouth at the same time his lower half ravaged him. So good. So hot. No way he could last for long even if he felt like he wanted it to go on forever instead of aching for climax. Crying out his lover's name, the hot warmth of his release spread between them mere moments before Steve's filled him. He whimpered softly at the sensation.

"Did I hurt you, sweetheart?" Steve gasped, his face a cross between bliss and concern.

"No." His own voice was more of a pant. "Didn't want it to end."

Then miracle of miracles, Steve Rogers actually smirked. "No worries," he said, and Tony felt the flesh inside him hardening again. His eyes widened and his mind did a jig like Christmas and his birthday had combined, and fucking hell he loved that serum. Was a good 40 minutes before he managed to harden again. But he enjoyed every minute before and after because, well, Steve.


The next morning he met up with Barton in the kitchen and found the other man was wearing the same satisfied grin Tony had seen in his own bathroom mirror. So Natasha was a kinky she-devil. Well, Tony could work with that.

He gave her Charlie's phone number and mentioned the woman loved working with lavender hues. A week later Nat sent him a dozen roses the exact red shade of Clint's face. Tony laughed until his sides ached. Or until Steve hauled him off to the bedroom again. Whichever came first.