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Just the Tip

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Tony knocked on the door of the fifth floor walk up. Honestly, walking up five flights of stairs to deliver a pizza was too much, especially since he was out of shape. Very, out of shape. He hit the gym once in high school. Maybe. High school was a long time ago. He pounded harder on the door, using the side of his fist instead of just his knuckles. This was not what he signed up for. True, being a pizza deliveryman wasn’t even in the realm of thought when this whole shit-show started, but whatever.

“Open the fucking door,” he muttered under his breath. The stupid pizza was paid for online. Should he just put it on the doormat and leave? It’s not like anyone is going to want to steal a plain cheese pizza. The rats that were probably living in the walls might, though. How had his live dissolved into this? Slamming on a strangers door with a hunk of dough, sauce, and cheese for nothing more than a dollar or two tip. This sucked.

The door finally swung open and Tony had to clench his whole arm to keep from slamming his fist into the person standing in front of him. So, okay. The guy was pretty cute. Tony decided that he forgave him, solely based on the fact that the kid looked nervous.

“One pizza for Steve Rogers,” Tony said, thrusting the box into who-he-assumed-was-Steve’s hands. Steve almost dropped the pizza, but managed to balance it with the other arm.

“Yeah, one sec,” Steve said. For such a tiny guy, Steve had a surprisingly deep voice. It was as if his voice was in grad-school while his body was still waiting to graduate junior-high. Tony sniffed, used his right thumb to crack the knuckles on that hand; tried to do the same with the left and was unsuccessful. He could type 150 words per minute but couldn’t even flex his left hand properly. Evolution.

“Steve?” Tony tentatively took a step into the apartment. Steve had told him to wait and then disappeared. The rational part of his brain was telling him to haul ass out of there, that the little twink was probably getting an ax to chop him up with. The irrational part of his brain, however, yearned for the two-dollar tip from the cute guy.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry.” Steve came out of the bathroom, using spread fingers to push his bangs to the side. The too-long hair immediately fell back into his face. The apartment was one room. A futon, currently in couch mode, probably doubled as a bed. There was a kitchen island and a rusted out stove, a few mismatched lamps, an easel with a blank canvas on it. While the building looked like it was forty-five seconds away from being condemned, Steve kept the place very clean.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, only now noticing the pants Steve had carried out of the bathroom.

“Looking for,” Steve cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Looking for money. For a tip.”

Tony’s eyebrows scrunched together. The guy was… digging in pants pockets for spare change in order to tip him? For some reason, that made something swell in Tony’s chest.

“You don’t have to give me a tip,” Tony heard himself say before he was even aware that he’d said it. It wasn’t true. He really needed the tips. The one or two dollar tips were basically what fed him. That, and the day old pizza the parlor was constantly throwing out.

“Yes, I do,” Steve insisted. He stopped rummaging through what Tony assumed was the hamper (a mesh bag tied to an exposed pipe). Tony was about to protest again—he was starting to feel really bad for the guy and he should probably get back to the shop—when Steve took off his shirt. Jesus Christ I can see his ribs, he really needs to eat that pizza, was Tony’s first thought. His second was a question, Why am I kind of into this?

“Um,” was the only word Tony could manage. “Are you…”

“Offering to tip you with sex,” Steve confirmed. “It doesn’t have to be super gay or anything. I could… you could close your eyes while I gave you a blowjob. Or, uh, a hand job. Or something.”

“Did I stumble into a bad ‘90s porno?” Tony asked. At the question, Steve seemed to lose his bravado. Tony watched in delight as Steve started to blush, a fully body thing. When Steve started to reach for his shirt, however, Tony jumped into action. “No, no. That wasn’t, uh, it wasn’t an insult.”

“Oh… kay?” Steve said, drawing the word out and scrunching the shirt between his hands. “So… uh.”

“I’m not worried about the gay thing,” Tony blurted. “That… it doesn’t bother me. Because, um. Yeah. I am. Gay. Well, sort of. I like girls. As well. I like both. Uh. Yeah. So. The gay thing.” When had he turned into an awkward high school freshman that was about to get laid for the first time after the homecoming dance? “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Me too!” Steve said, overly delighted. “I mean, I like both. As well.”

“We both like both,” Tony halfheartedly joked. This was horribly awkward. Definitely easier in porn. Though, now that he thought about it, those interactions were always forced and awkward, too. They just involved a lot less talking.

“So…?”

“I… yeah. Let’s do this.”

At Tony’s words, Steve fell to his knees with a dull thud. It couldn’t have felt good, but Steve didn’t even flinch, shuffling on his knees until he was in front of Tony. He looked up through sinfully long lashes, biting his lower lip, silently asking for permission. Unable to speak, Tony nodded his acquiescence. Steve’s fingers flew to Tony’s belt. It took some work to get through the belt, the button, and the zipper, but soon enough Steve was pulling Tony’s slowly hardening cock out of his underwear and stroking it a few times. His knees buckled slightly. Shit. It had been too long, he was too desperate.

Steve licked his lips before leaning forward and tentatively licking the tip. Tony had thought Steve’s hand was wonderful, but this was a whole different kind of pleasure. Yeah, he’d gotten blowjobs before. Plenty. It had just… it had been awhile.

Instinctively his hands flew to Steve’s hair. He didn’t tug, not without permission, but he ran his fingers through it. He cooed praise, telling Steve what was good, what he liked. Then, Steve opened his mouth farther, took Tony’s cock as far as he could, then used the other to stroke at what wouldn’t fit. Tony wasn’t large, but Steve’s… everything was small.

