There's still concrete dust in Steve's hair – which somehow managed to get in there past his helmet – when they stagger through the corridors of the tower. He's grey down to his collar.
“We'll leave for Asgard soon,” Thor says, as Nat and Stark split up to change before debrief, and Clint dumps his quiver by the conference table and keeps walking.
Wanda's shrugging out of her jacket already, and she gives Steve a glance as Vision floats by her to touch her shoulder in concern, until she nods that she's fine as they both leave.
Thor, of course, means himself and the Warriors Three – there's no point for the rest of the Avengers following. Thor and his friends have dealt with Amora the Enchantress before apparently, but Steve is just as tired as he is keyed up from the fight.
They need to form a plan before Thor and the others can leave – attack and contingency both – but they can't do that until everybody's ready. For Clint, that means tending the injury that's pissed him off, which is a graze on his shoulder he's angry at himself for sustaining. Vision usually makes sure Wanda's hydrated and that her blood sugar's back up. Nat can take care of herself and, in approximately five minutes, will look ready for the red carpet. Stark has Friday to tell him if he needs to deal with his heart rate or his blood sugar.
Steve could sure use a coffee, and he pushes through the double doors and tries not to think about his headache or the thrum just under his skin.
He's on his way to his room like everybody else, helmet in hand and, ready to divest himself of his outer layer, check for injuries, grab a glucose tablet or six and have maybe a liter or of water. He's on his way but he gets snagged on something, sleeve catching on what he expects to be a piece of furniture randomly hanging out in the hallway or something – cut him some slack, he can barely see – except for the fact that he's then yanked backwards by more than his own momentum.
He doesn't get a chance to yell because the world spins forward as the grip on him vanishes, and then he's being kissed, but he makes a reasonably startled noise into said kiss just as his brain registers the beard and the curtain of hair surrounding him.
When Thor pulls back, he's grinning, and Steve is still bent over backwards because Thor dipped him apparently.Steve has both hands up in front of him now, ready to defend himself because the instinct to fight is still strong even after a battle - maybe even stronger because of it - and it makes this awkward but not impossible.
Thor's arms are around him because Steve is strong but Thor is what they sometimes affectionately refer to as stupid-strong, and he can hold Steve up as though Steve weighed roughly the same as an underweight gerbil.
"I am not in the right frame of mind for this," Steve says as the thought occurs to him, and Thor laughs low and deep in a way that means Steve's gonna get it pretty damned soon.
"I'm sure I can change your mind," he answers, and Steve rolls his eyes but he smiles and lets Thor kiss him anyway.
In all honesty, all Thor really ever has to do is grab Steve the way he grabbed him and laugh the way he laughed to get Steve halfway there already, and after a battle Steve's libido is at an unfair disadvantage. Or advantage, maybe - depends how you look at it.
"We've got maybe ten minutes before somebody comes looking," Steve tells him, heart already going a little faster, breaths already coming a little stronger. "Think you can manage that?"
Thor's eyes sparkle - they both know Steve's goading is for show, but Thor does so like a challenge.
"Our rooms are too far, too close to the others," he says, and Steve shakes his head.
"I ain't lettin' you near me on that conference table," he says. "Any other suggestions?"
Thor smiles a little wider, as though Steve's walked into a trap.
"Aye," he says, and then he pulls Steve upright, hand on Steve's shoulder while his head spins for a second or two, and shoves him forward, around, back towards-
"Are you kiddin' me?"
The compound still lets them move around. Friday isn't as far-reaching as JARVIS was, so there's a lot less 'Hey, can you open this?' said inexplicably to the ceiling, and more standing still and getting your retinas scanned and talking into holes in the wall than there used to be.
But at least it saves Steve a small mote of mortification when Thor drags him back to the hangar section in the ten minutes they get after a mission and before briefing, not having to listen to a young, Irish woman ask him for his name and the reason he's back so soon.
There wasn't much damage done to the jet during the battle today, so there isn't much for the bots to do. Still, a couple have to wheel out of the way as they get on board and Steve turns around to look at Thor as the ramp closes behind them.
"So we got like ten minutes," Steve says, and Thor smirks and manhandles him into the tiny bathroom they have aboard - one cubicle with just about enough room to sit and stand comfortably. Alone.
Steve is what people refer to as a tactical genius, and he's still got absolutely no idea how they're going to manage this.
When Thor steps in behind him and then closes the door, Steve chuckles because he can't help it. To say they're trapped would be overdramatic, but they're both packed in without about two inches spare to move and they'll have to figure this out pretty damned quick if they want to fuck and get back in time for debrief with the rest of the team none the wiser.
Steve's facing the mirror and the sink, as is Thor, and Steve's not sure if this is the wrong way, but what he does know is that neither of them can move their legs. One of Thor's feet is between his own and there's absolutely no room to shuffle them around, not with the edge of the toilet lid digging into Steve's calves - and Thor's too. They're caught in this kind of skewed stance and Steve presses the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle his amusement.
Thor's hands are on his hips a moment later, but then they're not, and then they are, and Steve looks back over his shoulder to the best of his ability, and Thor looks as though his whole plan has been derailed.
"Ah," he says, and it might be loud in the tiny, tiny confines of the jet's meager bathroom but Steve can't help it - he laughs, leaning forward over the sink as he does.
Thor is smiling wryly when Steve next looks back, and Steve absolutely does not care. He waits for a few moments, until Steve's laughter has died down, and then he sits down on the closed lid of the toilet instead of letting this defeat him.
"Well then," he says, lifting one hand to gesture at Steve as he sets his elbows against the walls, and he might be lounging on a throne for all is regalia, for his casual sprawl, instead of sitting on the lid of a toilet in a cramped bathroom stall. "Undress."
