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Despite the intervening years, the bar was just as Steve remembered it, all dark wood and unpolished bronze. Deep sodium light drifted from the alcoves like snow and accumulated on the intimate booths and tables, on the edges of shelves that glinted with deep red and amber liquors. He wasn’t quite dumb enough to ask for a drink from one of the heavy crystal decanters—though, under the circumstances, he almost wished he were—but he was definitely dumb enough to step into a certain kind of bar in the evening, to slide into a certain open space at the bar, and to cast a certain kind of speculative eye around the men who were lounging against the wooden counter just a little too close to one another.
If this was it, he wanted to be honest.
He couldn’t be real, of course, couldn’t be true in the way he’d once wanted before he realized that he’d already gone too far down this path to turn aside, but he could be open. He could take a taste of something other than bitterness with him into the cold of tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning—
Breathe. Steve closed his eyes and smoothed his expression, let the low, jazzy music wash over him as his intercostal muscles relaxed. One. Two. Three. He was feeling his age more than usual. But however else Steve had changed getting older, some choices would always be easy. Reed had shown him the numbers, more than once, and he was canny enough to know how they boiled down. People would be in danger. A troubled kid needed help. And more than anything else, Steve needed to do the right thing. He needed to be the Iron Man, one last time.
And tomorrow, he would be. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
“Can I getcha anything?” the bartender asked, not loudly, but suddenly enough to startle Steve’s eyes open. His face was kind. “Sorry. Long day, I bet. You’re not the only one, I’ve been here… long enough, anyway. You want the good stuff?” He inclined his head toward the shelves, and was halfway to reaching for one by the time Steve had the presence of mind to correct him.
“Just water, thanks,” he said, and then explained, “Big day tomorrow.”
“Whatever you want,” was the sympathetic reply. Jesus, Steve must’ve looked rough. He’d ironed his shirt and put an effort into his hair, but, well, he was getting older, and his fey mood couldn’t be very attractive. It wasn’t easy to shake off. He pressed his shoulders back and straightened himself into the neat lines of his shirt, did his best to uncrumple the pinch of his brow.
A glass of water slid across the rich dark wood of the counter a few seconds later, and Steve dredged up a real—honest—smile to thank the bartender.
“Hey, there you go,” the man said warmly, interrupting Steve’s thoughts again. His eyes crinkled a little as he winked. “I’m not on offer, but that kinda smile could sure get the second-handsomest fella here to show you a good time.”
“Thanks,” Steve said again. He was far too old and stringy for it to be true, but it raised his spirits a little all the same. He sipped at his drink as the bartender ambled over to a new customer at the end of the bar and struck up a low-voiced, familiar conversation.
The man there was business-slick and quiet, his face tipped away from the drift of light beside him, the shadow over his eyes deepened by the wildness of an escaped forelock. Perhaps, like Steve, he had been attracted by the discreet, atmospheric nature of the bar, or perhaps he was just that tired. He didn’t really look up when the bartender passed him a neat, caramel-colored drink. For a few seconds, he just twisted the glass in circles with elegant fingers, watching the way the swirl of liquid made the light dance inside it. Lazily fascinated, or deep in thought somewhere else. The bar lent itself to either.
Eventually the man tilted his head back and raised the glass to his lips, hesitance forgotten, and any pretension Steve had to idle interest melted away like the indistinct notes of the saxophone. The stranger was gorgeous. Too young for Steve, almost definitely, but too beautiful to ignore. Hazy golden light made the smooth olive skin of his cheekbones glow, and deep shadows clung to his jaw and the bridge of his nose. In the half-light, handsome features became stark and dramatic, a play-mask of anonymity.
When the man’s throat worked evenly around a long swallow, Steve choked on his tongue. He took a few more careful breaths for an entirely different reason, and tried to listen to the voice in his head reminding him that he was being honest, and the other voice pointing out that he had no way of knowing the outcome before the experiment had even run—thank you, Reed.
At the very least, he could work up the courage to try. It was what he’d come for, after all. Steve released his breath slowly and slid his eyes back down the bar.
The stranger was looking back.
But looking was so simple a word. The mans’ shadowed eyes were hot, assessing, interested—if anyone here was a candidate for “second-handsomest fella,” it was this man, and he was looking back at Steve. Their gaze caught and held fast. The yards between them were nothing at all; they were separated only by inches, by a breath, trembling on the edge of contact. They watched each other, neither quite daring to exhale.
Abruptly, the bartender’s compliment sprang to mind, and then it was the only thing Steve could think of. He smiled.
It was the stranger who started breathing first, and then he quirked his lips into something roguish and inviting, his neat mustache promising just the right amount of scrape. Heat curled in Steve’s gut, just what he’d been hoping for, and he inhaled carefully to bank it and keep it safe for later. No need to get ahead of himself. He widened the smile a little to say hello.
