It started in the workshop.
Steve had brought food, but didn’t even think Tony saw him (which was okay, he damn sure noticed the turkeyburger, even if he didn’t actually notice that he was eating), and Steve, well, Steve was sucker for watching his lover at work. There was something mesmerizing about the way the world fell away around him, the unguarded expressions of frustration, confusion, and triumph. So few people saw Tony’s mask of constant babble for just that, partly because he let it slip so seldom that it felt like a rare privilege to be around him in these moments.
Besides, in a purely Pavlovian sense, that focus was hot. Even when it wasn’t directed at him.
Not that Tony ever quite stopped talking. Right then he was explaining code, something about fight responses, to DUM-E, gesturing extravagantly and replying, “I’m glad you asked,” to apparently random servo whirrs and, amusingly, “You’re right! What was I thinking?” He turned away to make a series of minute adjustments to some sort of... button attached to a clip, still keeping up a steady stream of what Bruce called “ducksplaining” (Steve steadfastly refused to ask) at the robot.
So Steve stuck around, watching the easy and sometimes comical grace of his boyfriend in his element until, as the rhythm of the shop would have it, Steve scooted between two inert suits to gather the still-unseen-but-now-empty dishes just as a floating upload bar filled with green, and Tony blinked up at him and smiled. “Steve! Just the man! I was just thinking about you.”
Steve grinned at the falsehood. “Of course you were.”
“No, really, baby, I need an extra set of hands. One hand.” Steve thought about going for that opening, he did, but Tony had promised this “Lassie protocol” was just a one-day project, in a way that made Steve think that he was probably on the mark, but that was only if he was uninterrupted. Tony clipped the widget to the neck of his shirt. It whined in a way that was probably not audible to non-enhanced hearing, and Tony turned his back to Steve. “Come at me.”
Steve’s eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
Tony turned back around, casting about. “Oh, yeah, that’s good,” he said, grabbing a small socket wrench, placing it in Steve’s right hand.. “I’m going to turn my back on you. You’re going to come up behind me and cosh me.”
“I am not,” Steve replied. “‘Cosh’ is not even a verb. That doesn’t even begin to get near the top twenty reasons I’m not going to do that. No.”
Tony looked pained. “Look… just trust me, okay? Would I jeopardize my favorite 3/8th drive if I wasn’t absolutely sure it was okay?”
Steve opened his mouth as a baker’s dozen of retorts fought to be the first to object.
Tony brought out the big guns. How did his eyes get so big? “You know, if this works like I think it’s going to, I’ll need to run simulations for about the next two hours and forty minutes or so, and I was thinking we’ve never---” The always-present background undertone of arousal in the scent of the lab rose to the top of Tony’s scent signature, overwhelming Steve, thickening his lazy half-chub to a full hard-on so quickly Steve was almost surprised it didn’t make a noise. “You’re going to do it. You know you are. Or I could bring Natasha in, she’d be happy to pop me on the noggin…” Tony flicked his fingers and made a popping sound effect.
Steve shook his head. “Wednesday. If you call her in for less than Armageddon during her Skype date, she’s going to do permanent damage.”
Tony grimaced. “It’s not ‘Skype,’ it’s--- no, good point. So?”
Steve sighed, “I want you to know, I am only agreeing to do this because you wouldn’t risk wasting a month of ‘I told you so’s’ on something you weren’t incredibly sure of. Last chance to back out?”
Tony grinned. “I knew you’d see it my way. Now, enjoy the view, I’m turning around, I’m puttering, I’m puttering...” He began to whistle in what he probably thought was an aimless and innocent manner, something in G major.
Steve considered the gap and weighed the situation. On one hand, going in like he’d been told to was almost certainly a trap of some sort. On the other, he didn’t know what Stark was testing, so would there be any benefit to getting past whatever he was testing? Fuck it, Steve decided. It would probably get this phase over with, whatever it was, if he went along with the program.
