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I Search Myself (I Want You to Find Me)

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The first time it happened, Steve was so damn angry that he could have put his fist through a wall, or knocked the shit out of a couple of sandbags. Except that he couldn’t do either of those things, because they were on the helicarrier and punching a hole in the thing that’s twenty thousand feet in the air and keeping everyone alive wasn’t appropriate behavior.

It wasn’t until he was in the men’s room, splashing water on his face and trying to calm down that he realized he had another problem.

Well, the release of endorphins might calm him down, some.

Steve double checked the door -- unlike the bathrooms he’d used in public buildings, this one was a single occupancy -- and it was locked.

It probably said something really, really wrong about Steve that he jerked off, looking at himself in the mirror, his Captain America uniform still bright and sparkly and new, just the fly open, staring himself in the face. And thinking about strangling Tony Stark.



...warm hands on him, a tight squeeze. A soothing voice.

“That’s it, baby. God, you’re so beautiful…”

Steve woke up, hard and aching and needful. He had himself in hand and was wriggling and letting himself moan in the bed before he really knew what he was thinking about.

Tony, who’d been his dreamlover, whose brilliant eyes were soft and caring and whose words were praising him.

Nothing like how he and Tony actually were.

Steve hesitated, cock throbbing with renewed urgency, as Steve reviewed the dream, with Tony touching him.

He wondered what Tony would actually be like, in bed. He was probably skilled -- his track record, at least, indicated that he was well practiced. And Tony was a competitive bastard, so he’d want to one-up whoever he was in bed with, which would be an amazing experience.

“Can’t one up me,” Steve told his imaginary lover. “I could do this all day.”

How would Tony look, well-used and sated and exhausted, having been fucked into pliancy, dreamy and half-drugged from an overabundance of sensation.

Would he whimper, softly, when Steve rolled him over again to take from him? And again, until he was depleted, exhausted. Utterly dependent on Steve.

Steve scoffed at himself, but didn’t slow his hand down at all, stroking his length, adding at twist. It would have been better with lube, the heel of his hand was thick with calluses, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t worth the few minutes to find something, and Steve was in too much of a hurry. Any chaffing would heal up, probably before he even found a pair of underwear.

You sleep naked? Tony had asked him that one time, unexpectedly, and Steve had blushed.

Wouldn’t you like to know?

Yeah, I would, actually.

Steve arched off the bed and messed up his sheets.



By the time Steve realized what had happened, it was too late to change it.

He’d started jerking off to relieve tension after fighting with Tony, and every time they started bickering, Steve was getting hard.

Conditioned response.

He knew he had to stop, because one of these days, they weren’t going to break and go back in their separate corners (to sulk, as Natasha would say) and Tony was eventually going to notice. Well, maybe. He didn’t have the same sense of smell that Steve had, and Steve was actually pretty religious about showering up afterward.

Tony had commented about that a few times, too. “What, you go a few rounds with the sandbag after we fight?”

“I go a few rounds,” Steve said. And he couldn’t help the way his gaze dropped to look at Tony’s perfect, lush mouth. He was dreaming about that mouth, two or three times a week now, waking up hard to the thought of Tony snapping at him, and then shoving the man against the wall and shutting him up in the best possible way.

That thought was so vivid, so crystalline clear, that Steve actually caught himself doing it while awake. He had shoved Tony against a few different walls now, hard. The genius caught his breath, anger spitting from his eyes, his mouth a twisted line of frustration--

Steve left him there, breathless and wanting and fuck, fuck, fuck, why is this happening?

He barely made it to his room in time.

Slammed and locked the door behind him.

Fell to his knees, unzips. He didn’t even have time to get to the bedroom, not even time to get a tissue. He jerked off less than a foot away from his front door, all the time replaying that instant in his brain over and over again. The faint flicker of Tony’s tongue as Steve lifted him up, the way those eyes went just a shade darker.