The stranger’s dark eyebrows went up. Hey yourself, he seemed to say, equal parts saucy and amused. Steve had never quite figured out how to control his blush reflex in contexts like this, but he didn’t drop his gaze, and that rakish smile got a little more sincere, almost boyish. Young, Steve was reminded, but he did his best to ignore it. The blossom of warmth was still growing where he’d put it away.
Steve raised an eyebrow and tilted the tumbler in front of him with his thumb and forefinger. Can I buy you a drink?
At that, a little furrow appeared between the other man’s eyebrows, and Steve had a sudden vision of kissing him right there, feeling it smooth out under his mouth. The affection was more than he’d dared to hope for, but Steve had never much enjoyed meaningless sex, and he welcomed it. It couldn’t last long, but it was good. Reassuring in a way not much could be at this point.
A few seconds of puzzling later, the furrow and the fantasy disappeared together as the man tipped his head in a clear c’mere, franker than the invitation in his smile, but equally—if inexplicably—interested. There was a convenient empty stool beside him.
Steve took a few more deep breaths, and did.
After the closeness in their gaze, the time it took to walk over seemed almost interminably long. Half a dozen sentences flew through Steve’s mind, uncompleted. He remembered how to lean in close, how to tilt his head up and drop his voice into something warm and wanting, but the words seemed far away. Like they didn’t fit.
“Care to put a name to that lovely smile?” the man said, voice even and low, smoothing right into the music as if it were his personal accompaniment. All of Steve’s opening moves vanished and reflex took over.
“Steve, pleased to meet you,” he introduced himself. As though in humiliating slow motion, Steve watched himself stick out a formal hand to shake as though the stranger were just some new military tech. But the man just smiled, took Steve’s hand in both of his, and raised it to his lips almost delicately. The heat in Steve’s face brightened and eased.
“Enchanté, Steve,” the stranger said, voice gone deeper still and round with amusement. He smirked broadly. “You’ll be pleased, all right, if that’s not too forward.”
“Well, I’m not complaining,” Steve said, finding his feet again. “And you?” He could still feel the heat of the man’s lips on the back of his cool hand, and he was loath to withdraw it from his grip.
He supposed that, under the circumstances, he didn’t really have to.
“Oh, I’ll be pleased too, no worries,” the man said easily. It was impossible to tell the color of his eyes with the light at this angle, but his heavy-lidded salacious look threw the dark smudge of his lashes into sharp relief. Up close, he wasn’t just handsome; he was downright breathtaking. Too beautiful, really, to be wasting any of his attention flirting with a rickety old thing like Steve.
“No, I meant your name,” Steve clarified, a little more acerbically than he’d intended. It was probably best not to tempt fate by pointing out the vast difference between the two of them.
But the other man seemed no more put off by the dryness than he had by the formalism. He seemed positively delighted, in fact, and the expression made him somehow both older and more open. His eyes were sparkling.
“Really? You’re sure you don’t recognize me?”
Steve frowned. “Have we met before?”
“No, no, it’s just—never you mind, Steve. I’m Tony S—just Tony.” Tony looked gleeful for no reason Steve could understand, grinning at Steve straight on. His eyes caught the dim light undiluted for the first time, irises alive with light and want, the deep blue of tempered steel. His smile was catching.
Maybe Tony was here to be honest, too. Maybe he did like Steve.
There were a few seconds of silence—as Steve tried desperately to think of small talk for a man who might really answer, and tried harder not to be too preoccupied with that man’s absurd handsomeness—but Tony didn’t seem to find it awkward at all. He was still grinning, almost too broadly, as though his day had already been made, and laughed when he visibly realized that they were each waiting for the other to speak.
“How’s life, Steve?” Tony asked. It wasn’t an interesting question, on its own, but Tony looked so interested. His focus was an intense and almost physical thing, quickening Steve’s blood and making him feel light inside. He had the strongest feeling that it didn’t even matter what he said next, that Tony would be equally delighted with any response.
Well, one nice thing about the Iron Man was that he allowed Steve to be both intriguing and honest, once in a while.
“Strictly speaking, I’m not allowed to say,” Steve confided. “It’s either going very well or very, very badly, and I won’t know until tomorrow.”
“Well, Schrodinger’s news deserves Schrodinger’s answer,” Tony said, raising his glass in toast, and Steve laughed darkly; Tony had no idea how close on the money he really was. “Congratulations and condolences. For what it’s worth, I hope you get the better option.”
Then he flashed an open, encouraging smile, and when Steve’s heart fluttered he thought it might be worth a little more than Tony assumed.
“Yeah, me too,” he said warmly. He covered the instinct to rub at his chest by turning the question back. “How’s your life?”
“All the better for having you in it,” replied Tony instantly.