Steve feels his eyebrows shoot up as he scoffs.
"Me?" he says, twisting to look over his shoulder and then thinking better of it, lifting his arm to look at Thor in the mirror instead. "I got no room! You want me undressed, why don't you undress me?"
Thor's eyes close halfway, a sly smile curling his lips, and Steve's legs are stuck, effectively, so he won't get to kiss that smile off Thor's face, but he'd like to.
"You need to put the uniform back on once we're finished," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "and I fear I won't keep the thing intact."
"Fine," Steve says, rolling his eyes, but he can't stand up straight with his legs caught like this without falling backwards.
He tries and flails a little, and then Thor's huge palms, warm even through the fabric of his suit, are hot and solid against Steve's back.
It gives Steve enough leeway to lean back and start on his clasps - neck, shoulder, waist, hip, velcro too, another set of clasps, a zipper- "this was such a bad idea," he chuckles, but he finally gets the suit open down to the second layer and then it's just a matter of pulling at the velcro until the suit is open from neck to the front of his boxers.
That's when Thor shoves him forward, a good hard push, and it's only that Steve's got good reflexes that means he slams his hands down on either side of the miniature sink instead of cracking his skull on the acrylic mirror.
He huffs another laugh, and Thor starts pulling at the fabric, yanking it back to get it all off Steve's shoulders, down his arms - Steve nearly breaks his nose on the mirror when Thor pulls the top half off both of his arms at once and foils his support. He rests his cheek against the mirror instead and plants his hands once more just as soon as Thor's dragging all the stiff fabric down off them.
Thor shoves it all down in one go, takes Steve's boxers with it without any pretense at all, and shoves it and shoves it, jolting Steve's whole body each time, getting the form-fitting uniform down as far as he can.
By the time he's got it to Steve's thighs, Steve's out of breath with being tugged and shoved, but it's not in a bad way. Thor mashes his face up against the back of Steve's shoulder a moment later because doubling over against Steve's back is the only way he can get his hands down far enough, and Steve tries to remain immovable while Thor gets all of the fabric down.
When he's finally satisfied, once Steve's suit and pants and boxers are shoved down, bunched up around his knees, Thor pulls back and leaves the back of Steve's shoulder cold and damp as he stands, and Steve cranes his head around for a kiss because he misses the warmth. His dick is hard already, and it taps the edge of the sink as he turns - Thor grabs Steve's chin in one massive hand and pulls his head around to kiss him anyway.
It's hot and wet and messy and Steve likes it a whole lot, not only very aware of how naked he is in comparison to Thor's fully-dressed state, but enjoying the illicit thrill of it a whole lot too.
“Bring condoms?” he says when Thor pulls away.
Thor, close enough that Steve's a little cross-eyed staring at him, only grins.
There's more jostling and Steve just smiles and closes his eyes while Thor fumbles around, but it doesn't take long before Steve's hearing the crinkle of a foil packet. Thor snakes his arm under Steve's and puts the condom in the sink for now because, and here's another logistical problem, Thor still has to get out of his own suit before he can fuck Steve.
“You really didn't think this through, huh?” Steve says, and Thor leans back, away from him, and then cracks Steve's ass with the open palm of one hand, more against Steve's right hip than any actual muscle. “Ow!” Steve laughs, and Thor sinks his teeth into the back of Steve's shoulder.
It doesn't occur to Steve at that point, but Thor avoids all of Steve's bruises – in fact, when he thinks back on this later, he'll realize the graze up the back of one thigh is probably why Thor hit his hip and not his ass.
Still, Thor's teeth are enough to make him shiver, enough adrenline still in his blood that it's a good kind of pain, one that drives his libido up instead of pushing him out of enjoying the moment.
“Uhn,” Steve says into air that's already close and hot, arching his back as he does, tilting his head up as Thor sweeps his tongue over the mark – this is barely enough room for one of them, let alone two.
There's a lot of movement behind him as Thor does his best to get out of his clothes, but Steve can't see much in the mirror because his own frame is blocking the view. He can see the top of Thor's head, flashes of his face as he moves, and skin here and there while he tries to figure out how to disrobe but, eventually, Thor gives in and stands staring at Steve in the mirror.
“Change your mind?” Steve says, and Thor's hands settle as his waist before they slide inward, forward and up to sweep up Steve's stomach and chest.
He arches into it, lets his eyes close and his head fall back, trusting Thor to be where he needs him, rolling his head back against Thor's armored shoulder as he loops his own arms back around Thor's neck.
“Mmm,” Thor rumbles as Steve exposes himself, “good.”
One of Thor's hands comes back up under Steve's jaw, turning his head for another kiss while the other smooths downward over sweaty skin to grasp Steve's cock and pull hard and slow once, and again. Steve's hips move into it of their own volition and he groans into Thor's mouth until Thor lets go.
Steve doesn't get the time to be confused when Thor shoves him forward, because Thor drops to sit on the closed lid of the head and pushes against Steve's back until Steve's as bent at the waist as he can get with so little room, head crowded against the acrylic mirror once more. Thor's teeth are sharp and even and he's going to have teeth marks on his ass but it doesn't matter – nobody's going to know they're there except Steve – but-
“No, wait, wait,” he says, body crunched awkwardly forward although he really doesn't care, and he tries to look back.
All he sees is blonde hair and mostly his own body, and Thor nips at his skin this time, spreads him with both thumbs.
“Come on,” Steve says, “you can't- we just- I haven't even showered-”
Thor lifts his head and all but glares at him.
“Are you not clean?”
Steve squirms and knows he's blushing.
