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All's Fair In Love And War (Except Lap Dances, Those Are Cheating)

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Dear Lord, save me from Tony’s galas and pretentious idiots Steve Rogers thinks as he watches him mingle across the room.

Boredom, sheer boredom and a lack of action has led him to this, he muses, he can’t believe he agreed to come. He can’t believe he actually agreed to go with Tony.

Why was that again?

Ah. Of course.

From here, Steve tilts his head, sips his champagne. He watches as Tony talks, fakes laughs and smiles, how he’s secretly mocking everybody here.

He also watches how his ass twists in his suit pants. How his back arches. His beautiful, thick curls that rumble artfully on his head.

And so, it’s sheer boredom, sheer boredom and something else that has him asking to talk to Tony privately in a room down the corridor.

Tony knows, obviously. He knows what Steve wants. But he’s never one to turn down his dom.

He holds the door open for Tony, watches him move into the room. He presses him down into a chair.

“You still owe me,” Steve whispers in his ear, hot, heavy, it runs down Tony’s spine and he arches instinctively, shivers. He tilts back his head, draws Steve in for a kiss and he moans into it, Steve’s tongue reaching into his wet mouth, exploring, tasting, dominating and he gasps, too, doesn’t think twice when Steve pulls his shirt out of his pants, unbuttons slowly, sensually, runs his fingers over his olive skin, muscled torso, up his belly, higher, higher, and begins to play with his nipples.

“We— we can’t, not, not here, Steve,” he hisses “people will hear, we can’t—” Steve captures his mouth for another kiss, silencing him, and Tony pants into his mouth.

“Who cares?” He purrs, low in Tony’s ear and, God, it’s so hot, Tony wants to be down on his knees right now, he doesn’t care.

“Maybe I should fuck you,” he muses “fuck you right here, over this table. Everyone will be able to hear you scream, scream my name, and then you’ll have to go back out there,” he pauses to lick down Tony’s neck, sample his sweat, taste him on his tongue “and everyone will know what you’ve done. What a slut you are.”

Tony moans, bears his neck as best he can, because he wants to. He really does. But he still has some sense in his head that tells him he really can’t.

“We can’t, can’t, can’t, don’t be stupid, Steve,” he murmurs, relaxing into the feel of Steve’s tongue on his neck “it would be… irresponsible. You are, you are a national treasure, you can’t fuck me, anyone could walk in,” and then he shudders, groans it “Jesus, anyone could walk in.”

“And you’d be under me,” he continues, slipping down a hand to cup Tony’s balls “sweating, and begging, and you’d be so out of it you wouldn’t even notice and everyone would know who you belong too.”

Tony nearly comes at the thought.

Then he manages to regain some sanity.

“No,” he says firmly “no.”

Steve runs his fingers down Tony’s neck, sighs “I know. I know, I let my thoughts run away with me sometimes.” He laughs “You actually have no idea how good you look in a suit this tight.”

Tony groans “Oh, Jesus, Rogers are you trying to kill me?”

He sniggers, kneels in front of Tony and does up his shirt “But what do you want to do about this?” He says, cupping Tony’s erection. There’s no hiding it, there’s no way he can go back out there and he flushes with it, flushes with the thought of being so blatantly aroused.

Steve giggles “I love it when you blush. It makes me feel like I’ve got the upper hand.”

Tony looks at him sharply “Oh really? That’s what you think?”

Steve gently traces cheekbone with his finger “Of course, you’re my sub. It’s how I’m meant to feel.”

Tony hooks eyes with him “I’m still Iron Man.” He says, breathing softly.

Steve hums “Iron Man on the streets, submissive slut in the sheets.” He leans forward and licks the shell of Tony’s ear.

Tony is blushing again.

“There we go,” he smiles “that’s what I’m here for.”

Tony’s lips start to curl upwards “So that’s it, I’m your submissive slut.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, honey.”

Tony laughs and stands “Come on sweetie, we’re going home.”

Steve frowns “What? Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he takes off his tie, stuff it in his pocket and draws out keys “here,” he says, throwing them “you drive.”

Steve eyes him suspiciously “Why the sudden change of mind?”

Tony sighs “Steve I don’t know if you noticed but I have a massive, raging erection. Now, do you want to go home and do something about it or shall I go into a toilet stall and beat one out while you schmooze, and talk, and drink, knowing that your sub is getting off all on his lonesome?”