Besides, Steve doing exactly as expected and asked might be so out-of-character that he was pretty sure that it would break any A.I. that had any data on him whatsoever.
He circled to Tony’s right, closing the distance silently, meaning not to hit him but to get him in a headlock---
---and found his wrist in a grasp of literal steel.
Okay, titanium alloy. He twisted against the thumb of the suddenly-quite-lively suit holding his wrist but, finding that ineffectual, lashed out at the core of the suit with his foot. The suit feinted and pulled him off-center. Somehow he ended up in a full Nelson. He was pretty sure he could get out of it, but not without damaging the armor.
Tony grinned up at him. “Cool, huh? I know you were holding back, but now we can set up a guard for people we’ve rescued, if we can’t get them somewhere safe and we need to be elsewhere. It’s got potential civilian applications, too. Now, give me back my wrench and hell-o, Captain!” Tony had managed to brush against the bulge in his pants. Great.
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes? You’re restrained. That usually takes the mickey right out of your mouse.”
“I resent you calling it that.”
"Are you sure? Because Steamboat Willie is showing no signs of leaving the building."
But--- Certain parts of his background, both before and after the serum, had made being immobilized in any capacity profoundly unsexy to Steve. He rarely had anything so uncouth as a panic attack, but their attempts at BDSM play in that particular direction fizzled at best. Yet here he was, held tight and aching to be touched. “It’s you.”
“What? It was me before.”
“No, I mean--- the suit. It’s you. Your engineering, your style, it’s part of you. It would be beautiful on its own, but there’s nothing about any part of it that doesn’t say ‘Tony,’ to me, and that… It’s... strong… and---“ He took a deep breath. “Look, can we just drop this? It’s embarrassing.”
Tony’s jaw dropped. “You. Have. A. Thing. For. The. Suit.”
“I... “ Steve hung his head. “I have a thing for the suit.”
Tony went quiet. Steve looked up. Tony’s eyes were shuttered and for a moment, Steve panicked. Had he crossed a line? Objectified Tony? Dirtied something that was supposed to be pure? Brushed against some trauma? God knew, they were both walking minefields that way.
Tony smirked like a cat who’d gotten tickets to the canary convention. He clapped twice.“Hey, everybody! Nap time for all the good little bots.”
“I appreciate that,” Steve said as the bots trundled to their recharging stations and powered their external sensors off.
“You’re weird about that. It’s not like they haven’t seen worse. Or they care.”
“Or they aren’t likely to cover us in riot suppressant foam and send up a distress call.”
“You weren’t even here when that happened! Okay, look, I’m just processing. This is… this is like atheist Christmas.” He tapped some instructions into the air, the card clipped to his shirt blipped, and the suit pinned Steve’s hands behind him.
“So…” ask Steve. “What now?” Christ. He could feel his pulse in the base of his cock.
“You know what we heroes never get to do? The one thing that makes me envy the villains?”
Steve swallowed, half-alarmed, half even more aroused, and how was that possible? “How far are we taking this?” he asked, thinking about the things villains did that heroes did not get to do. Somehow, he doubted that Tony’s immediate plans included “having one single board game night not interrupted by Doombots or Mindless Ones or Molemen, just one, is it too much to fucking ask?”
“Hush, now. I’m monologuing. So. You think I’m going to fuck you. I’m just going to… hold you down and have my way with you, and for once in his fucking life, Steve Rogers, old Stars and Stripes, is going to be the pillow queen and take whatever I give him.
“You’re not wrong. But you’re not right… yet. Because you have this hang-up about being recorded, and today, I just get to… watch.”
And the suit near the lab table strode up to him and caressed his cheek, making his head tilt and running its thumb across his lips.
“Color?” Tony asked.
“Pardon?” said Steve.
“Red, yellow… green?” Just because Steve didn’t like to be tied up didn’t mean they didn’t find themselves in need of a safe word or three once in a while.