“We just spent two hours fighting-”
Thor strokes him again, twice where his cock now hangs full and heavy between legs he can't help but keep spread, and Steve's mouth falls open. When Thor stops, Steve makes himself open his eyes and finds that Thor is staring at him.
Without even looking, Thor grabs the hand towel off the tiny rail and throws it at Steve.
“Wet it,” he says.
Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and nods, pushing himself up on his forearms to get the condom out of the sink so he can wet the towel under the tap. It comes on automatically, thank God and, once the fabric is soaked, he passes it back. He moans enough that his breath fogs up the mirror for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as Thor pulls him open and makes long, slow swipes with the terrycloth – even that feels good and it's not Thor's tongue but it'll do for now.
“I want to make a feast of you,” he says, sinking his teeth into the top of Steve's ass, and Steve bites his lip, clenches as soft, warm terrycloth strokes over his hole.
“Not now,” Steve says. “You can eat me out tonight, after I shower, but I wanna kiss you again in a minute.”
“Hmm,” Thor answers, and he pushes against Steve's hole through the terrycloth, the soft knap of the fabric over his finger like a glove. “Ah you seem clean to me, aside from sweat? Sweat never did me harm, nor does it harm you, surely.”
It's such a familiar-but-unfamiliar sensation, soft but textured against thin, sensitive skin, and he could almost imagine it to be Thor's tongue, even as Thor pushes in that little bit further.
“I'll allow it this time, as long as you hold up your end of the bargain later,” Thor tells him, and Steve can hear the grin in his voice
“Oh please,” Steve says, breathless as Thor wiggles his fingertip, nerves lighting up where they were dulled by fatigue, “please don't throw me in the briar patch...”
It's a reference they both understand by now and Thor chuckles, low and warm and slow, and sound melts into Steve's blood as he arches his back a little more, pushing his ass back toward Thor as he scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, head back.
Thor is only just shorter than the ceiling, but Steve's got a few extra inches between his head and the bright spotlight and it's all warm orange through his eyelids the next time Thor pushes inward.
“We're- Uhn, we're gonna be late,” Steve says, breath hitching halfway through as his fingers curl against the small countertop.
“Mmm, tragic,” Thor answers, and then he scrubs with the cloth instead of stroking, just to keep Steve on his toes.
Literally, actually – Steve's up on his toes before he thinks about it, laughing in surprise a moment later as he avoids scraping his cock on the edge of the counter.
“Easy,” he says, but Thor snorts.
“Forgive me, oh my Captain, I thought not that my vigor might disturb you so.”
“Knock it off, asshole,” Steve breathes, not fooled in the slightest. “Whatever you're getting' to, get to it!”
Thor laughs, definitely at Steve this time, but Steve doesn't mind. The wet cloth slaps down into the sink a moment later, leaving Steve a little cold and feeling very open in its wake, but then Thor's messing around with the wall or something?
“You need the first aid kit?” Steve asks, planting his hands against the acrylic to use it for leverage as he looks back.
Thor says, “In a manner of speaking,” and knocks his fist against one of the panels in the wall that slides back and reveals a little cubbyhole.
There are a few – spare soap, spare paper, access to the plumbing in one case and access to electronics in another and, of course, the first aid kit. Behind which is a couple packets of lube and, come on.
“How long've you been plannin' this one?” Steve asks, as Thor manoeuvres himself around to get the first aid kit back into its cubbyhole and the cover back across.
It takes him a couple of attempts, and Steve watches him in the mirror as he screws his face up and stretches, ducks forward as best he can when Thor tries to get his other arm across and almost clips the back of Steve's head with the armor on his forearms.
Steve is still pretty aware that he's naked from the knees up, good and hard, and pressed up against the edge of the sink, but he watches Thor and the frustration on his face as he does his best to make the most of the small space he's sequestered for them. The triumphant grin on Thor's face when he finally succeeds is enough to make Steve laugh.
“Here,” Thor says, tearing one of the packets open. “I found us a place, you do some of the work.”
“Kiss me first,” Steve says, and it's rough this time, still hot but there's teeth and Thor sort of growls at him before they pull apart, and then Thor's thumping back down to sit on the lid of the toilet while Steve gets on his toes again, leans forward with his head and one shoulder against the acrylic as he reaches back. “Yeah,” he says, and Thor coats Steve's fingers with the lube from one of the packets – there's tons, and it's all over Steve's fingers.
Steve thinks he foresees a problem when he realizes that he needs one hand for balance, which means he's probably about to get lube all over everywhere with the other one. But Thor must see this problem too because both of his huge hands are spreading Steve open a moment later, so Steve's access is easy, and Steve feels himself flush even as he laughs.
“Mmmm,” Thor hums, and Steve does his best not to look back at Thor, does his best not to watch the God of Thunder looking appetisingly at that particular part of his anatomy.
This however, he quickly realizes, affords him the unique opportunity to tease from the other side, so he doesn't even nearly begin to prep himself. Instead, he circles slick fingertips over his hole, pressing only lightly because they're probably going to miss the entire mission debrief at this point, let alone rolling in late.
He bites his lip and allows a small sound to roll up from the back of his throat, easing inward just a little before pulling back, and Thor pulls against his flesh, spreading him impossibly wider, shaking his head as he speaks.
“I'm not sure I can wait until tonight,” he says, and Steve chuckles, easing one fingertip in and out slowly.
It's not what he likes yet, but he can see that Thor's captivated. He makes another small noise, wiggles just a little and feels absolutely ridiculous doing so, but Thor growls, slaps the undamaged portion of flesh over Steve's buttock and sinks his teeth in a moment later.