“Really.” Steve rolled his eyes playfully, and Tony looked far too wounded to be actually hurt.
“Yes, really. At—well, where I work, I have kind of a reputation,” he explained. “Everyone’s formed ideas about me, you know?”
“Tony, I’m forming ideas about you,” Steve pointed out.
“But they’re your own ideas.”
Steve tilted his head and considered. He considered what it was like walking around military bases with Reed, where all the high-clearance techs he met already knew he was the Iron Man. In their eyes, he was the great warrior of dozens of battles, the stoic, unyielding hero made flesh, the man who must likewise be made of iron. On the street he was just an ordinary guy—middle-aged, greying, scrawny, and a little on the short side, but ordinary all the same. Outside of the armor, no one expected anything of him, even if that wasn’t always a good thing.
Both of them understood the value of anonymity, Steve thought. It might be too much too soon, but he thought they understood each other. Anonymity made Tony seem, paradoxically, more trustworthy rather than less; it made some part of Steve want to be true. The warmth inside of him grew.
“Well, I like you, Just Tony,” he offered, smiling a little. He knew immediately that he had miscalculated.
It was too honest. Frighteningly honest.
“Gonna show me how much you like me?” Tony said suddenly, smirking and turning away to watch Steven out of the corner of heavy-lidded eyes. “Gonna go down and show me what else you can do with that mouth of yours?” All at once his voice was snake oil and his eyes were shadowed. That lecherous grin was painted onto the gold and black mask of dim light and darkness, an exaggeration and a parody of real emotion.
It was like the last few minutes hadn’t even happened. Steve felt almost sick with disorientation, scrambling to swim in shallower waters.
For the first time, Steve wondered whether Tony could really be so young as he looked. That instinct to hide and paint over some old wound with sex—it didn’t come from nowhere. He knew he had no right to demand reciprocity from a man he’d only just met, but he wanted it fiercely, and he’d thought—
He’d thought that Tony wanted to be open with him, too.
“I mean it, Tony,” he said quietly. Their fingers were still linked, and he laced them together and squeezed. A beat of stunned silence passed.
Then Tony frowned like he knew he’d been too transparent and downed the last of his liquor in one long swallow. Narrowed eyes met Steve’s, left them, and gauged his expression at length.
When he found whatever he was looking for, the tension relaxed and the bitter lewdness washed out of Tony’s face like it had never been. His spine and the corners of his eyes loosened, a natural shift back toward Steve’s body beside him. He relinquished his glass and twisted his wrist under Steve’s until their palms pressed together, warm and secure.
His eyes met Steve’s again, and this time they were open wide.
That moment felt like their first touch, like somehow the overblown kiss to the back of Steve’s hand hadn’t counted; only now were the last few inches between them finally erased, skin to skin and not quite enough. After a moment, Steve cleared his throat to break up the sudden lump there.
“I’ll still buy you that drink, if you want,” he suggested. Nothing has to change because I see you.
“Nah,” Tony said lightly, though he still looked a little worn, like he might’ve said yeah if he’d only planned to sleep that night. The things he could be thinking of that were not sleep made Steve shiver pleasantly. “You’re not, so I won’t.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Steve said. He wouldn’t foist the issues of his fragile old heart onto some poor man who’d probably had a long day, too. But Tony just smiled and leaned on the bar, his hand still relaxed beneath Steve’s.
“No, it’s really all right,” he said. “One’s enough, I think.”
“Oh?” Steve tilted his head a little, lowered his lashes even though they were too blond to be half so effective as Tony’s. He asked warmly, “You’re not leaving already, are you?”
“I don’t think I’m quite ready to go home yet,” Tony said, putting on a grin and playing back. The seductive tone was a little less steady than it had been before, but no less effective for being more honest. Tony looked like he was having fun, this time, and it was a good look on him. “Got any other ideas?”
“Maybe one,” Steve replied. “I do a pretty all right nickel tour, if you’re interested.”
“That so?” Tony asked. “Interested has never been a problem, darling.” He sat up to free the arm he’d been leaning on and made a show of patting his pockets. “But I don’t seem to have any nickels. Think you could manage a discount?” Steve wanted to laugh, wanted to kiss that exaggerated pout, wanted to tease him for being so silly and so damn charming at the same time, or for wanting Steve at all. His weak heart fluttered in his chest. He hadn’t been as honest as this in a long, long time.
“I think I could arrange something, handsome fella like you,” he said. It was electrifying to hear the want in Tony’s voice, to shape handsome on his tongue and reciprocate.
“What’s it gonna cost me?” Tony murmured, suddenly very close. Steve’s flirtatious repertoire failed him all at once and he hoped the dimness wasn’t showing too much of the heat in his face. He had given up on keeping the heat in his belly down.
“A kiss?” he said, his voice slipping embarrassingly upwards.