Steve swallows. “I’ll drive.”

They make their way, quietly, swiftly, to Tony’s Audi. They have to wait an embarrassingly long time for it to be brought round by the usher at which point Steve can see Tony flinching at every person that walks by, convinced they’ll notice his obvious arousal. In his mind, he chalks up another point for himself.

Once in the car, Tony sighs, shucks off his jacket. They get moving and for a few moments there’s a tense silence.

This is war.

So Tony, not being one to ever admit defeat, starts to undo his dress shirt.

Steve looks once, then double takes “What are you doing?”

Tony sighs, lets the open material rest on either side of his torso “What does it look like I’m doing, I’m stripping, you got a problem with that?”

Steve blinks, swallows and focuses back on the road “No problem. You do whatever you want.”

Tony sniggers and drags the rest of the material all the way off, drops it at his feet. Then he kicks off his shoes, undoes his pants and starts to squirm his way out.

Steve looks at him in the mirror but pretends to otherwise not be bothered. He’s not bothered, why would he be bothered, if Tony wants to strip in his car he can strip in his car, as far as Steve’s concerned that’s his right as an American.

And then Tony is naked, naked and hard and sitting in their car and he spread his legs just slightly, lowers his hand, Steve watches it snake down his body, down, down down—

The car skids as Steve has to swerve to avoid hitting a tree on the empty road.

“You’re going to cause an accident, Tony.” Steve gets out.

Tony shrugs “Nobodies asking you to watch.”

So that’s how he wants to play it.

“I could stop the car right now and fuck you over the back. How does that sound. Would that help at all?”

Tony visibly shudders, but he forces it down. Instead, he brings another hand up, begins to suck, lathers each finger up with a gratuitous moan and arches his back, looks up with half-lashes.

Slowly, smoothly, he moves his fist on his cock, building up a gently rhythm.

2-2 to both of them, even scores. Not acceptable.

So Steve decides to be cruel. Tony wants to tease? He wants to strip in the car? Fine. On his head be it, it was his idea to begin with.

He slows the car and the convertible roof goes down.

Tony gasps “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Steve ignores him.

“Steven Grant Rogers don’t you fucking dare—” Tony shifts in his seat, almost as if instinctively trying to cover himself from imaginary eyes.

“Relax, Stark,” Steve grins “no one here but me, you and Jarvis.”

Tony swallows “It’s fucking cold, you fucking ass, put the fucking roof up,” his hand moves to turn it back up, but Steve’s hand is on his wrist in a second and then he’s picking up speed. If Tony wants to put the roof on now it’s going to rip off.

“You want to be naked? Fine. I’m not gonna stop you,” he grins “you continue doing whatever it was you were doing and I’ll just enjoy the breeze.”

Breeze Steve’s ass, it was gale force fucking winds.

“Oh, don’t be so over dramatic. We’re nearly home and this place is practically deserted anyway, you always build your homes in the middle of nowhere.”

The night was warm but the wind chilled Tony’s skin. His nipples stood on edge, his skin pebbled. He shuddered involuntarily, God, look at him, a whore on display, his sub, naked in their car, gasping and hard.

3-2. Your move Stark.

Tony sets his jaw, hooks one foot over the edge of the car, the other on the dashboard. He starts pumping at himself with renewed vigour, his back arching, hips shifting, muscles all flexing delightfully.

Admittedly, it’s hard to focus on the road as the beautiful man writhes beside him.

Steve can tell when he’s getting close because his breathing picks up, he starts panting, moaning with each breath, sweat drying on his skin and hair flowing in the wind.

He reaches a crescendo, his mouth makes a perfect ‘O’ and he throws back his head, gasping, panting, and then laughing, laughing at the thrill of it, of being naked and paraded in his dom’s car, leather sticking to his back and come on his chest.

Tony loves it, Steve realises, he loves this.

He waits for Tony to calm his breathing. He’s still not quite willing to chalk up another point for Tony, not yet, not until— and there it is, Tony being scooping his cooling spend onto his fingers, licking them clean and then Steve has to admit defeat and put them in a tie because he is now achingly, ragingly hard and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“What is it you called me?” Tony asks with a giggle “your slut?”

“You’re acting like one.” Steve grumbles.

“Aww, Stevie, don’t feel bad. You don’t have to win everything.”

“I’ll kick you out the car and tie you to a tree and then we’ll see whose laughing.”