“Mnnh,” Steve says, eyes fluttering closed as his head tilts back minutely, and he feels himself smile, can't help it.
“It can't have been so long that you've forgotten what you're meant to do,” Thor says, dry as fresh sloe in summer, and Steve retaliates by snorting inelegantly.
“Been so long I damn near forgot what you look like,” he says.
Thor's fingers dig in, pull a little so that Steve's skin feels stretched.
“You've forgotten last night already?”
Steve makes deliberate eye contact and is unsurprised to see Thor's eyebrow raised.
“Remind me,” Steve says, and he sinks his finger in, nice and smooth, watches Thor's gaze drop to follow it about a split second before the slow drag registers.
Steve tries very hard not to think about the picture he must make from Thor's point of view, and to focus instead on getting himself loose enough to get it the way he wants it.
Thor smacks him again, and then again, and they've both looked things up and learned each others' preferences. Thor knows how to strike – upward and open-handed, so that Steve's milky skin turns rosy, so the sharp sting fades into a low burn.
“Maybe I'll do this instead,” Thor says and, to Steve's absolute mortification, he squeezes the flesh in his hands, kneads Steve's buttocks the way he sometimes does for Steve's shoulders.
“I mean, sure, if that'll entertain you,” Steve says, and he gets to work on the second finger as he speaks.
Thor nips him with his teeth, which Steve finds out when he feels the sharpness of it, and then he does it again, and Steve flinches on the third one.
“Ow,” he says, “you know, if you want me to-”
There's a couple of noises Steve can't really figure out – small, quiet, like paper or something – and then abruptly he gets it as one of Thor's fingers, nice and lubed, slides in alongside his own.
“Oh fff- “ Steve groans, and Thor's mouth is hot against his ass, the back of his thigh.
“You were taking to long,” Thor tells him, and Steve doesn't even care, isn't even annoyed.
He withdraws his fingers and leans on his forearms so he's fully bent at the waist, so Thor literally couldn't be getting more of an eyeful without sustaining an actual eye injury.
“Huuuohmygod,” and then he has to gulp for a breath.
Thor's fingers are big, and Steve is very lucky to have the kind of prostate that doesn't take a lot of finding – plus the sensitivity increase from the serum.
Thor shakes his hand, finger buried deep inside Steve, and Steve's breath hitches, his fingers curling and uncurling against the counter, the faucet, the raised edge of the sink.
“Oh, oh,” he gasps, half a laugh, and Thor swivels his hand viciously, Steve's toes curling in his boots, and his back arches of its own accord as he slams his fist down on the textured fiberglass. “Ye-hes, oh...”
“I'd rather make you forget last night in favour of now,” Thor tells him, and Steve laughs, half eager, half desperate.
“Oh, Whatever you want, whatever you want, just come on,” he says, and Thor shakes his hand again, his finger in just the right place, “come on.”
“Thor,” Steve says, reaching back to grab at his wrist, “get your condom on, get to it. We go slow, you won't hurt me, come on.”
Thor hesitates for a moment, but withdraws his finger, and Steve can hear him fumbling about with the condom. He stands again to put it on, but it doesn't take long.
“There,” Thor says, sounds just about as desperate as Steve is, “there, I have it, where's-”
“I've got a ton all over me,” Steve says in answer, twisting to reach back and coat Thor's cock with two rough pulls.
Thor bites his lip but still has enough left of his own hands to get a good amount on after Steve.
Steve braces one hand against the mirror then, reaching back with the other to hold himself open, and Thor holds him open on the other side, lining himself up.
“You're sure,” Thor says, and it's not a question really, but they've only done this once or twice before, with plenty of time to spare.
“We're missing the briefing, you're not gonna hurt me,” Steve answers on a breath, “come on, don't- Hah, can't've been so long you've forgotten what to do?”
Thor shakes his head, lets go of Steve's ass and his own cock and grabs hold of Steve's shoulders, hauling his backward to kiss him first.
“I'll stop you if I need to,” Steve says against Thor's mouth, and then he takes up his previous position instead.
Thor regards the back of his head for a moment, and then repositions himself.
“Breathe,” Steve says, and Thor does, blowing a breath out through pursed lips as he presses the tip of his sheathed cock to the slick, furled skin of Steve's wet but thoroughly unprepared hole.
Steve relaxes and clenches up again, because he knows that Thor can feel it and see it, and he flexes his hips just a little to rub textured flesh against smooth latex.
“Breathe,” he insists, looking back, but Thor's frowning. Steve shakes his head, lifts the hand on the mirror and reaches back with it. “Come on, together.”
And he gets his fingers around Thor's cock, eases himself back and then breathes calmly and slowly himself as Thor allows himself to ease forward.
It's...a lot of pressure, and Steve knows his body will yield, knows he can take Thor's impressive length and girth, but it still take a little resolve to brace for it instead of shying away. Thor is satisfying in many ways, sex included, but there are times Steve likes to feel it after, likes to wake up the next morning with the kind of ache he just doesn't get from a traditional workout.
And it does feel vulnerable – all this skin and flesh on display, and Thor's focused on one, tiny area.
Steve feels his body bow inward to begin with, the blunt head of Thor's cock pressing in, and in. There's no pain, but the threat of it hovers very close – all Steve has to do is slip, all Thor has to do is move wrongly, and it'll be sudden and painful.
The pressure increases, and Steve can't remember the last time they were so silent – it's certainly a massive change from a few minutes ago – and Steve is just starting to wonder how long this is actually going to take when his body gives, and the flared head of Thor's cock pops through the tight ring of muscle.
“Oh, fuck, fuckfuck,” Steve whispers, holding his body rigid as he flings his hands out to brace himself on either side against the cubicle walls. “Oh...”
