There's no talk at all between them after Thor leans down to kiss him. No words are necessary for this casual thing they both engage in on occasion, because who in their right mind wouldn't be all in when the fucking god of thunder wanted to bend you over and show you a good time. And, let's be honest, Tony was an attractive piece of meat himself – so why would any god of thunder not want to bend him over when for once he wasn't dying?
Thor has been staying with him for a while and it's always nice to have this kind of easy friendship leading into pleasure and back into friendship – and yet back again into pleasure whenever the itch needs scratching.
And, boy, does Thor – goddamn hippie god that he is – know how to scratch that itch.
“Right there,” Tony whines. “Harder. Softer. I don't know? More?”
“You are the pushiest person I've had the pleasure to bed, Tony Stark.”
“Hmmm,” he says. “You're not technically bedding me, right now. This is my living room, champ. Maybe next time.”
Thor's rumbling laugh is felt along his back, shakes and soothes him as he feels it inside himself and finally Thor – strong, impossibly strong hands stroking along Tony's hips in just the right way, not rough, but not too careful – starts rolling his hips, giving Tony exactly what he doesn't even need to beg for. It's so good to be fucked by someone you could trust for once. The pleasure is building so perfectly and quickly, that he sighs – sighs, but doesn't obscenely moan just yet. They know how this goes. He likes making Thor work for it when he gets the chance, because they are both smug bastards and Tony's been depressed of late and a little game between friends is a welcome distraction.
The leather beneath his knees is slick, but his black pants are pooling around his knees and the fabric chafes. It's just this small bit of burning pain that grounds him, makes him roll his hips to meet Thor stroke for stroke, making this real and desperate.
It's just so good to let himself go – no strings attached, no judgment involved.
Casual and easy.
The way good sex needs to be.
He must have closed his eyes, because a sudden, startled gasp makes them fly open again and Thor isn't even slowing his movements, but Tony feels him move his upper body and Tony himself looks over to see Cap standing in the space of his huge living room, having just stepped from the elevator leading up to Tony's place.
How has he not heard the elevator?
Oh, right, he's kind of busy with other things.
His heart beats a little faster and he ponders how he must look right now – eyes half lidded, mouth open, pants around his knees and on all fours, Thor's perfect round buttocks clenching and unclenching as he fucks Tony into the big sized sofa, making him pant softly with the smoldering heat that's building in his stomach with that beautiful cock sliding in and out of him.
Steve swallows and Tony's mouth goes dry, because now he can't look away from the kissable lips of their very own Captain America.
He has always wanted to kiss those lips.
There are only a handful of people he needs to like and respect him. Perhaps there are even only two these days and Cap makes top of that very short list.
But Steve has seen him at his worst – near dying, dead, retching and sick after chemo, bawling his eyes out, nearly dissected... and there was that notable time when Steve walked in on him and the twins from the “Stark is still alive” party two years ago.
And what's there to be ashamed of? Like everyone else in the world Steve has by now seen at least three of his sex tapes.
He gasps, because Thor isn't stopping or slowing down at all.
And Tony's so fucking hard, harder now that it feels like he's performing for his favorite super soldier.
“Steve,” Thor greets jovially like he's been caught riding a pony.
Tony licks his lips and looks right at Cap.
And Cap isn't staring at Thor, he's staring at Tony; licking his lips like he's unconsciously mimicking him.
Tony was hard before; he's bursting now.
Steve doesn't move or say a thing. When he caught him with the girls – he'd looked at him sternly and walked out.
But now, there's an unmistakable bulk forming in his pants.
And Thor notices too and – still not slowing, not changing his pace - he laughs.
Steve's eyes flick to him and he frowns, sternly, maybe holding a touch of startled anger and Tony gasps, open mouthed and wet, because he can see the erection in Steve's pants grow, and at the same time he can feel the ache build inside of him as Thor rides him closer and closer to that sweet point they've both been craving.
“No need to be jealous, Captain,” Thor says and strokes Tony's flank and suddenly the nanites in Tony's blood are singing like they want to join in, make this better. They're singing for Steve the way they're usually singing for alcohol when fuel is running low.
That's close to poetic.
Is Steve jealous?
Why would Cap be...?
“Steve,” Tony nearly gasps, because his orgasm is building and that is when Thor slows down to draw it out, to keep Tony on the edge, to help him put on a show. “Steve, god, Steve.”
And Thor laughs. “See? You've always been his favorite.”
“What about your undying love for Valkyrie?” Steve asks and he sounds curious and scathing.
“My love for her knows no bounds. Not now, not ever. This is different. We're friends, Tony and I.” And he rolls his hips and grabs Tony by the midsection to direct him in a very friend-like manner, the bastard. The way he says "friends" is like a caress though.