“Still me, probably.”

Steve huffs “This isn’t over.”

“Oh I know,” Tony smiles “wait till you see what I’ve got planned.”

Tony is shivering lightly by the end of the drive but Steve would feel bad if it wasn’t for the fact he keeps pressing his toes into his face while he’s trying to focus on the road. He pulls up on their pebbled driveway, the beautiful lake reflecting the moon and crickets chirping in the air.

He pauses, breathes in, exhales. Then he gets out the car.

Tony moves to follow but Steve stops him with a hand on shoulder “No.” He orders, and it is an order, a definitive dom command because Tony feels it down his spine, feels it weigh on his knees “You are going to crawl. I’ll meet you in the lounge.”

Tony drops to his hands and knees, looks up at Steve, lips parted, eyes wide.

Steve ruffles his hair “Good boy,” he says with a chuckle, feet crunching on the ground as he moves off without even a glance back.

Once inside, he pours himself some wine, takes a seat and waits. And waits. And waits.

“Jarvis?” He asks “Is Tony okay?” He’s worried, just a little, that maybe he took it too far, that Tony’s hiding, or still outside, waiting for some command that never came but Jarvis answers “He is superlative, Captain, and will be with you shortly.”

An enthusiastic response.

Steve relaxes, sips his wine. Waits. And then chokes.

Tony walks, slow, one foot in front of the next. His hips sway, side to side, his skin flushed, slick with oil, balancing precariously yet firm on cherry red heels. He wears red, silk that sits low on his hips, black suspenders that cloak his legs high up on his thigh, curves beautifully over thick, rippling muscles and makes Steve want to take him apart, unwrap him like a gift.

He stops, tilts his head and pouts “Anything you want to say?”


Steve stumbles, briefly, because this… this he did not expect. Never. The sight of Tony in heels, ass pushed out and lean, lithe in red silk that runs down expansive legs, shimmers in the low light and makes his movements slow, languorous is not something he ever thought of asking for. It’s something he didn’t realise he even wanted. Until now. And now, he never wants Tony to take them off.

Steve knows he’s speechless, and he knows that this is another point for Tony, so he forces his mouth to open only to swallow his words back down. Tony giggles, eyes crinkles and moves closer, stalks towards him, perfectly balanced and one foot places itself equally in front of the other, his hips sway from side to side and Steve has to restrain him self when the soft bulge between Tony’s legs is pulled taut by slick silk.

He seats himself in Steve’s lap, spreads his legs wide over his knees, arches his back. His own arousal feels trapped, locked in by pants and Steve wants nothing more than to feel that silk against his naked flesh. Tony, ever knowing, cups him gently and squeezes, just so, enough to make him white out for just a moment. He uses his free hand to bring Steve’s wine to his lips, sip tentatively and never break eye contact with his dom.

Tony sighs softly and presses the glass away, hooks his arms over Steve’s neck, shifts on Steve’s erection and spreads his legs wider, so they stay pressed against the heeled shoes on the floor, ass pushed out and spine a glorious curve.

“So,” he asks sweetly “do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” Steve says flatly “Do I…”

In response, he slides his strong hands down Tony’s smooth back, drags his fingertips over the ridges of his spine. Tony shivers, because he knows that those hands could do anything, really. They could hold him down, break him down, he would be powerless to resist them. If these hands wanted him to beg, he would do it. If they asked him lick the floor, he would do so willingly. He puts such extortionate trust into these hands, and it’s so easy to just let go when they’re nearby, to let them support him, trust him to know what to do.

Not now.

Now, Tony is offering himself up; to be used, to pleasure. He will be the active participant, not the passive subject. Steve can take what he likes, he can do what he needs. This is Tony, telling Steve in the only way he knows how, that he wants to be used, to give himself over entirely, to not have to think at all and just be. Steve can do what he likes and Tony will take it all, such is his trust in this man.

Steve sees this. He sees it the moment Tony shudders beneath his hands, and he sees what Tony is offering, and he chooses to take it.

He cups his weathered hands around Tony’s slim waist, smooths his thumbs over his belly, breathes out softly. His thumbs skim each other where they rest on Tony’s stomach, the fingertips behind his back touch. He can circle Tony in his grip almost entirely.

