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Promise Me Something

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The leader of the free world is a terrible lay...is not something Tony can actually say. Because the leader of the free world--the man currently clutching the sheets, his back arched, his face wet, his mouth curved around the shape of Tony’s name--is fucking fantastic in bed.

“You want more?” Tony asks, lifting his hips, scraping his nails down the sides of the President’s thighs.

The President--Steve, it’s Steve when they’re like this--shudders and shoves himself down, stretching to get Tony deeper, to let his body pull in more of Tony’s big cock, but Tony doesn’t play along, doesn’t give him an inch; he holds himself still, tightens his grip on Steve’s thighs to keep him spread wide.

“Ah, ah. No, sir. You want more, you ask for it.”

Steve’s eyes fly open, blue as always, September skies, but cloudy now, fogged over with desire and need. “Tony,” he rasps, that firm voice worn down to a rasp. “Tony, please.”

Some days, that’s enough; just that one little word. Today, though? Not so much.

Tony shakes his head. “Uh uh. That’s not what I said.” He slips one hand between Steve’s legs, traces the place where they’re barely joined, the wet stretch of Steve’s opening breached by just the head of Tony’s cock, and Steve makes a high, tight sound, his body squeezing so hard that Tony fucking sees stars.

Please,” Steve says again. “God, fuck me, please.”

Now Tony’s shivering. It’s taking all of his frayed nerves to hold back. But there’s a method to his madness, a message he’s damn well determined to impart. “Louder,” he says, edging his forefinger inside of Steve, tugging none too gently at his rim. “Ask me louder, Steve.”

Steve’s dick jerks, fat and glorious, and for a second, Tony’s sure Steve going to come, that the most powerful man on the planet is going to give it up for just the promise of a good, hard fuck.

“Oh, shit, Tony,” Steve gets out, a hint of the voice that can cut through any crowd, reach the back of any room. “Shit, come on. I need you. Please fuck me.”

The sound that rips out of Tony’s throat is raw and stupid and full of a heart-churning need and he shoves all the way in, makes Steve take the rest of him all in one go, and then they’re clawing at each together, Steve wide and wet and Tony pounding into him, no gentleness, no room for conscious thought.

They shouldn’t be doing this, never should’ve started, and there are thousand reasons why this makes Tony a terrible agent, a screw-up, a danger to the same man he’s sworn to protect. Hell, anyone could kick the door in now and find them helpless, too caught up in the other’s pleasure to take proper precautions, to be sensible, to act like the President and his body man and not lovers oblivious to everything except hands on skin and mouth on mouth and the need to have each other, to mark, to come.

That’s where Tony wants to stay--in the moment, in the flesh--but his lips get the better of him, strung as they are with a straight line to his heart.

He lifts his head and tucks his temple against Steve’s. Whispers: “You could’ve been killed.”

Steve groans. “Mmm, but I wasn’t. I’m fine.”

That gets him a slap on the thigh, a sharp bite under his ear. “I don’t give a shit. I told you not to get out of the car. Didn’t I?”

“Yes, but--”

“There is no but,” Tony spits, speeding up the slam of his hips. “That was not a suggestion, Steve. It was an order.”

Steve digs his nails through Tony’s hair, scores the back of Tony’s neck. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“I know . But you’re supposed to. That’s my whole fucking point.”

“Tony--”

Tony growls and brings their mouths together, feeds Steve a long, furious kiss. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

He’s angry, truly, madder than he’s been in a long time; but then, it’s been ages since Steve circumvented the plan they’d sketched out in his security briefing: go here do this stay alive. They’d been on their way to trade talks at the Capitol Hilton, of all fucking places, and Tony had been sleeping bad for a week. It didn’t matter to his brain that it wasn’t 1981, that Presidential security had come a long, long way: it had bad mojo, that place, and even though his compadres were loathe to say it out loud, the Secret Service felt like it was haunted--a la recherche du the ghosts of assassination attempts past.

But the President’s advance team had set up the talks and none of them had any sense of history, any awareness of the world until the early 2000s, probably, and the basics of the arrangements were ok’d by Tony’s bosses at Treasury long before the bad news made its way down to he and his team, the actual folks on the ground.

He’d thrown a fit with his big boss, Fury. It hadn’t done any damn good.