“Cheap date, huh?” Tony said, and then he let his role fall away too. “You seem like the kind of guy who deserves better.” His lips brushed carefully against the corner of Steve’s mouth, and he breathed, “So I’ll do my best.” It was a quick little thing, the kiss, barely enough to register, and not nearly enough to satisfy what was growing in the space between them.
Steve smiled once more and had the surprised satisfaction of seeing Tony pay for his drink without taking his darkening eyes off of Steve’s mouth. He did a little double take when eh saw that Tony had paid with a crisp tenner and didn’t seem to be waiting for change, but maybe Tony was the kind of guy who could afford to buy the bottle for his glass. Definitely not a cheap date, then—but that was less important to Steve than the tough calluses he could feel on Tony’s fingertips, than the bright glint he could see in Tony’s eyes as they stepped away from the bar together and headed out into the swiftly deepening night.
Steve’s palm felt cold where Tony had been obliged to let go.
*
When the door clicked shut against the cold, they were finally alone. No other men half-visible down the bar, no pedestrians, no watchful eyes. No one to complain if the two of them acted out everything they’d been thinking about the whole way back to Steve’s apartment. Steve tried to shake warmth back into his bloodless fingers as subtly as he could. He was excited, but if Tony thought too much about his poor circulation and the issues it might present—
He turned, and Tony was right there, and he didn’t look like he was thinking about circulation at all.
Their second kiss was desperate and hard and it stole the breath from Steve’s lungs immediately. So desperate, so voracious, that it almost didn’t even feel good, but on a night like this he was hardly going to pull away. He worked his arms in between them just in time to keep Tony from colliding with the metal in his chest and clutched Tony’s shoulders so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea and do anything stupid, like stopping. They kissed intense and fast and frantic, and Steve was starting to feel wonderfully lightheaded.
But eventually they had to break to breathe, and they came apart panting roughly, clinging to each other, Steve’s fingers still tangled in Tony’s shirt.
“Believe it or not…” Tony said into his hair, amused and airless, “I had planned to take my time with you.” Steve swallowed. Tony’s strong hands were already wrapping around his hips, big and warm, and he allowed himself to be gentled and guided toward his own bedroom.
“You don’t even need the tour,” he joked, and Tony laughed warmly against him. Tony seemed like he knew what he was doing, and more than that, he seemed comfortable in Steve’s space in a way no one but Reed had been for years. It was—it was what Steve had been looking for, more than he’d been looking for, and he abruptly couldn’t escape the knowledge that tonight wouldn’t be enough for him. He ducked away from Tony’s gaze as a dull ache opened up in the back of his heart, like the beginnings of a headache.
But tonight was all that was left, and Steve had never liked asking for what he knew he couldn’t have. He would just have to enjoy this while it lasted.
So when they got to the bedroom, Steve put pressure on Tony’s chest, pushing him to sit on the bed and climbing into his lap. He’d figured out long ago that the position was harder for his worn knees, but easier for keeping his damaged chest out of reach—but he’d be lying if he said the choice was wholly pragmatic. He wanted Tony, wanted him as close as he could get him, for as long as he could have him. His stomach swooped at the heat of Tony’s body between his thighs, the sight of Tony’s hair coming loose and glowing with the backlight of the bedside lamp.
Tony’s elegant lines looked like they belonged in a four-poster bed with silk hangings; his expression looked like he wanted nothing more than to be right where he was. His eyes were fixed on Steve.
Something in Steve’s chest settled, and he breathed.
This time when they kissed they did take their time, and it wasn’t too much at all. It was slow and golden like a drop of honey stretching out forever before it fell. Steve’s fingers were finally warmed through as he began to explore the sensitive places of Tony’s body, as Tony played and learned his responses in turn, as they tacitly got to know one another.
Steve learned that Tony was greedy in his kisses, but warm and generous in giving them back. His rhythm was rich and languid when he was allowed to lead, yielding and eager when he wasn’t, and bites made him shudder all over. He squirmed and arched in the best way when Steve played with his nipples through fabric. Pushing his tongue deeper into Tony’s mouth, Steve learned that a gentle touch to his palate would elicit the sweetest of moans from the back of his throat, but too light a stroke would make him give a ticklish shiver. It was unexpectedly endearing, and the warmth spread through Steve’s insides, joined with the fire that had caught under the dim lights of the bar. It was difficult to remember to keep himself inside the width of Tony’s shoulders so that Tony wouldn’t reach for his chest—it would be so, so easy for Steve to abandon himself to that heat, to lose himself in the sweetness of Tony’s hands and mouth on his body. All he would have to do was let go.
But he couldn’t, he reminded himself. Just kissing wasn’t usually this distracting. He grasped for rationality and pulled back an inch or two, sharing Tony’s breath while they regrouped.
“You’re really good at this,” Steve exhaled. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been around the block a time or two before—Tony was something else altogether.