“Oh, ah, green. Definitely green. Green,” Steve said.
The suit slid its gauntlets over his chest, down his sides, along his hips. It nudged his thighs open and caressed his package. Steve heard Tony pull a wheeled chair up and sit down, but he kept his eyes on the golden mask of the suit. There was something compelling in the absolute stillness of the mask, its non-responsiveness. He suspected even Sam would think that was fucked up. But he didn’t have to dance for it, like some spangled monkey. He didn’t need to fight for that release, the moment when the stone-faced guy in the suit, dangling his approval over their heads, smiled and everything would be okay until the town, the next show.
He suspected Tony knew how that felt.
“Baby… how fond of you are that outfit?” Tony asked.
“I.. oh. It’s nothing I can’t live without.” Later, he’ll feel guilty over the waste, but this was not the time.
The suit unlatched something in its wrist and, with delicate precision, a saw blade flashed and cut off his shirt, his jeans, his boxers. He pushed his shoes off his feet, stepped on his socks to pull them off, kicked them away.
The other suit still held him fast.
He was leaking. He was so hard his cock defied gravity, grazed his belly.
He heard Tony’s pants unzip. There’s a pause, as if of consideration, and a soft impact of cloth on the ground, once, twice, thrice. Steve risked a glance out of the corner of his eye. Tony was naked and idly stroking himself.
And Steve couldn’t move, not a millimeter.
The gauntlets were smooth and felt cool, metallic. They roamed his body, shamelessly touching, stroking, slick against his thighs, cupping his balls. Touching him. Memorizing him.
There was a hint of smugness in Tony’s voice when he said, “Okay, I’m going to be experimenting a little here. I’m going to ask for a color in a few seconds, but you stop me the second it gets too much, Rogers, do you hear me?”
“Lima charlie, Tony. That’s ‘green,’ in case you didn’t know.”
Tony’s eyes went far away for a second. The suit behind him gathered his wrists in one hand, then pushed its fingers through his hair, grabbing and pulling him to his knees with it.
Then Steve heard it: the distinctive hum of repulsors powering up. “Tony?” he asked, voice breaking. What if he missed the mark? What if this is a supervillain, a shape-shifter, someone possessing Tony?
“Babe. Give me a little credit, here?” The waves of power against his skin were not unlike the jets of a hot tub… pushing against his muscles, kneading him, manhandling him, all with the sense of barely-restrained power, danger… the repulsors turned down, then off, to be replaced with a narrower sense of almost-unbearable stinging heat, one finger wide, roughly the intensity of the snap of a rubber band… it seared a path around first one nipple, then the other, lingering, growing more intense as Steve gasped, hating it, needing it, craving sensation, touch, pain… “And that is for being the sassiest bitch in the hemisphere, over and over… and doubting my word.”
“You... “ Steve hissed. “..you met a sassier bitch in Australia?”
“Hong Kong, actually. Although I think Logan thought he was Australian when I first met him.”
“True,” Steve gritted out, “Logan… Logan’s the sassiest bitch this side of,” he cast about, flailing, “Sherlock Holmes, or something.”
“Color?” The suit had, in the course of its counterpart’s ministrations, turned him to face Tony more fully, and Tony was jerking himself off in earnest, his eyes dark with lust, watching his lover writhe.
“Green. Green!” Steve gasped. Tony bit his lip.
The first suit, the restraining suit, drew him to his feet again, then sat down on the nearby bench, drawing Steve across its lap, one hand holding his hands behind his back, the other gently across the back of his neck. Steve briefly wondered if he was going to be spanked, like a misbehaving brat. The other suit moved behind him an Tony wheeled his chair to face Steve again. “Tony!” he said, “You can’t---”
“Pretty sure ‘can’t’ isn’t in our vocabulary, Sweet Cheeks,” said Tony, grinning wickedly. “Hmm, no,” he added thoughfully. The suit behind Steve shifted to sit astride the bench, pulling him until he was leaning against its chest, leaning them both back. His arms were still pinned behind him.