Steve finishes himself off in a fit of self-disgust.

He should stop fighting with Tony, that’s what he should do. If they can get along, maybe Steve won’t want him so much.



“Oh, my god, Tony, shut up!”

“Make me,” Tony said, and it wasn’t even like he hadn’t said that before. And it wasn’t like Steve hadn’t thought about all the ways he wanted Tony to shut up. Or all the ways that he wanted Tony to make noise, moans and groans and soft sighs, pleading and begging, bossing Steve around, praise and swear words

It was, however, the first time he’d said it while they were both naked.

Getting covered with corrosive alien engine waste was not good for clothes. Or the suit. It hadn’t touched the shield, but both of them were (ha ha, Steve, very funny) starkers.

On an alien planet.

At the spaceport.

With a whole bunch of aliens staring at them.

“Don’t bother to cover your dignity, Captain,” Tony had said, “who knows, you might impress them with your big wang.”

Which was why, instead of keeping his hands over his groin, Steve was clenching his fists and trying very hard not to either punch his teammate into submission, or do something else to make him. be. quiet.

The worst damn thing was that there was no way at all that Steve could miss seeing Tony actually naked. (He’d been tempted on a few occasions to look up Tony’s various sex tapes on the internet. He’d been told multiple times that they existed, usually by reporters trying to get a rise -- not that kind of rise! -- out of him. Fear that Tony was tracking his internet searches kept him well away from that, thanks.)

“You wanna stare a little harder, Cap?” Tony asked, and his voice was a mix of mockery and that edge that Steve had finally recognized as self-loathing. “I think I’ve held up pretty well under the years and the mileage, but we can’t all be supersoldiers.”

“What?” Steve asked, and he still couldn’t peel his gaze off of Tony’s ass, which he’d always suspected was padded or… something, but no. Oh, god, no, Tony’s ass was even more perfect naked and pale and round and just… biteable.

Of course Steve was getting hard. This was just… fantastic. Great. Steve inhaled and tried to think of unsexy things, but every time he closed his eyes, he was imagining himself kissing Tony, or biting him, or fucking that goddamn perfect mouth. And every time he opened his eyes, he was looking at a naked Tony, who was utterly comfortable with his own nudity, gorgeous, glorious, and didn’t even realize…

“How do you even have blood left over for that boner you’re sporting, when you’re blushing that hard, Rogers?”

“Tony, shut up.”

“You need me to give you a hand with that, Cap?”

“Shut up--”

“Because you know, totally--”

“This is all your fault anyway,” Steve snarled. He stalked away with the remainders of his dignity trailing along behind him in tatters. Somewhere there had to be a closet, or a ship he could board, or even, at this point, he’d take a towel he could steal. Anything to just--

“Mmmm,” Tony said, not nearly as far behind Steve as Steve would like. “Hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you walk away.”

Bruce found them at the edge of the spaceport with a couple of extra pairs of sweatpants. They got onto their own ship.

Steve spent half the trip in the ship’s head.

Tony, oddly enough, didn’t say anything about it. But he did look at Steve once. Or twice. A minute. For the rest of the trip.



“When are you going to stop surprising me?” Steve asked, lightly touching Tony’s cheek and letting his fingers run down the side of his face until he was gripping Tony’s chin. He hauled the man in for a brief, chaste kiss.

“Um, statistically speaking, another three years, eight months, two days, and--” Tony checked his watch “--thirty four minutes from now.”

“You are pulling that number out of your ass,” Steve accused him. They’d had a very nice date, if extravagant, because Tony Stark. Knowing each other for six months as adversaries, three months as teammates, and then another two weeks as dating, Steve was still shocked at date-Tony, who was an entirely different creature. Sensual and kind, easy to get along with, inquisitive and attentive. But when Steve had invited Tony in for a nightcap (and maybe a night, Cap) Tony had said no. He didn’t want to rush anything.

“JARVIS,” Tony said, “set an alarm for the day in question, three hours before.”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said.