“Eh, I’ve had practice,” Tony said flippantly, but he was belied by the pleased glow of his cheeks as he watched Steve’s enjoyment. “You, though. You’re a natural.”
“You can tell, can you?” said Steve.
“What, you don’t trust me to know what I’m doing?”
Steve had no answer that wasn’t far too flattering, so he just kissed Tony again and swallowed his laughter, both of them breaking off into groans when Tony’s firm grip on his thighs brought their hips together. Steve was less than half hard, and Tony was more—ah youth—but they might as well have been fully hard and aching for how good the heat and pressure felt on Steve’s long-neglected dick. That pressure was Tony, he thought wildly, that heat was Tony’s arousal rubbing against his like he couldn’t get enough, firm and wanting and separated from Steve’s own only by millimeters. He clenched his fingers in Tony’s shirt, held onto the sleekness of him underneath. Tony felt good to touch, both muscular and soft—he had a smooth fat layer, unlike Steve’s stringy body—and there was an urge in Steve’s palms to feel him more, to get as much skin under his hands as he could.
Obediently his fingers went to the first of Tony’s buttons, but a sudden stony tension in Tony’s body made him pause. Steve looked up to gauge his expression and found Tony looking back, eyes shuttered.
“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind,” he said, smiling tightly.
“What is it?” Steve asked. “I can stop if you’d rather—“
“No, no, I just…” Tony began. “I just have some surgical scarring, and it’s not exactly pretty. You can touch, you’ve been touching, but I’d rather keep the shirt on.”
Steve wanted to say that it didn’t matter to him. He wanted to say that he’d take Tony’s shirt off and kiss him and want him anyway—and he would, he was no stranger to a little scarring—but he refused to be a hypocrite. He knew that the trust between them could come this far and no further. Steve’s whole body was scar tissue, battlefield surgeries and wounds and ugly patches of excoriated skin where the armor had dug in, and his chest was mostly given over to an ugly red parasite that still made even Reed cringe sometimes.
And, of course, there was that minor matter of international security and state secrets. Steve would be keeping his shirt on, too.
Now was the time to say it, before the moment passed.
“Me too, actually,” he managed. “I’m—well, I have—“ There was no honest way to finish that sentence, but Tony didn’t ask.
“And you don’t want me to touch you,” he stated flatly.
Steve looked down and away; it sounded really awful like that, for someone who didn’t know just how much better it was not to touch, not to see, not to even know about the chestplate. But how could Tony even suspect that, when Steve had been so careful not to give him any sign--?
Tony, inexplicably, started apologizing.
“No, hey, it’s me, okay? I’m… I’m really damn clever, actually, and I’ve had kind of a lot of sex. You keep my arms down low, you don’t lean in even when you rut against me. I figured it out. And I really don’t mind, honest. Whatever you need.”
His words made such an odd combination of arrogance and unwarranted kindness that Steve couldn’t help meeting Tony’s eyes again, paler blue now in the white light of Steve’s room, looking gentle and only a little bit disappointed.
Tony nodded at Steve like he’d understood something and settled his hands on Steve’s thighs once more. The tension of the moment lingered even when they started kissing again, awkward after a clumsy handling of heavy issues, and Steve couldn’t leave it like that when he’d seen how much better it could be. He wouldn’t. He turned his mouth deeper into the kiss, trying to be steady and reassuring toward the younger man, and flicked his tongue lightly over the skin just behind Tony’s teeth. Tony huffed a little, probably taking it for an accident—so Steve did it again, and again, until Tony couldn’t hold back a shiver and a giggle and he broke away.
“You bastard,” he laughed. “Just for that, you’re undressing yourself.”
“I might’ve suggested that anyway,” Steve pointed out, attempting to sound very reasonable. “It’s more practical.”
“Practical,” Tony said, as though it were some kind of dirty word. “Not very much fun, though.”
Tony’s grip shifted as he helped Steve to his feet, steadying him by the waist when his knees wobbled embarrassingly at the sudden increase in blood flow. He unbuckled Steve’s belt for him with dexterous fingers, slowly and teasingly, never once touching where the contact was most wanted, never once taking his intense eyes off of Steve’s, until Steve was just about ready to cave and admit that this way of doing things was pretty fun after all.
Then Tony pushed him away with a smirk and set to undressing himself.
“I see I’m in good company,” Steve muttered without heat, and Tony’s smirk turned wicked and delighted.
The prospect of taking his underwear off in front of someone so much more attractive—and so much bigger in every sense—was a little intimidating, but Steve refused to be daunted, and in the end impatience beat insecurity. The sooner Steve finished with his own pants, the sooner he could get a look at what was under Tony’s.