“Let me tell you how much I like it, Tony,” he purrs, and it travels down Tony’s spine, rests in his tailbone, makes him shiver “you are going to wear lingerie everyday until I tell you otherwise. You will wear them under your suits, when you jog, when you work in the garage,” he pauses, thinks and grins salaciously “sometimes, I think I’m going to have you wear them while you work, watch you bend over your cars, greasy and slick. Or, I could have you all dressed up at another one of your galas and all the time you’ll be wearing these,” a hand slips down, thumbs at the join of the rim of the silk where it’s stuck like a second skin to Tony’s flesh and tugs “nice and pretty for me, hmm?”

Tony’s eyes slide close and then flutter without thought. He smiles softly, and moves in for a kiss, draws himself close, brings his knees together for a better angle.

“Ah ah,” Steve says, swatting the inside of Tony’s thigh “no, you keep these open, Tony. I want to be able to see everything.” He brings a hand to smooth across the silk that covers his burgeoning erection, drags his nails across the material so Tony whimpers, spreads his legs and bears his neck.

Steve chuckles, still so controlled, right up till he sees the first dab of pre-come stain the fabric. He tugs Tony by his hair in for a passionate, hot, kiss, spreads his own thighs to keep Tony wide and tastes every bit of him on his tongue. He slips his hands down to cup his sub’s ass, feel its weight underneath his fingers and grins into the kiss when he feels Tony squirm on top of him.

“I think I’m gonna have to get you more of these,” he murmurs.

“You like it that much, huh?” Tony answers, relaxed on Steve’s lap.

Steve sighs, exhales loudly and leans back in his chair “You’re hard again, Tony,” and his hand shoots out, pinches the fabric covering Tony’s cock and he bucks, gasps loudly “you’re gonna have to work for it, I’m afraid.” He grins “Give me a show, and we’ll see.”

Tony frowns “A show?” He doesn’t understand. Or maybe he does, he just doesn’t expect it, didn’t expect Steve to ask this of him “I’m not— it won’t be…”

Steve rubs his ass “Up you get,” he says with a tight slap.

Tony rolls to his feet, stands tall above Steve in his red heels. For a moment, he looks uncertain, or maybe confused, but then he shifts his legs, stands them apart and then swoops over Steve, legs ram rod straight but back arched, face pressed close to his.

He nibbles, slightly, at Steve’s jaw, licks a wet line up his neck to his ear, swirls his tongue there. Jarvis starts the music, a low, sensual, bluesy tune and Tony sways his hips in time, moves his presented ass as he licks the underside of Steve’s jaw, undoes his tie, arches his back low enough that the top of the panties are just visible over his head and moves downward, unbuttons Steve’s dress shirt and licks each piece of revealed skin. 

Steve shivers.

Tony draws back, his hands lingering over Steve’s muscled torso and stands, bears his neck and presses out his chest, runs hands down the oiled skin. Steve sees every movement of the muscles under his flesh, the way the light catches on the olive hue. He watches as Tony runs his hands down, down over himself then brings them up to run over his neck, hips undulating in time with the music, ass swaying and legs standing thick and firm on high heels.

He watches, then, as Tony slides his hands downwards once again, except this time he doesn’t stop, and just as the music reaches a small crescendo he dives, squats on the heels and spreads his legs, runs fingers over his thighs and gasps. As Steve looks down it gives him the perfect view of the growing dampness, the proof of Tony’s arousal, and he flares with lust, wants simultaneously to see more of his dance but also to claim him, make him his.

3-4. Tony is winning and Steve’s not even ashamed.

Tony sees the glint in his eye, he must, the heavy lust that is radiating from Steve’s every pore. He brings a hand to cup his own balls, swirls a finger on his own pre-come and as he slowly, sensually stands, one leg hitched and ass pressed out, he brings this finger to his mouth, sucks with lips in a perfect ‘O’ and turns without moving his feet so that his back and ass are presented for Steve.

He bends, straight over, moves his hands down over his stockinged legs until they clutch at his ankles, completely pressed over, and he moves his hips, presses them back and Steve wants to— Christ, he can see everything, the way the silk clings to every dip of Tony’s ass, how it tightens over the cheeks, presses into plush skin, he just wants to take and take and take.

Tony straightens back out with a curve, keeps his hands moving upwards, his whole body moving in time with the music, legs spread apart and arms rising. Fingers card through his hair and he tilts back his head, shimmies and sways, arms raising until their hooked above his head, his whole body taut and stretched. 