Thor is big, widens out again after the head, too, so that the rest of the shaft is almost as thick, but the head of his cock is already a constant pressure inside Steve, stretching with just enough of an ache that Steve knows they have to go slower.
“Are you,” Thor says, and his voice is rough and broken too, “Oh...”
“That's,” Steve says, swallowing hard enough that it's audible – his head is back, his eyes are closed, and he thinks his knees are trembling as his body tries to get used to it.
He pushes back just a little more, mouth falling open as Thor begins the slow slide in, and there's a deep, sharp ache when his muscles flutter in protest, flexing and clenching around Thor's cock. Steve doesn't stop, sliding back so slowly that he's barely moving, but every inch is hotter, bigger, every inch makes him feel tighter, makes him feel smaller, less prepared.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, closer to a whine than he thought it'd be, “yeah...”
Thor's voice is beautiful – deep and rich and when he groans it makes Steve's hair rise.
“Steve,” Thor says again, just to say it, and then he's got both hands on Steve's hips, Steve's hands slip from the walls until his whole weight is crowded against the mirror in front of him to try and draw some of the hard-work-heat out of his skin, and it's just a matter of patience, perseverance, just a matter of time.
They're both shaking – Steve's knees are weak and Thor's fingers tremble on his hips and it's good the way his head spins after he lifts concrete beams, good the way sleep feels after blood loss – sweat prickles along his spine, at his hairline and it's like running until he almost can't run any longer, like working the bag until he can't throw another punch, it's so much and it's just what it needs to be.
“Are you...” Thor says, and Steve nods, teeth bared, holding his body as rigid as he can, controlling what he wants as well as he's able to do so.
Usually, with plenty of prep and a healthy amount of foreplay, Steve can accommodate Thor without a problem, but taking Thor like this, on the few occasions they've done it, has always been about feeling it, about Steve taking things to his limit and riding that line. He's not in pain, but Thor's so close to too much that Steve can barely breathe and, alongside the serum's perpetual restorative qualities, it's the same kind of rush that Thor's hand over his mouth can be from time to time – heady, dizzying – overwhelming.
“You're still...all right?” Thor asks, lifting one hand to stroke it up Steve's spine and back again.
Steve's back bows up against Thor's hand, and he makes a noise that sounds strangled even to his own ears, getting one arm under himself.
“Yeah,” he manages. “Yes, oh....”
Thor tugs against his hips, bringing him closer, the last few increments it's possible for him to go, uses the strength he rarely shows to map Steve's back and the sides of his torso before he reaches forward, tucks his arm around Steve's waist, and stands Steve up again.
Steve nearly swallows his tongue, nearly gets spots in his vision, the change in angle makes his head spin, makes his lungs seize and the tip of his cock catches on the underside of the fiberglass countertop, slapping up into his belly a moment later as the pressure of Thor's sheer size against his prostate whites him out, and he'd laugh if he could get the breath in but he can't even make his legs close.
Steve can't get drunk, can't get high but-
“Go- Oh, God I'm-”
- nobody's found a way to take this from him yet, and he comes in hot, hard spasms, without even a hand on himself, his cock red and wet and jerking unceremoniously with each involuntary contraction of his muscles – he's making a mess, he knows it, can half-see it in the mirror until his eyes squeeze shut, until his mouth drops open, but he comes and comes, his ass clenching and unclenching around the solid, unyielding heat of Thor's cock, for all that's worth – Thor's so huge each clench barely makes a different, every one a delicious ache, and that only makes it stronger, that only pulls the pleasure out from deeper, stripping his nerves raw.
“Huh- Ohhh, God-”
Thor's breathing just as hard against his throat, grip tight, and neither of them dare move, it seems like. Maybe stuck here forever, who knows, what a way to go. If this were pre-serum, Steve would be worried about his breathing, his heart rate, the way his throat burns and his ears ring, but he's not, it's all he wants, he'd chase it if he could move, and Thor-
Steve gives an open-mouthed moan or two, body trembling as he fights to endure, squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head minutely, too fast but who cares?
“Thor, hng- Thor,” Steve breathes, and Thor's other hand drifts up to settle against the underside of his pec just below his nipple, thumb lifting to rub the small, hard little gathering of flesh as it darkens.
Everything's connected now – it's sensory overload the way Steve's nerves light up after injuries, except that his body takes each of these signals and pushes it into pleasure. The throb in his temples, the ache in his insides, the strain of his cock, the burn in his chest, it's all welcome, all wanted, it's all so, so good, and Thor's one hand continues its ministrations while the other continues to hold Steve steady.
He can't get a hold of anything, weak-fingered hands scrabbling on the smooth surfaces with nothing to gain purchase on until he grabs at Thor's hands with his own, sinks blunt fingernails into Thor's wrists and holds on for dear life. Thor holds him fast and presses his forehead to Steve's cheek while Steve can't help the keening moan he gives, can't stop it from taking everything he's got – everything's all lit up at once and here is he coming from a change in angle just because Thor's so big!
“Ah f- Ah f- Aha fuck oh my God-”
Steve can't say much more than that at once because that's about how often he has to swallow back the noises he's letting loose, and his cock is still jerking with every clench of his body around Thor.
Thor's skin is dry and smooth for the most part, a little damp with lube in places and calloused in others, but hot like a brand, like electricity, his palm like hot iron against the skin low on Steve's abdomen, fingers splayed there against the shallow curve of his lower belly, between it and his still-straining cock as though to keep Steve's hips flush with his own, as though Steve needs any encouragement.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, desperate, “oh my God, oh my God.”