“Casual,” Tony gasps and he knows he's putting on a show for real now. “Relaxing.”
“Easy,” Thor adds and Tony can hear the fond smirk. Thor likes being shocking and “alternative” and an asshole about things, but then who among them doesn't?
“Do you want to take his place?” Tony pushes, panting, showing off, because he can see the answer forming in Steve's eyes and he isn't quite sure that Cap knows it yet. Although the bulk between his legs is a dead give away that even he must be aware of.
Steve makes a surprised step back, fastens his eyes on Tony, then back on Thor, who also moans now, because Tony is clenching around him, making sure to get him closer too, so that he'll draw it out no more.
For a tense and yet heat filled moment, Tony thinks Cap is going to walk out and never come back – too angry, too humiliated, too jealous to share or whatever. Tony's ready to just push back into Thor's body with abandon, because being watched has always been a turn on for him. But with the reflexes of the super solider Steve's beside the sofa, not needing more of a push, hand on his zipper. Tony is delighted by the sudden change of pace. “Open wide, sweetheart,” Steve says and that's as much warning as he gets, when Steve pries his lips open and shoves into his mouth, fast and hard.
He had always wondered what Steve would taste like – and it's heady and hot and so unexpected to suddenly be locked between Thor and the man he's had indecent thoughts about since first seeing that documentary about him in 6th grade. And Steve's hand on his jaw is gentle, but the push of his hips isn't and Tony finds his nose pushed into the perfect groin. Without complaint he takes every inch of Steve's lengths and thanks god for having beaten his gag reflex ages ago.
Steve's hand kneads through his hair and Tony starts sucking.
“I knew it,” Steve sighs. “I knew you'd be so good at this.”
“He's good with his mouth,” Thor agrees and he too sounds like he's close now, and Tony whimpers around Cap's cock when Steve starts moving, making himself moan. Tony's lips stretch. He works his hand around Steve's balls, while Thor reaches around Tony to stroke his own neglected erection, angling his thrusts to make him writhe and moan, when he gets enough air in his lungs to do so.
Perfect, he thinks, sucking in earnest, hollowing his cheeks and enjoying the moment.
Who, if not Tony Stark, would know how to take blessings as they presented themselves?
He loses himself in the moment, relaxes into the demanding touches and gives as much pleasure as he's given.
* * *
“Shame,” he says. “I always enjoyed our trysts.”
“Trysts,” Tony repeats and rolls his eyes. Then he thinks that statement over.
“I'm, sorry,” Steve says above him and his hand tightens in Tony's hair. It's a perfectly endearing and frighteningly possessive gesture that speaks of so much more than a casual fling. The nanites in his blood are singing again. The humming goes right to his own cock this time.
“I'm not a sharing man,” Steve proclaims, like he's just decided to get married.
Why is Tony's throat so dry?
Thor gets up to pull up his pants into place and he strokes Tony's thigh one more time. “I always told you that you need someone to fuck that stick out of your ass, Captain America,” Thor says crudely and Tony is proud of him for having given up on the Asgardian pretense, because it makes the swearing sound so much more natural.
“Don't worry,” Tony says and turns around, lying on his back, pants still pooling around his knees. “I'm going to make you enjoy it,” he says.
Steve smiles, just a very tiny amused smile, before he gravely nods at Thor like they're passing a torch.
Thor smirks at both of them like he knows it is or isn't the end of it.
“I'll be upstairs, until you're finished, my friends,” he says and there's too much laughter in his eyes.
“You could watch,” Tony suggests.
But Steve says, “no.” And there's nothing playful about it. This is theirs now - at least in Steve's opinion.
Nothing casual about it and he's going to fight to make both Thor and Tony see it.
The possessiveness is a turn on. Tony hasn't even considered a relationship since nearly getting married and then lobotomizing his fiancee out of necessity. And yet he would never have said no to Steve if he had only asked before at any fucking time. Because that's how easy Tony is when he lets himself love a little.
He laughs, bitterly delighted, and watches Thor go.
There goes casual, safe and easy, no strings attached, friend with option for pleasurable distractions. Perfect buttocks, too. He might have to teach Steve about the fun of sharing later.
“Either,” Tony suggests sardonically, “you get me a drink now, darling, or you go back to distracting me thoroughly.”
Steve traces his lips with a finger, making the bruised flesh there tingle. “No drink for you,” he says. “Not yet.”
“Fine with me.”
And he isn't fine with it at all. And yet he is more than fine, too, as the nanites start to sing Steve's name in his bloodstream and he smirks.