He dances like that, back curving and hips twisting, occasionally dipping down, exposing his cheeks as the red material loosed grip and rides up.

Steve laughs softly, but it’s low, and domineering, and Tony turns, looks him in the eye and bends back down, caresses his cheek. He presses his chest flush with Steve but rolls his hips back, keeps himself postured and turgid, but then undulates, rocking his hips against a stoic Steve. He flips over, drags his ass over Steve’s erection, presses his back to Steve’s chest and lets his head fall back on his shoulder, grinds down but keeps himself elevated, his own torso straight and firm. 

He fists one hand in Steve hair, another goes to his hard cock and presses so Steve gasps and jolts, presses upwards and then he’s moving with Tony, in tandem, every roll of his ass meeting with the rising of Steve’s hips to meet him.

Steve sips more from his wine, spreads his legs as Tony writhes on him, head tilted back onto his shoulder, turned so he can nibble at Steve’s earlobe. He pours the dregs over Tony’s chest, watches it dribble down his rib cage, catch on his nipples, pool on his collar bone. It’s debauched and decadent, immoral and hot and Steve pulls him back by his hair, down, down until he lies on the Steve’s lap, one foot still planted on the floor, the other slung over the armrest, still beautifully heeled. It keeps him nice and spread, means that Steve has his weight on his cock and has perfect access the bulge in his clinched panties.

He rubs his hand over Tony’s silk-covered cock, rolls his hand and presses so Tony whines, presses his head back into the crook of his neck.

“You like that, hmm?” He says, adding more pressure “yeah you do,” he murmurs “yeah you do.” He repeats and Tony moans.

“That was a pretty little show, Tony,” he slips his fingers into the panties, plays with Tony’s balls “you got me nice and hard,” he rubs a thumb over his slit “but I haven’t been able to do anything about it yet, hmm? Do you want to help?”

Tony giggles, kisses his cheek “Anything, Sir.”

Steve pauses. “Anything.”

“All for you, Steve,” and he hitches his heeled foot onto the armrest, draws his knee up.

Steve trails his fingertips over Tony’s chest. He takes all of him in, the red panties, the suspenders, black lace stockings and stilettos. He knows what he wants, he know what he would have Tony do, and it’s so utterly wanton that he has to take a moment just to picture in his mind, make sure that Tony would be willing to do this.

“Then why don’t we go to the bedroom?” He murmur into Tony’s neck.

He lets Tony go first, admires his gait in the heels, how they make his back arch, his ass rise. How his hips instinctively sway from side to side and his shoes crack against the floor. From behind, Steve can truly appreciate Tony’s physique. He’s not at built as Steve, and a lot shorter, stocky almost, but he’s lean, in his own way. His arms are strong from years of hard work, true engineering, working at a forge. His stomach is tight, but his chest is large, still powerful. His waist is small, as are his hips, he’s top heavy but it gives him a truly magnificent waist to chest ratio, makes him almost feminine. And then, his ass, so perfectly curved, impossibly curved, plump, soft, Steve could write odes to Tony’s ass

They reach the master bedroom and it’s all solid oak and red curtains, gold balustrades and a queen-size poster bed, with a canopy, an actual canopy.

“You just lie down on the bed, sweetie,” he says “I’m just gonna take from you tonight, you’re just gonna take it all, aren’t you?”

Tony turns, looks at him with careful eyes. He takes one more step, just one, and he kisses Steve, chaste in comparison to all their others but it’s his, it’s Tony’s, and he’s telling him that he can do whatever he wants.

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.” He smiles into Steve’s mouth “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Steve looks at him, and they see eye to eye like this, with Tony in his heels. “You got any restraints up here? Lube?”

Tony swallows “Bedside cabinet.”

“Get on the bed, belly down, ass up,” Tony moves and he stops him “keep everything on. Shoes included.” 

Tony lets himself loose, sprawls on the bed. Steve moves to find what he needs, places them on the bed next to Tony’s head.

Tony opens his eyes to half-lids “You mentioned restraints?” He mumbles.

Steve grins, then, and brings forward the soft cuff, clips one on each of Tony’s hands. They’re loose, enough that Tony can twist his wrists in them but not enough to slip free. It’s Steve’s favourite type because they leave room for struggle as well as the futility of trying to escape.