And, Steve thought with a rough swallow once his own clothes were out of the way, the rush had been more than worth it. Tony’s thighs were solidly muscled and beautifully formed, and his cock was thick and flush where it peeked out from under his shirttails. Tony was very, very handsome, all over.
Swallowing again, Steve lay down on the bed and reached for the supplies he’d left there, eager with the idea of taking Tony inside him. He wondered if Tony would want to open him up, or if he’d rather watch. Normally Steve would’ve had a clear preference for the former, but the intensity of Tony’s attention made him wonder what it would be like, spreading himself open under Tony’s sharp gaze. Whether it would be more in the way that kissing him was somehow more.
Steve looked up to ask, only to find Tony standing at the foot of the bed and already watching him oddly, eyes darting between Steve’s face and the tube in his hand, words visibly poised on the tip of his tongue.
“Tony?” asked Steve, sitting up straighter. He wondered if this might be more complicated than Tony had expected from his evening. “Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong,” said Tony. He paused and wet his lips. “Do you really like bottoming?”
“Sure. It might take some work to get started, but I do think it’s worth it.”
“No, I meant… did you have your heart set on it, tonight?” Tony asked, very quietly.
Oh. Oh. So that’s how it was. It was strange, somehow, seeing Tony nervous, but there was nothing else that odd expression could mean. Steve leaned forward and took Tony’s hand, pulling him into the pool of lamplight until he was sitting on the sheets in front of Steve. He put a hand reassuringly on Tony’s bare knee and tried to ignore the urge to pet the thin, silk-smooth skin there.
“If you want me to top, all you have to do is ask,” Steve said gently. He’d met a lot of guys with hang-ups about bottoming—hell, he’d been one of them himself, back in the day—and the best thing he could do for Tony was to give him space to try it, make him feel good, and not make a big deal about it. If it was something Tony wanted, he’d get to it in his own time. His expression hadn’t changed, but he hadn’t pulled away, which was kind of an answer in itself.
“Please,” Tony said suddenly. He looked surprised at himself. “I haven’t—I mean, I want it, but I’ve never—on this end of things, anyway.“
“No worries,” Steve said. He put his hand on Tony’s cheek and drew him into a soft kiss.
It was more than unexpected that Tony, who could probably have anyone he wanted, had asked him, and had asked him first. It probably had to do with Tony’s issue of reputation, but it meant something all the same, and though he knew better than to say it aloud, Steve was honored by the confidence. Some part of him liked the idea that his last could be someone else’s first.
“I know my way around pretty well. And,” Steve added frankly, “you have the good fortune of starting small.”
Tony’s eyes flicked downwards. “There’s not a thing wrong with what you’ve got,” he objected. “You’re perfectly proportioned.”
Steve smiled a little tightly and fought a blush as he shifted them around on the bed, wondering how best to arrange them. He didn’t know which positions Tony liked best, but then, he didn’t suppose Tony would know yet either, from this side of things. Start simple, then. If he got Tony to lay facedown, with a pillow or two, they’d have a good point to start from.
“I’d rather be on my back,” Tony said, when he saw where Steve was going. Maybe he did have a preference after all. Or maybe, with all his flattery, he wanted—
“It’s easiest on your front,” Steve told him. Tony just shook his head.
“I know. I still want to.” He went down easily enough, but his body was tense. Steve would have to loosen him up in more ways than one. Luckily, he’d had more than his share of tight and aching muscles over the years, and he’d gotten pretty good at working the knots out of them, making them go loose. Steve took his time, just as Tony had first wanted, working his way methodically down Tony’s body. It didn’t’ take long at all for Tony to let go of his nervousness and give himself completely over to Steve’s hands.
“That’s it,” Steve murmured. “Just relax.” He relished all of Tony’s little gasps and shivers as he kneaded his chest, worked his thumbs into firm thigh muscles. Tony gave a deep, relieved moan when they finally fell limply open.
“How are you so good at this?” Tony panted. “I’ve paid people who weren’t this good.” More flattery, though this time it probably had something to do with the fact that Tony’s cock was redder and heavier than ever and just slightly damp at the tip.
Steve resisted the temptation to tongue at him and instead leaned down to leave a trail of delicate, teasing kisses along Tony’s thigh, relishing the taste of deep golden skin and the little quivers of pleasure under his mouth. Tony was so responsive and so easy under Steve’s hands, his pleasure so evident in his every sound and movement, and flattery or no flattery Steve hadn’t felt so wanted in a long, long time. He wanted to keep the feeling.
He knew he couldn’t.
“You ready to start now?” Steve asked hoarsely.
“I was ready ten minutes ago,” Tony laughed. His cock gave a small but very visible twitch; the idea of bottoming, at least, was really doing it for him.
“No, you weren’t,” Steve argued.
“Sure I was.”
“You were about as relaxed as a cat in a bath.”
“Maybe I just wanted you to give me a little of those magic hands, did you think of that, Steve?”