He's almost ready to worry but then the next jerk his cock gives as he clenches is longer, and it's longer before it happens again. With the one after that, it's even longer between them, and Steve starts to get more oxygen with each breath, starts to feel the muscles in his back and stomach and calves beginning to unwind.
He sags in Thor's arms, knowing Thor can hold him without any problem whatsoever, distantly aware of Thor's labored breathing against his temple. Steve looks down the length of his own body for a moment and then turns his head toward Thor's, slants his open mouth over Thor's and sweeps his tongue into Thor's mouth, deep and slow and wet the way Thor's made him feel.
He lifts one hand from one of Thor's, reaches up and grabs the back of Thor's head, fingers sinking into thick, soft blond strands to anchor himself, maybe to anchor both of them, and Thor peppers his throat with kisses when he's got to turn his head away again to breathe.
Steve's ears ring and his abs ache and Thor takes his whole weight like he weighs nothing while Steve comes back down.
“God,” Steve mutters, and Thor chuckles although it still sounds a little strained.
“That was unexpected,” he says, and Steve doesn't have the strength to laugh, doesn't have the lung capacity.
His whole body is trembling.
“You're tellin' me, pal,” he breathes, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds to try and pull himself together.
He's pretty sure the only reason he's able to hold onto Thor at all is because his muscles have actually seized in that position but, after a few more heaving breaths, each one easier than the last, Thor presses a kiss to the sodden hair at his temple and murmurs,
Steve does, reluctantly – he always does so reluctantly – and, as always, he sees the two of them almost as much as he sees Thor, and a gorgeous blond guy staring back at him with his own eyes. He also sees the surprisingly well-formed ropes with which he's painted the mirror in several places, presumably because he was standing still. He's not sure he's ever come that hard in his life – and thinks, a little guiltily, about how spectacularly he failed to hit the sink.
But it feels narcissistic somehow to be so turned on by his own body as well as Thor's, to find the white speckles across the mirror as arousing as the golden-skinned hand pressed to his abdomen behind his half-hard cock, to find that the desperate heave of his own chest and the wet, half-hardness of his own cock and the tremor visible in his own muscles in almost as entertaining to watch as Thor's.
“See,” Thor tells him, “I like this look on you.”
“Fucked out?” Steve says, meeting Thor's gaze in the mirror.
The hand that is settled at Steve's chest sweeps downward instead, back up a moment later to cover Steve's throat – no pressure, but making a pretty picture nonetheless.
“At my mercy,” he says instead, low, in his Prince Of Asgard voice.
Steve rolls his eyes, flushes the way he always does when Thor says things that make him feel swept off his feet.
“But there's no harm in enjoying this,” Thor says, and Steve averts his gaze. “Perhaps I should redecorate to prove it to you, ah? A mirror on every wall..?”
Thor kisses his throat.
“You shouldn't be ashamed of it,” he says.
“It's vain,” Steve smiles, and Thor nips his earlobe, sucks on it a moment later.
“Is it vanity when I'm telling you to look?” Thor answers. “Vain to be aroused by the proof of what I do to you? You are appreciative of my handiwork, aren't you?”
Steve groans, but he's still smiling.
He brings both hands to Steve's nipples, strokes the hardened flesh between his thumbs and forefingers, and Steve feels his expression crumple .
“Look,” Thor says again. “I want to show you.”
Steve waits a moment longer, until he can get brief kiss from Thor, and then he does as he's asked, looks at their reflection.
“Here,” Thor says, cupping his hand under the length of Steve's cock while the other plays with Steve's nipple.
It means Steve is watching when his mouth drops open, when his cock jerks again and slaps into Thor's palm once, twice.
“Or here,” Thor says, and he closes his fist about Steve's cock, pulls back enough to retract his foreskin where it's creeping back, closes his thumb and forefinger in a ring around the head and squeezes.
Steve hisses a breath in through his teeth, red from cheekbone to sternum, hips jolting back automatically-
“Ohfuck,” he mutters, as Thor's sheer size is suddenly at the forefront of his mind again.
Thor chuckles lets go of Steve's cock to reach lower, cradling his balls in one huge palm. Steve's eyes close in the instant Thor squeezes, but when they open again, Thor's smiling conspiratorially.
“Tell me when I can start,” Thor says, and Steve feels his knees go a little weak, weaker still as Thor starts jacking his cock slowly.
“Ha, I'm not sure I can stand,” he says.
“Mmmm, I'm here - do you need to stand?”
Thor doesn't ever push Steve to do something he doesn't want to, doesn't ever ignore him when he says for sure that he can't. But that, his casual displays of a power Steve knows he really has, his rare one-upping of Steve's strength because he's pretty much the only one who can, it's a hell of a rush when he does it.
“What,” Steve says, trying to plant his feet a little more firmly and succeeding in doing little more than jolting himself in the process. “Oh wow. What do you want me to-”
Thor rubs his beard against Steve's throat, his cheek, brings soft, warm lips to Steve's ear.
“Brace yourself,” he says, soft and slow and dark, like a warning and a promise.
Steve swallows hard, turns his head and looks at Thor – they're so close Steve's eyes won't focus, but Thor kisses him anyway, harder this time.
When Steve pulls away, Thor goes back to jacking him slowly, and Steve's bones feel shivery but he sets his hands on either side of the acrylic mirror. It's a thrill and a half, that's for sure – feels so exposed and so vulnerable, in the same sense as being put on stage. It's as though he feels the eyes on him, as though each movement is being catalogued. But then, he supposes, it kind of is.