He ties them with the connecting rope to the wooden posts at the top of the bed, and it really is a wide one, Tony’s arms are stretched completely. He sets aside more for Tony’s ankles but that can wait.

“I’m going to take these off now,” he says, trailing his fingers down Tony’s flank. He kneels between his legs, hooks his fingers into the rim of the panties.

Tony rolls back his hips without thinking, arches his back and presents his ass. Steve runs a hand over the silk that covers the cheeks, tries a testing slap and humming appreciatively at the gasp he gets in response.

He sits back on the bed, gently moves Tony’s legs so he lies flat on his belly, arms still bound to the top of the bed, and draws off his shoes. He trails a finger around the ball of his foot, watches how Tony’s toes curl with it and his back tightens. The chains the loosely hold each arm connected to a post jingle as he curls his hands into fists, flexes, and grinds against the mattress.

“Ah ah ah,” he says, swatting Tony’s ass “do I really need to tell you that there will be no coming?”

“No Sir,” he slurs “thank you Sir.”

Steve plays his fingers down the back of Tony’s thighs, lets them rest just where the suspenders start, skims the skin there, gentle so gentle “Thank you for what?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“For not letting me come, for making me yours.”

Steve leans down and presses a reverent kiss to the small of Tony’s back. He brings his hands up to ghost the skin of Tony’s ribs, under his arms, and Tony squirms drowsily beneath him, huffs hot breath onto the pillow, mumbles incoherent words of love and trust that barely reach Steve’s ears although he understands the tone.

He leans back and slides Tony’s shoes off of his stockinged feet, puts them aside for later. He captures his fingers under the material of Tony’s ass and drags down, exposing the smooth flesh underneath. He pulls everything down, the suspenders, the panties, and he let’s them pool on Tony’s ankles.

“Wow,” he breathes “Tony… you’re so beautiful.”

Tony doesn’t sigh, it’s more like the slow release of a breath that’s been held in for too long, he breathes it into the pillow, tilts his face inwards so Steve won’t see his reaction.

But Steve isn’t lying. Watching Tony like this, naked and open, back rippling, tanned skin slick and flushed, arms spread and held down for Steve’s pleasure and Steve’s alone… it’s a gift. It’s a gift he opens everyday, and everyday he finds something new inside. And never before has he owned something so beautiful.

“There’s something I want to do,” he says, tugging the last of the material from Tony’s ankles “I hope you won’t mind.”

With his ankles freed, Tony lets them hitch up on the bed, lets them sprawl loose as Steve gently slides up to rest beside his head.

“Look at me,” he says quietly “tilt your head— that’s it, good boy.” He smoothes fingers in his hair as his sub stares at him, open, unguarded.

He runs a finger down his jaw, slips it into his mouth and leans close “Open wide, boy.”

It sends a sudden, involuntary shudder down Tony’s spine, open wide, boy, it’s so commanding, so domineering, he lets his jaw fall open softly, unhinged and ready for whatever Steve needs him to do, what Sir wants, he is his.

Steve presses something soft, silk, against his lips and Tony catches the red as it’s slowly pushed inside his hot warmth, as it envelops the inside of his mouth.

He moans, lightly, a sound that catches in the back of this throat and shifts on the bed as Steve draws out his tie, binds the panties in place within the wetness of Tony’s jaw. He watches him so adoringly, like Tony’s just given him everything he’s ever wanted and laid it out on a silver platter, which, maybe, he has.

“Look at you,” he whispers, tracing Tony’s cheekbone “stuffed full of your own pretty panties. Can you taste yourself, sweetie?”

Tony shudders, burns with the humiliation of being bound like this, with red lingerie at the cusp of his mouth, drool starting to pool at the corners and the taste of his own pre-come on his tongue. Steve is evil because this is everything that he loves, to be treated this way, to be controlled like this, set down like this, and it’s almost too much, almost, he can’t believe he’s so lucky, to have a dom who can give him everything he needs, everything, and he can trust him to always know what he needs.

Steve laughs slightly at the sight of him and Tony blushes, rolls his hips without thinking, anything to move away from his gaze because Steve knows, he knows that Tony loves it and that hits something inside him, works something loose, the final knot, because Tony relaxes, completely, into the bed, he lets himself sink down into a place where Steve is Sir and Sir is allowed to take and take and take and Tony cannot ask for anything in return, why would he, when everything he wants is right here.