“You didn’t even know I had magic hands ten minutes ago.”
“Well, now I do, and I want them inside me.” Tony’s grin was bold and infectious, and Steve couldn’t help but concede. He wedged the spare pillow under Tony’s hips and leaded over him to grab the lube and the smaller of the two condoms, but he froze with his hand extended, because Tony—
Tony might well be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His face was only a few scant inches away, his expression was gentle with affection and desire, open and artless, and he… he wasn’t a stranger anymore. Not really. Steve couldn’t breathe. He liked Tony. He’d liked him from the first moment he’d seen him at the other end of the bar, and he’d only liked him more by the minute. But seeing him like this, with his eyes such a bright, bright blue and so clear it was like seeing all the way down to the bottom of him—
It made Steve want to keep Tony. All of him, so he could have this impossible swelling warm feeling any time he wanted.
And he knew he couldn’t. He only had tonight. Tonight he could feel and want and take anything Tony would give him, but afterwards Tony would walk away and probably forget all about him. Steve breathed. Breathed again. But then, maybe Tony wouldn’t forget him. Steve was going to be one of his firsts, after all. It was selfish, probably, but if Tony lived on with fond memories of Steve’s honest want…
If he did, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad leaving that part of his life behind.
“Steve?” Tony said softly, sounding a little worried. Steve came back to himself and smiled.
“I’m good, it’s nothing,” he lied.
Steve grabbed what he’d been angling for in the first place and then knelt between Tony’s thighs, facing his challenge with new determination. This had to be good.
As he slicked his fingers, he watched Tony’s hips shift and open wider to him—involuntarily, because Tony’s eyes hadn’t left Steve’s hands since the moment the lube had been opened. Tony really wanted this, which would make it easier. He still jumped when Steve first brushed between his legs, slightly chilly, but he took the first finger easy as anything and the breath left him in one long whoosh.
“All right there?” Steve asked him.
“I’ve tried this on myself before,” Tony said. His voice was low and matter-of-fact, but his face was slightly flushed. “It’s not the same as doing it to other people, and I always got frustrated before anything really got good. I guess you could just… do whatever you normally do?”
“What I normally do,” Steve said, neglecting to mention that normally had historically been both sporadic and brief, “is listen. Tell me what works for you, and I’ll do that. Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yeah.”
Steve slid his finger back in slowly, twisted it, and pressed gently outwards to begin stretching the tight muscle. He kept attentive eyes on the shift and flex of Tony’s body as he worked—not that it was especially difficult, that. It was magnificent how effortlessly Tony’s body was opening up under his touch, how little resistance he posed to the thrust of a second finger.
“Talk to me,” Steve said as he pushed deeper.
“Keep going,” Tony said immediately. “It’s… it’s weird, I guess. I feel like it should be weird. I keep trying to get my head around the idea that another person is inside of my body. Except that it’s not just some person, it’s you.” Steve swallowed hard and locked his eyes on the place where his fingers were working. “You look so focused, and careful, and you look like you like having your fingers in me… and that feels good, in a way. And your fingers feel good too. It just feels very… very. I’m not making sense, I’m sorry, usually I try not to babble like this.”
“You’re doing fine,” Steve reassured him. He felt very hot all down his throat and under the chestplate.
For a couple long minutes, he kept experimenting, pressing in deeper, searching, scissoring his fingers, reveling in the way Tony’s quiet sighs turned into louder and louder moans as his body warmed up to the sensation. Before long Tony was hitching his hips into every thrust of Steve’s fingers and shuddering in the most flattering way, and Steve had to resist the urge to touch himself in rhythm. Tony would need him to last as long as he could.
“Oh—can you do that again?” Tony huffed, bucking harder suddenly.
“What, this?” Steve said. He gave another forceful thrust of fingers.
“No—well, yes, I like the rougher—but I mean the other thing, the—“
“Ah. The stretching.” Steve twisted his fingers and spread them apart only just inside Tony’s body, pulling his rim open so he could see just slightly inside, pink and quivering with arousal and heat. Tony’s neck went limp against the pillow and he groaned wordlessly.
“Unh.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking you like stretching,” Steve said, doing it again. He considered. Tony looked like he was struggling to be patient. “Maybe even better than you like the thrusting.”
“How about you get in me and find out?” Tony suggested. Steve laughed.
“Soon,” he said. “Here, give me your hand.”
Tony did it immediately, without even asking why—though the why became clear soon enough as Steve slicked one of Tony’s fingers with his free hand. The third finger to press Tony open was his own, wider and warmer than Steve’s, if not quite as deep from his position. His body was hot and so, so tight around the two of them, holding their fingers close and slick together as the muscle contracted. Steve swallowed hard yet again, and Tony shuddered.