Was his everything small? In that moment, Tony needed to know. Needed it like crack. He pulled Steve’s head off of him and was met with the sight of drool trailing from the corner of Steve’s mouth to Tony’s shaft. Oh, god yes.

“Did I hurt you?” Steve asked. “Teeth? Nails?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Tony swallowed. “I want to see you.”

“Oh? Oh!” Steve, finally getting with the program, stood and, with surprising speed, took off his pants. So, okay. Not every part of Steve was small. That was… not proportional. Not that it was huge or unsightly, just unexpected.

“Wow, okay.”

“Is something wrong?” Steve asked. Tony was starting to pick up on some of Steve’s insecurities, which seemed to be just about everything that wasn’t praise.

“You’re just… you’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”

“Oh, yeah. I get that a lot. Well, not a lot. Just. In the past. With the few partners I’ve had. They were, um. Surprised.”

“I want it inside me,” Tony blurted. It probably wouldn’t fit. Okay, it definitely wouldn’t fit. Why did he say something like that? He was an idiot. He hadn’t prepared himself, hadn’t taken a cock in his ass in years.

“It… I don’t think that will happen. But…” Steve looked away, shifted from foot to foot, stroked himself through his underwear. “I was… before you got here. I was sort of, um.” He gestured towards the futon where there was a fairly large plug just sitting there. How had Tony not noticed it on his first scan of the apartment? “So, if you want—”

“Yes,” Tony said before Steve could even finish the sentence. “I want. Please.” Steve smiled, a tiny little thing, and pulled his underwear down, stepping out of them. Tony realized that he was still mostly clothed, his pants pooled around his ankles and his stupid uniform shirt still on.

Oh shit, he was still on the clock.

But Steve was leaning over the futon, pouring lube into his ass. That was loose. Because he’d been toying with it earlier. “That’s why it took you so long to answer the door,” Tony realized.

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. He was currently pushing extra lube in and coating himself, inside and out, waiting for Tony. “You gonna come fuck me?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah. Yes. One second.” He stepped out of his pants and hurried over. Okay, condom. Condom. His wallet was in the car. No, he did not get this far to be deterred by lack of a fucking condom.

“Shit, I forgot,” Steve said, then hobbled into the kitchen area where he opened a drawer and produced a box of condoms. Ribbed for her pleasure. Tony snorted when he saw the label, but didn’t waste anymore time than that, rolling it on and accepting the lube Steve gave him to cover his own cock.

He adjusted himself, lined the head of his cock up with Steve’s ass, and slowly nudged at the hole. Steve gasped and gripped the metal bar on the back of the futon. God, he was this responsive and Tony hadn’t even entered him yet. This was going to be so, so good.

As Tony pushed a little harder, he gasped when Steve’s rim swallowed the tip. Shit, shit, oh god yes. That was. Oh god. Steve was warm inside, and as Tony gently pushed past the rim, the copious amounts of lube Steve had filled himself with started to ooze out the sides.

“Oh, shit, Steve,” Tony managed. “So fucking hot. So loose for me. Look at you. Your ass taking my dick like that. How much father do you think I can go? Can I go all the way? Can I fuck you balls deep? Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Steve gasped, trying to push back on Tony’s cock. Who was Tony to deny him? Tony started to push in, a little bit at a time, until he was, as promised, balls deep in Steve’s ass. When he decided that Steve was adjusted enough, he pulled back a bit before driving forward. Steve whined, eliciting a smirk from Tony.

“Does that feel good? Better than your toy?” Each question was punctuated with a decisive thrust into Steve.

“Yes,” Steve repeated. “Yes, please. Don’t stop. Just. Keep doing. Please. Faster. Yes. Yes.” Steve’s words turned into staccato whines, broken by each snap of Tony’s hips as Tony indulged Steve’s wishes.

This was… he’s not going to say the best sex of his life, because there had been a lot of sex in college. But it was the best sex in a long ass time. If he had it his way, he would keep fucking Steve all day, all night, all week, all month. The way his perfect little ass quivered around him. The way Steve held open his cheeks so Tony could get impossibly deeper. Deeper. Harder. Harder.

“C-cum,” Steve stuttered out. “Cum in my ass.”

Tony didn’t need to be asked twice. He came without a sound, hips thrusting erratically, chasing the pleasure, wanting more. When he was done, he stayed buried in Steve. He couldn’t keep fucking him, he was too sensitive, but he could stay inside of him while he jerked Steve until he came.

The sinfully wet sound of his cock pulling out of Steve’s ass was almost enough to get him going again, but he really, really, could not. Not only was his refractory period not what it once was, he also had to get back to work.

“Your pizza’s getting cold,” he muttered, placing a kiss between Steve’s shoulder blades. Tony clothed himself, put the hideous hat back on his head and got ready to go back to work. Delivering pizzas. He wanted nothing more than to stay here, eat Steve’s cold pizza with him, maybe fuck again. A man could dream.

“Wait,” Steve nearly shouted. “Wait. What’s your name?”

Hadn’t they… no, they hadn’t. He’d fucked a stranger instead of getting a tip and hadn’t even given him his name.

“Tony.”

“Tony.” It sounded like Steve was chewing on the word. Getting used to it. Seeing how it felt. “Wanna… stay? Like, I’m not some clingy loser but that was fun and, uh, we can eat the pizza.”

“I have to go back to work,” Tony said, wishing he didn’t. God, this sucked.

“When do you get off? Work. When do you get off work? Out. Out of work.”

“11.”

“You could… you could come back. Eat the leftovers. Maybe… do that again.”

“I’ll see you at 11:15.”