Steve moves off the bed, leaves Tony to think, to sink, whatever it is he wants, and gets a pillow. He wonders if he can count this as a point for himself, if that’s fair, since Tony can’t really do anything in return. He decides on a point for both of them, 4-5, because Tony really is being such a good boy for him, swallowing down his panties like a good little slut.

Steve surprises himself with the vehemence of his thoughts. Only Tony, he thinks, only Tony can do this to me.

He returns and slides the pillow beneath Tony’s hips.

“This is just a support, understand?” And Tony nods, drowsy, into the sheets “Once I’ve bound your legs I’m taking it out but you’re going to keep your ass in that position.”

Tony nods again, spreads his legs on the sheets. Sir wants his chest and legs to be flat against the bed, but he wants his hips up, because that gives good access, okay, he can do it, he can.

Steve binds both ankles to the posts at the end of the bed and Tony whimpers behind his gag because he really is spread like this, split, and everything is on offer because he’s arched his back slightly, pressed his hips upwards.

He’s all ready for Steve to use.

Grinning, (not that Tony can see) he grasps a riding crop. It’s unusual in that the end, instead of having a black tab, has soft, black feathers, perfect for what he wants, how he’s going to make Tony dance.

Without warning, he drags the soft tip down the inside of Tony’s thighs and watches as he twists, squirms and gasps into the gag.

“Mmfph’,” he says “Mmmphfff!” He presses his toes into the bed, uses them as leverage to inch forward as if trying to escape the tickling touch but can’t because he’s spread, bound open and he can’t move, really, in any direction. He bucks his hips up to dislodge the feel of the feathers but all that does is give Steve a beautiful view of his ass, make him smirk as he watches Tony try to escape.

He trails the crop down his leg, thigh, and Tony knows where it’s going next because he tosses his head on the sheets, jerks his ankles against the restraints, tries to pull them free so he can protect his feet from the tickler’s touch.

It’s amusing to watch but not half as fun when Tony screams into the gag, goes incoherent with the feel of the feathers on his foot, giggles, laughs wildly, high and compromised, flexes his spine, his ass, rolls his hips back and shakes his feet, tries to free them desperately. Steve loves the way his toes curl, love the snap of the chains as he tries to squirm away, loves the taut pull of the sheets as Tony fists his hands in the covers, panting around the gag.

“You like that, don’t you boy?” And Tony whimpers, nods into pillows, squeezes his eyes tight, face scrunched with the tension of keeping restrained. Steve see where he’s drooled into the pillow, where he’s not been able to control himself and his saliva has dampened the sheets. It’s incredibly gratifying to have one of the world’s richest men squirming in his bed, slobbering incoherently on his sheets.

“You let go, boy. This isn’t going to stop till I want it to, don’t bother holding back.”

He brings the tickler to tease Tony’s balls and he bucks, screams and stiffens and jerks his curled toes against the sheets, bangs his fists and moans. It’s unstoppable, it’s the highest manner of a loss of control, and Steve watches him lose himself completely as he skims up the crack of Tony’s ass, lightly brushes against his hole.

“Beg me,” he commands, Sir commands, he wants him to beg, boy to beg, he can, he—

“Please,” he groans behind the gag, muffled, “please Sir, please.”


“What are you begging for, boy?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

“That’s not quite the answer I’m looking for, boy,” and he brings the tickler down, plays with his feet till he screams. And screams. And doesn’t stop, his body a constant motion, wriggling and bucking and trying hopelessly to pull free.

“Please.” he shrieks, face crumpling “Please Sir!”

“What was that?” Steve says casually, not faltering in his torture.

“Please let me come,” he tries, voice hoarse but still shouting against the gag “please let me come!”

Steve shrugs “I can’t understand you.”

No, no! He has to make Steve understand, has to, he needs to come, he can’t hold it in but he doesn’t want to come without Sir’s permission, can’t do that.

“I need to come,” he says again, but his mouth is too muffled, it sounds more like a “arhee’ tahom’”

Steve grins “What was that, boy? What are you asking for?”

“Please,” he begs “Sir, Sir,” He’s rutting against the bed, the need is too great, please don’t make him come without permission, please don’t.

“I need to come,” he pleads again “I need to come, I need—” he breath hitches, suddenly, and his face crumples, he lets go, completely and utterly, offers himself entirely over to his dom, loses control finally and accepts that this is nothing he can fix. He sobs, his mouth working over the gag, his tears soaking the pillows, face crumpled and cheeks red “I need to come,” he asks, one last time, pliant, and sobbing, squirming and waiting.