The suit above him stared blankly down at them both, and Tony moaned a little under his breath. Steve had never felt so naked, vulnerable… seen. He knew Tony was watching him through the mask. Was he being watched from two angles, or three? They were silent, all of them, except for his and Tony’s breathing, heavy with desire, perfectly synchronized with no conscious volition. The suit cocked his legs up, exposed his asshole. Steve kept his eyes fixed on its eye slits as it trailed a finger down the back of his thigh, spread its hand over the globe of his ass, then slowly, agonizingly circled his entrance. It slid his other hand to circle his cock, moving steadily up and down. Steve nodded at it, slowly.
Tony knew what he meant. “Steve… we don’t have lube. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Steve tilted his chin up, defiantly. “I can take it.”
“Do it.” The suit’s finger lingered on his asshole, then slowly began to push, back and forth, in and out, a little further in with each time. Steve forced himself to relax as the sensitive skin clung to the finger, never blinking as he stared heatedly at the eye slits of the mask. The suit pushed its middle finger against his asshole. In the background, Tony’s breathing abruptly caught, and he heard Tony kick himself in the chair across the room. “Tony, what are you…” But the suit crooked its fingers within Steve, and he closed his eyes as his whole body flexed.
The noise of a cabinet door opening. Tony was rummaging. What?
Right. The Leonids. The blanket probably still had soot on it from the roof.
Tony tossed something at the suit, which raised its arm and caught it in a truly impressive catch.
“You can take it, huh?” asked Tony. The suit caught a second, smaller object. Steve locked his gaze on its camera ports.
The pain was shattering as the suit pushed the toy into him. It was lubed up, but not enough, too fast, and it was all Steve could do not to roar and fight free. Instead, he breathed into the pain, which was already turning into molten pleasure. The suit pistoned the toy into him, and he shook with the intensity, the exposure, the submission, the wracking pain/ pleasure of it. :”Tony… baby... not… much… longer.”
“Shut up,” Tony said.
Steve blinked. “What?”
“You’re going to come when I let you come, not before,” Tony snarled. Somehow, he was standing over Steve’s prone form, jerking his own impressive erection at a furious speed. “You’re going to lie there while I fuck you with the suit and hold you down with the suit and I’m going to watch you get just fucking wrecked on it while I get myself off and come all over that pretty face, those pretty tits of yours… ah!” And Tony was coming, hot drops streaking across Steve’s face and chest.
Steve wanted to talk, he did, he wanted to say yes, yes, fuck me, baby, come all over me, make me yours, I’m yours, tell me I’m yours, but his throat wouldn’t work, the words wouldn’t come. And Steve couldn’t, he wasn’t allowed to, but he couldn’t not come, not if his life depended on it, his body twitching and filling with light as the world blacked out for a minute.
The suit behind him released his arms. “Tony, I’m so sorry, baby, I tried not to come until you said…" he cried out. Good, God, were those tears pricking at his eyes? He fought to his feet, his legs not wanting to work and wobbling dangerously with aftershocks.
“Shh, shh,” Tony said, helping him up to cuddle him soothingly. “You did fine. You were beautiful. I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life. You think I’m going to complain? Because you couldn’t keep yourself from coming?” Steve shook his head and let himself be drawn in the shelter of Tony’s cool, muscular arms, burrowing his face into his lover’s chest. Words were slowly coming back to him. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too,” and something in Steve’s chest eased. He hadn’t even realized he’d been asking a question. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. I’m going to put the suits in self-cleaning mode, but next time--- will there be a next time?” Steve nodded an emphatic, shy affirmative against Tony’s chest, “--- next time, I think I’ll make you clean them off with your tongue. Whoa, you’re interested in that, huh? And attachments, definitely attachments…”
It started in the workshop. It didn't finish there.
The Mark 69 was not comic-code approved. But who cared?