Tony was doing the eyebrow thing again, and it was all Steve could do not to kiss Tony senseless. But Tony had been the one pumping the brakes, and if Tony, who had gone 12 for 12 with Playboy of the Month two years in a row, wanted to say no to potential sex, then Steve had to assume he was either doing something very, very wrong. Or very, very right. Given that Tony was still smiling, that gentle, sweet, utterly un-Tonylike smile, Steve was going to guess right.

“If we’re not saving the world tomorrow, you want to go have pie at that bakery on Broadway?”

“Are you trying to bribe your way into my pants with pie, Captain Rogers?”

“Is that the way to get there?”

“Might be,” Tony said, thoughtfully. “I do like pie.”

“I know.”

“It’s a date. Goodnight,” Tony said, and he leaned in for another kiss. His mouth was very generous, sweet, and sensual. Steve had never known a kiss could feel so damn good.

He was still thinking about that kiss when he took himself in hand and jerked it. The way Tony’s lips were warm and soft, smooth, and just a little hint of moisturizer, the rough scratch of his beard against Steve’s skin. The way Steve could feel Tony’s heart beating, the heat coming off his body. The smell of his expensive cologne and under that, soap, coffee, engine grease, and that tang of metal that was distinctively Tony’s own.

It occurred to him, in the sleepy, sated drowse post-orgasm, that he hadn’t pictured anyone else, aside from Tony, when he masturbated for over a year.

Huh. Maybe… maybe it was more than just dating, just lust.

Something else.

Something… more.

Steve fell asleep, warmed by the idea of something more.



It wasn’t really Steve’s fault. He and Tony had showered after a nice, lengthy batch of lovemaking, and fallen asleep, still with damp hair and silly, sated grins.

Just, it was still new, and still Tony, and… well, Steve woke up hard, his cock pressed against Tony’s thigh and he couldn’t help it. He rolled his hips a little, seeking that heat, friction, sensation.

“Beloved, god, have pity on the mortal man in the room here,” Tony said, sounding nothing like he really wanted Steve to stop, exactly. Just that he was sleepy and warm and worn out, all of which were states that Steve had put him in, which was, in and of itself, sort of miraculous.

Steve glanced over Tony’s shoulder at the clock. “You got seven whole hours of sleep, Tony, what more do you want?”

“Coffee? Breakfast in bed. Ten more minutes of sleep. The list is quite long; would you like it in alphabetical, or priority order?”

“You can just tell me where on the list making love with Steve falls,” Steve suggested.

Tony actually unburied himself from the blankets long enough to roll his eyes extravagantly. He flung the sheets back, exposing his entire body, nude and golden and gorgeous, and Steve kinda forgot what he was going to say at the sight of it. “How about you just jerk off on me and call it good?”

Steve drew in a quick breath, heated molten in a flash, before making a face. “I can take care of myself in the shower, if you don’t want to--”

“No, wait,” Tony said, actually opening both eyes and looking. “What… what was that, that looked interesting.”


“Look, come out of the forties, lover,” Tony said. “A lot of stupid random shit comes out of my mouth, but when you look interested, I’m sorry, gotta slow down and examine that. Is… that something you want?”

God, did he ever. Hard to admit, but-- Steve blushed, studied the wall over Tony’s shoulder carefully. “Is that something you’d let me do?”

“Let… let you? Let you? Oh, my god, my amazing, blushing Captain. You have any idea how much I used to think about what you’d look like, masturbating?”

Steve actually chuckled at that, although he was still flushed enough that his neck felt like it was frying. “Do you have any idea how much I used to jerk off thinking about you?”

“No,” Tony said, frankly. He stretched, all sensual muscle and fluid grace, catlike. “Why don’t you tell me about… while you give me a little show?”