He knows the picture he must make, not just naked but pinned where he is in equal measure by their position and by Thor's cock. He literally can't move because of it, feels like his hip bones are aching from the inside, and part of what he loves about Thor is the difference in his similarities. They're both tall, broad, muscled, but Thor's hair is soft and thick where Steve's has always taken to the same few styles, Thor's skin is golden bronze where Steve's is milky white.
“You're beautiful,” Thor tells him, stroking his hands up Steve's hips, his torso, onto his back and down again. “Every part of you.”
He strikes out again with the palm of his hand, jolting Steve's whole pelvis and his own thick length within, and Steve moans brokenly, can't help it. It feels like he oughtn't move, feels like he might burst, might break, but it's so good.
“You'll stop me if you need to?” Thor says, and Steve bites his lower lip as the remnants of his orgasm make him flutter around Thor, nodding a lot when speaking starts to get difficult.
He suspects it's because they're standing that this feels so new, that he feels so full. He's certainly never felt this blind-sided by it before, and a good deal of the shaking in his muscles is fatigue but some of it's anticipation.
“Oh my God,” Steve chuckles, and Thor leans forward, presses his mouth to Steve's spine.
“I trust you to tell me,” he says, “but otherwise-”
“Do it,” Steve gasps, tilting his head back to look up, hanging it a moment later. “Do it, give it to me-”
Thor pulls back slow, slower than he might usually, and it feels like he takes Steve's brain with him, feels like the world slips out of focus as he does. The hot, slow drag inside, the pressure against his already overwrought nerves, the firelines of pleasure that shoot down his legs and into his toes just from his poor abused prostate, and then Thor pushes forward again, and Steve can't help it, toes curling in his boots again, fingers curling against the mirror, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to be too loud.
“Ah, ah, ahh, ahh,” he reaches down with his right hand and clasps the base of his cock as tight as he can – he's always been overly sensitive but now it feels like a stiff breeze might finish him off.
Nevertheless, he feels the difference after another slow pull back and push in, more after a third, and then the fourth is harder, a little faster, Thor's fingers tight on his hips.
“Tell me,” Thor says tightly, “when you're ready, tell me, tell me-”
“Now,” Steve answers, so close to a whine that it sounds like a question, “it's okay, that's-”
Thor snaps his hips forward once and Steve's body stiffens with the onslaught of pleasure, again and Steve's whole body jolts, and then Thor's giving him exactly what he asked for, deep and hard and so fast Steve can barely figure out what's going on.
His whole body lights up all over again, muscles contracting in odd places so that his face feels tight and his arm hovers in mid air and his back is arched so strongly that he's not sure which way is up.
Thor's learned enough about him in the time they've been together to have a distinct advantage when it comes to this, not that Steve's planning to need any one else ever again. Thor knows Steve gets overwhelmed, Thor knows Steve can take what he's given, Thor knows Steve can give as good as he gets if their positions are reversed, and Thor knows Steve can keep up with him.
Every thrust jolts Steve's body hard, sending him up onto his toes before he rocks back to meet Thor's next thrust, and it feels like his spine's going to bruise, feels like his ankles are going to come away from his feet, Thor pulls him back even tighter so Steve's whole body is bowed with his ass flush in the cradle of Thor's hips, and Thor absolutely does not let up.
“Yes,” Thor bites out, “yes, oh,” and Steve echoes him where he can, the words fractured over his own broken moans and stolen, desperate gasps, over the strength and power behind Thor's thrusts and the jolting of his own body.
“Oh- Oh- Oh- Guh- od-”
He can't form words after a few more seconds, mouth hanging open, has to let go of his cock again to plant his hands somewhere on the wall above him, head almost as low as the faucet. It rattles in its fixing, clattering away against the fiberglass and faux porcelain and Steve opens his eyes to see sweat dripping off his nose, clinging to the strands of his hair that have fallen in his eyes.
His cock keeps swinging back and hitting him in the stomach, he's locked his elbows and knees and they're screaming at him, even his hair is tapping his brow with every movement, but Thor knows him well.
“Oh, Oh- Yeah- Yes!”he says, and then he's laughing, a broken, twisted thing that comes up like half a cry, and Thor speeds up, giving him a low growl.
“Steve,” Thor says, and then higher, his voice more rough, “Steve!”
Steve does his utmost to make it good, clenches down on each instroke, matches his moans to Thor's.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, encouraging, “that's it, that's it,”
and Thor hauls Steve close and tips his head back and groans through his teeth.
Steve braces for it, steels himself because there are distinct advantages to dating the God of Thunder, and he sees the moment blue sparks begin to materialize at Thor's temples, his eyes glowing blue when they open, slitted, and watch Steve in the mirror. His mouth drops open, and there are sparks at Thor's fingertips against Steve's hipbones, sparks glowing in the raised veins on the back of his hands, and then his head rolls back and his face slackens and he doubles over to push his forehead between Steve's shoulderblades and comes and Steve-
He feels the spark of it, the electric jolt of it, from the inside, feels his cock leap from it even as the pins and needles sting of it follows in its wake – Thor comes with the element he commands singing along each of Steve's nerves, and Steve keens, his spine snaps forward, up, his body jolts, twists.
Sweat and sex and ozone and Thor's still coming, Steve can feel the hum of it intensify, heat up and strengthen, and he gasps for air as his second orgasm leaves him in rhythmic, pulsing bursts, each one to match the beat of Thor's heart that drive the sparks born of his body. He can see it, he can feel it, it's up his chest, it's on the countertop,
Oh hey, he hit the sink with at least some,
And it doesn't just leave Steve gasping in its wake.
Thor pants against the skin of his back, his shoulder, his grip easing as the moments pass, the light around his eyes fading when he lifts his head, but Steve is shaking all over, doesn't even trust himself to speak.