“You need to come?” Sir says “Well why didn’t you say so before?” He slaps his ass with the crop “Go ahead, boy. Rut as much as you like.”

Tony sobs in relief, oh thank God, oh thank God, he doesn’t need to disobey, of course he doesn’t Sir will always give him what he needs, he always knows how far to take it, what to do, he knows Tony’s limits, Tony trusts Sir with everything he has.

“Thank you,” he says, still muffled, as he rolls his hips against the sheets “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He comes, hot and wet, against the sheets, his eyes rolling back into his head, mouth completely slack and body relaxing like a spring let loose. He moans his orgasm so beautifully, Steve takes every bit in, so perfect and all his and he waits as Tony comes back to himself, as he pants on the bed, slowly regains his breathing and just lies there, loose and open, waiting for the next order, the next way his dom wants to use him. 

When Tony comes to, past the white haze of climax, he feels Steve crouching by his head, hand in his hair, looking at him with eyes that scream love, and hope and trust. He’s naked, he must of undressed while Tony was still out of it and he’s smiling softly.

“Was that good for you, Tony?”

He nods, drowsy, pliant “Uh huh,” he mumbles behind the gag. Steve’s smile grows exponentially and he trails fingers down Tony’s neck, grasps at the flesh.

“You’re going to suck me, Tony,” he orders, and he brings the crop up, slap it against his ass so he whines, makes little noises behind the gag. Steve climbs onto the bed, sits himself against the headboard and shifts until his erect cock presses against Tony’s face.

“You are going to suck me, nice and slow, hmm?” He un-knots the tie from Tony’s mouth, throws it to the side and draws out the silk within, completely soaked through, damp.

“Did you like having your panties in your mouth like a little slut?” He asks, but his tone is kind “Keeping you gagged, it must be embarrassing for you,” he slaps the crop against his ass “to have me know how much you love pretty girl panties.”

Tony shudders. Breath ghosts on Steve’s length and the world pares down to the sudden feel of Tony’s hot, wet mouth sucking on his balls.

The soft swirl of heat. The sound of Tony’s chains. Steve sees where he fists his hands into the bedsheets, his knuckles whitening, yet his body held lax as he laps at Steve’s balls like a pet, like it’s all he’s there for.

He’s making small noises at the back of his throat, feral and lovely and his eyes are wide and innocent and he looks up and asks with a hoarse throat “Can I suck, Sir?”

Steve smiles indulgently and brings Tony’s mouth down over his cock. He feels as his sub takes every inch of him in, and as he hollows his cheeks obscenely, moves his head up and down in a slow beat, a steady rhythm.

Steve takes the crop, he beats Tony’s ass sporadically, urging him like one might urge a horse. Every time a stroke finds its mark, he feel Tony flinch, he tightens around Steve’s cock. It’s the slow drag of wet warmth that has Steve intoxicated, lowering his head to rest on headboard and sighing.

The world is calm. Inhale, exhale. Breathe. The slick slide of Tony’s clever tongue, the soft, heady drag of the crop on his ass. The tension that hangs in the air, the smell of musk and come, sweat and sex that wraps itself round Steve’s mind. 

His pretty little sub, sucking cock like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

When he comes, Tony swallows it down dutifully. He throat works over the head of Steve’s cock and he let’s go, let’s Tony do it for him, doesn’t think and rides on the bliss for just a moment.

5-6. Tony wins, and Steve’s not even ashamed.

He sighs, runs a hand through the smaller mans hair. “We didn’t use the shoes,” he muses.

Tony mumbles, rests his head on the firm inside of Steve’s thigh. Smiles softly.

Steve takes each hand and frees them from the bindings. Then, he reaches down and does the same with Tony’s ankles.

“Everything working?” He asks and Tony wiggles his toes, his fingers, but doesn’t open his eyes.

There’s nothing more to say. He climbs over the covers, rests with his sub. Tony shifts so that he lies on top of Steve’s warm skin, head tucked into the crook of his neck, spent cocks pressed against each other, his palms on his muscled chest and their legs entwined.

Steve can hear every beat of Tony’s heart.

He shifts, yawns on top of him, hand lazily tracing patterns in Steve’s flesh.

“You lose.” He whispers with a smile.