“Tony, are you sure--”

“Oh, yes,” Tony said, slitting his eyes and smiling up at Steve. “All awake now, Captain Rogers, and ready to go… chop chop, I see you’re standing at attention, give me what you got.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was interested, and Tony’s cock was stirring against his belly, so… why not? He got up on his knees, bracketing Tony’s legs between his.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Tony told him, settling back, leaning on his elbows to get a better view. “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

Steve smiled, savouring the moment. Loving the way Tony was looking at him. Steve took his dick in hand, stroked up the shaft, never taking his eyes off Tony. Slow, easy, letting Tony quiver with anticipation for probably a few seconds longer than was absolutely fair, then pushed up through his fist, letting himself feel it, experience it. The blush faded. Steve wanted too much to be embarrassed about it now.

Tony wasn’t going to stand a chance.

“Oh, my god,” Tony whispered, utterly in awe.

How that was even possible, Steve didn’t know. If even a third of the things he’d heard about Tony’s exploits were true, he shouldn’t have been so enraptured by merely Steve. He wasn’t Captain America in the bedroom, he was just Steve, and while he wasn’t as mild and innocent as people imagined, he was still constrained to a handful of chance encounters, and one great passion before Tony had come into his life and ripped it all to shreds with some casual flirting and a lot of personality.

Satisfaction raced through his veins, even as his body screamed for release. He loved that he could do this to Tony, that he could make Tony moan and scream and cry out, and want nothing more than to be with Steve. Tony was so strong, always so cool, bordering on cynical, even when he was emotional, Tony never lost control. He always knew what he was doing. Except when Steve was doing something to him, and then he was both wild and captured. A slave to Steve’s touch.

Tony stared at him, eyes glazed, lips red as his tongue flicked out to wet them. He didn’t say anything, just watched as Steve stroked and thrust, hips rolling with the movement of his hand. “You like that,” Steve said, wondering, as Tony moaned, watching Steve twist his wrist, cup his own balls, stroked up again. Steve couldn’t help the wide smile that spread over his lips. “You like watching me.”

“Yes,” Tony whispered, “god, yes. Of course I like it.”

“You’ll like this, too,” Steve said. He was close, really close. “You want me to tell you what I think about, when I’m doing this? You want to know how often I fled from those arguments and discussions and came back to my room to jerk off, thinking about you, and how bad I wanted to kiss you? How much I wanted to touch you.”

“Oh, my god,” Tony said. “Yeah, like, yeah, I absolutely want to hear about that.”

“Every goddamn time,” Steve admitted. “Every time we fought, every time you got too close up in my face, every time you called me an idiot and I called you reckless. Every time, I wanted to kiss you to shut you up. I wanted to back you up against a wall and fuck you, there, helpless in my arms. I wanted…”

That knowledge made Tony shiver. “I never knew,” he said. “I thought you hated me.”

“The opposite of love isn’t hate, Tony,” Steve told him. And that was as close as he’d gotten to admitting what this feeling was. He let himself move faster, the sounds of his hand against his cock, the harsh rasp of Tony’s breathing, the way Steve couldn’t help but moan at the end of a pull and the way Tony swallowed, eager and wanting, at each sound pulled from Steve’s throat.

“Steve--” There was a soft, urgent sort of vulnerability in Tony’s voice.

Steve couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. The feeling, the need, was too strong. He arched back, thrust into his fist one more time, and exploded.

He’d come before, over his own fist. And that was nothing like what this was. That was chasing release for the sake of release. This… this had been about love.

When he caught his breath, Tony was still staring at him with wonder and adoration.

“Wow,” Tony mouthed, not even making a sound. He cleared his throat and said it again. “Wow. You… you are filthy wicked. I knew there was something about you that I loved.” He ran one finger through the mess Steve had made of his chest. A thin rivulet of come dripped across his throat, and Steve was utterly enraptured at the sight, Tony covered in his come, Tony claimed and marked and… loving it.

“Love you, too, Tony,” Steve said, collapsing on the bed next to him. “Love you, too.”