Thor strokes his skin, up his sides, up his chest, down his spine and over each tremor that Steve can see in the mirror is visible. Thor takes his weight immediately, drags fingertips through the splatters on Steve's skin and begins to settle them.
Steve thinks for a moment that they're falling, flings out a hand, but Thor soothes with murmurs and gentle kisses against his skin until Steve realizes that Thor's just sitting them both down, still inside Steve.
Steve winces when they come to rest – his whole weight is keeping him down on Thor's cock – but he turns his head for a kiss and he does not care that it's a mess.
Thor holds him carefully, like glass, and Steve feels almost like it, as though he could shatter into a million sparkling shards at any moment, as though he's been stretched thin and made brittle by what he's done, and his bones and his sinews and his muscles and his breaths all tremble in Thor's arms.
“I want,” Thor says, “there's something...”
Steve's not really sure he's awake at this point, the world going fuzzy around the edges. All he can see and taste and smell and feel is Thor, and what he hears is just Thor over his own roaring pulse.
Thor widens his legs, and Steve's with them, spreading Steve too wide – it hurts, it's such a stretch, but he wants more – and brings Steve back to lie against him once more, head back on Thor's shoulder.
“Here,” Thor says, dips his left hand down between Steve's legs, and Steve can't even cry out when Thor presses against his perineum, crushing Steve's prostate against his cock on the inside. Steve's eyes roll and his jaw goes slack, and his back arches too, but Thor doesn't move his hand away although he eases the pressure.
With his other hand, he wraps his fingers around the straining length of Steve's erection – Steve's skin feels swollen, tender, but a groan still rolls up from the back of his throat, his hands still lift halfway in claws to stop Thor before he decides not to. He feels halfway to drunk, blood pounding in his head from the pressure of two of the strongest orgasms of his life, face stinging from the flush that stains it.
“Can you?” Thor says.
“I dunno,” Steve breathes, but he's willing to try.
Thor kisses his throat, his ear, his temple, his cheek, and begins, slowly, to pull Steve's cock, his hand a loose fist while the other merely rests on the tender skin of Steve's perineum.
“Bed next time,” Steve says, and Thor nods, tightens his fist just a little.
“Yes,” he agrees, and then-
Steve smells the ozone again and turns his face towards Thor, squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head helplessly. He gasps once, twice, and then Thor's fingers prickle and sting and Steve's cock feels like it's buzzing from the inside, precome oozing from the rosy tip.
Steve digs his fingers into Thor's thighs, still clothed, knows he'll have bruises on his back from Thor's armor, and rides out the wave of sensation as Thor's other hand starts to circle on Steve's perineum, similarly electrified.
Steve's legs twitch inward and he doesn't know if it's instinct, muscle spasm or the electricity, but this time he isn't even sure when he starts coming. All he's aware of is being unravelled like a reel, orgasm winding up hotter and deeper and faster with each second until he feels he's being stretched out along an infinite line, until his climax feels torn apart from him like felt, dragged out and spooling on forever as he looks down and sees those pretty blue-white sparks at Thor's fingertips.
He can't even tighten up for it, his body won't do it, so instead he floats inert on it, limp and acquiescent in Thor's arms, cock barely drooling his release.
Eventually, he lifts one hand to Thor's wrist, grabs it as tight as he can, which is not very, and pulls for all he's worth. Steve's strength is nothing to Thor's, but Thor does as Steve wordlessly asks him and lets go, cradles Steve's head with one hand and kisses his sweaty face all over instead.
“What did I,” Steve says, and if the others took it out of him, this is the one that's pushed him under, “do to...”
“I just wanted to,” Thor answers his unfinished question “I wanted to see you like this. I wanted you to see you like this.”
Steve lets himself be coddled for a few minutes while his breathing evens, while his heart rate slows, and then he winces.
“Come on,” he says softly, holding out for another kiss before he starts to move, “I need to get offa you.”
Thor helps him, helps him stand, eases himself out slowly, ignores how loose Steve is the same way Steve does – it would be tempting to continue, but maybe after something to eat and a four year nap or something. In a bed.
Thor eases a couple of fingers into Steve, eases the cramps in his muscles when his body starts to readjust again, and then folds the cloth he'd used before to wipe Steve over with a clean section.
“I can see it in your hair,” he says, “we'll have to shower this evening.”
“Sure,” Steve answers, leaning mainly against a wall because his arms won't hold him up any more.
Thor knocks on another panel in the wall, which slides back to reveal two new hand-soap dispensers and a bottle of gatorade. He passes the bottle to Steve.
“Skål,” Steve says, breaking the seal, and he downs the whole thing in one go. “We need to clean up in here.”
“No,” Thor says, tugging Steve's boxers back up onto his hips, then his uniform. “I'll do that, you head back to my room.”
Steve gives him a look, considering protesting, but he's also aware of how shaky his legs are.
“Come,” Thor says, taking the empty bottle from his hand, opening the bathroom door.
He grabs hold of Steve's upper arm as Steve ambles out into the main body of the quinjet, and then follows him to help get Steve's uniform back onto him, doing up maybe three of Steve's clasps – enough that the uniform looks fastened if you don't look too closely.
And then Thor kisses him, soft and slow and thorough.
“Strip when you get back,” he says. “Put a towel on the bed to lie on and I'll wash you when I return.”
“The way you do in Asgard, huh?” Steve says, having heard that excuse before.
“Oh, of course,” Thor says, almost convincingly.
He kisses Steve again and sends him on his way, and Steve starts the shuffle back to Thor's room with pins and needles in his feet, and knees and thighs made of jello – sore, but in the way that he likes, and feeling better than he has in days.