At least the President had listened to all of Tony’s concerns before he’d politely but firmly blown him off.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Agent Stark,” he’d said, smiling at Tony from behind the Resolute desk. “I really do, but we can’t let the past hold us back.”

“Sir, I’m not saying that we should cancel the--”

The President had held up a hand; the same one, Tony had thought dimly, that had been wrapped around Tony’s cock a few hours before, a quick, filthy handjob that ended with the President on his knees, smirking, wiping the last of Tony’s come from his mouth. “Regardless, it’s done. And I trust you and your team will ensure that I’m safe.”

“Sir,” Tony had said, because it was more polite than fuck you. But the President had heard what he meant just the same.

“Great,” the President had said a way that said this conversation is closed. “See to it.”

And Tony had, goddamn it, had built a solid plan from the ground up, had almost gotten to the point where he felt at ease with the place, but then the President had gone and fucked it all up by hopping out of the motorcade and walking up the hill to the hotel itself, shaking hands and greeting the vociferous crowd that lined the long drive.

“Motherfucker,” Tony had heard over the comms the second the President’s feet hit the street and yeah, he’d thought grimly, no shit.

They’d only been outside for five minutes, tops, but each second had been excruciating. All of Tony’s senses were on red fucking alert and he’d kept a hand on the President’s back, nodded at his second, Hill, to do the same, and together, they’d guided the President along the line, steering him firmly up the hill and towards the relative safety of in-goddamn-side, and when it was over, when they were in the lobby at last, the President had been beaming, exhilarated as always by the give and take with people, as happy about seeing those there to cheer him on as he was those there to tell him off. Tony and his team, though, were worn thin, and it wasn’t even 10 freaking AM. And he’d been angry. So angry that he’d taken the President’s elbow as they shepherded him towards the third-floor suite where the Chinese were waiting, where there was serious work to be done, and ducked his head, whispered: “We’re having words later. Sir.”

The President had turned and caught Tony’s eye, a spark there, a flash of softness that for all his fury, made Tony a little weak in the knees. “I’m counting on it, Agent Stark.”

It’s hours later now, the tide of one day nearly spilled into the next, and Steve is clutching Tony’s ass, urging him to fuck in fast, drive in hard and deep, and sometimes, that’s the only way Tony can get the most powerful man in the world to listen to him: with his hands and his mouth and his dick.

“Can you come like this?” Tony says, feeling the heat in his spine shooting up towards desperate.

Steve shakes his head, tightens his grip. “No. But s'ok. Wanna feel you come first.”

“Yeah?"

“Mmmm.” He nuzzles Tony’s neck. “And I want you to eat me out when you’re done. Want to come with your tongue in me, Tony.”

Christ. Tony isn’t sure if he thinks it or shouts it, but either way, there’s nothing he can do now but squeeze the pillow cradling Steve’s head and fuck Steve in a frenzy, the heat of Steve’s body, the clutch, suddenly too perfect, too sweet, and too much, and when he comes, it’s with a grunt and a whine, a long, dirty sound that even Steve’s kisses can’t stifle, that the well of his mouth can barely contain.

“Oh, god,” Steve murmurs, his smile loud and so beautifully clear. “I love it when you fuck me like that. Needed you inside me all day.”

Tony’s cock gives one last ardent jerk and there’s more of him inside of Steve now, more hot and bitter come for him to lick up. Fuck.

“You have to promise me something,” he mumbles into Steve’s ear as he shivers his way back to sense.

Steve’s fingers move through his hair. “What’s that?”

“Please don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever fucking get out of the car without warning me first. Please.”

“That really upset you, didn’t it?”

Ton shakes his head, lifts it up, that boulder, and looks into Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t upset me. Scared me. I was scared for you.”

Steve bites his lip, traces the curve of Tony’s flushed face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t do it again. I don’t want to lose you, Steve. Is the thing.”

Steve, the leader of the free world, the most powerful man Tony’s ever known, the first person he’s ever let himself fall in love with, smoothes his thumb over Tony’s mouth and smiles, soft and so fucking lovely that it makes something in Tony ache, feel like it might burst. “I’d prefer if you didn’t lose me, too.”

Tony purses his lips and licks a little at Steve’s thumb, a small promise of what the man's asked for, of what’s to come. “Well, Mr. President," Tony says, “I’m glad we can agree on that, anyway.”