But Steve was meant to be leading, here, showing Tony the ropes, so to speak, so he started them both on a slow, careful rhythm, to let Tony adjust to the greater diameter. Once Tony had relaxed into it, Steve guided him to his own prostate, just slightly deeper than was easy for the angle of his hand.
“Oh God,” Tony groaned. He sucked in air. “Oh, yes, please, I was definitely doing this wrong before.”
“Good, huh?”
“I need you to fuck me now.”
Steve smiled at him and tried not to show how much the demanding tone made his heart quicken. “I think I can manage that.”
It took only a couple strokes for Steve to get himself fully hard, and then a couple more to slick himself once the condom was on, and then he was sliding in, in, in, the feeling of Tony clutching around him unbearably good. His pulse rushed in his ears, and for the first time all night he was glad of his age; twenty years ago, he was sure, he would’ve come instantly. Tony’s face was rapt beneath him, loose with pleasure, his lips bitten and red and his blue eyes dazzling in the lamplight—Steve almost couldn’t believe he was real.
He could barely believe this night was real. It was everything he’d wanted. Everything he’d needed and not allowed himself. Honest.
“Steve,” Tony whispered. “Steve, you’re inside me, you’re… oh, God, keep going, whatever you do just keep going…”
“You can relax,” Steve said, and Tony did. Then he couldn’t quite stop himself from adding, “I got you,” and Tony’s whole body shivered.
With that Steve’s body started moving, achingly slow but irrepressible, as gentle as he could manage. He did his best to hit all the soft, tender places he had found with his fingers, drawing soft, breathless sounds out of Tony’s trusting body. It was heaven, it was agonizingly good, and Steve didn’t even care that his knees were aching. Tony whined and circled his hips greedily as they started to rock into one another in rhythm.
When they found Tony’s sweet spot again, he gave a deep, full-voiced groan and surged into the pressure.
“Steve,” Tony groaned. “I was so not ready for that, do it again!”
And as he pushed in again Steve did his best to obey and keep his angle steady. It was pure bliss sliding in and out, riding the edge of too much, and he just wanted it to be good for Tony before he inevitably—
There was an awful pop and something in Steve’s left knee gave. All at once he was panting for all the wrong reasons, trembling with the effort to keep still and hold his weight on his arms.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he managed. God, this was embarrassing. Fighting in a bulky metal suit had done wonders for Steve’s muscles, but—as he was feeling now, damn it all—it had been hell on his joints. Some of the old bitterness surged again on the back of Steve’s tongue. “I’m… not exactly what I used to be.”
“Hey, that’s all right, gorgeous,” Tony said gently. Steve couldn’t meet his eyes. So much for making this good for him. The humiliation as his cock wilted and slipped out was almost more than he could take. He liked Tony, and just for one Goddamned night he’d wanted to pretend that everything was okay, that he was wanted and he wasn’t just a wreck of a middle-aged man going on ninety who was going to die in the morning. His face burned.
“Steve, it’s really okay. I’m having a great time, and we don’t have to stop unless you need to. Are you okay?”
Steve opened his eyes and saw Tony’s hands looking like they wanted to stroke Steve’s chest reassuringly, but Tony remembered in time and settled them on the sides of Steve’s face instead so he could kiss those too-obvious thoughts quiet. His mouth was warm, and his kisses were gentle. Underneath the gentleness was the heat of Tony’s persistent, undaunted arousal.
It wasn’t pity. It really wasn’t. Steve nodded.
“I’ll be okay if I get off of it for a while,” he said.
Tony rolled them both over, laying Steve flat on his back and crouching above him, and Steve groaned with relief as his knee relaxed and the sick pressure gave way. The light threw the deep red of Tony’s shirt into sharp relief against his flushed throat, showed the places where he was glistening and beginning to soak through it with sweat. A little jolt of self-satisfaction went through Steve. He was good. He could keep going.
With a few skillful strokes and even more skillful kisses, Tony coaxed Steve back to full hardness inside the condom, which was odd but not unpleasant. He added a little more lube and began positioning himself carefully over Steve’s cock.
“I’ve always kind of wanted to try this,” Tony confided as he began to sink down, cautiously, curiously enveloping Steve again. “Being over and around someone… it always seems so close, does that make sense? I want to try it with you.” He bottomed out and leaned over, their shirts brushing, his hips snug against Steve’s pelvis. His voice was going breathy. “Is it good?”
In any other situation, with any other person, Steve might’ve thought he was fishing for compliments; under the weight of Tony’s attention, the question just sounded sincere.
“It’s really good.” And the ocean was really big. “It’s—it’s incredible, sweetheart.”
Steve hadn’t meant to use the endearment, but Tony was beaming, his grin wide and true, and then he was moving and Steve couldn’t think of anything at all.
In this position, almost parallel to Steve, Tony couldn’t really ride him, but that didn’t seem to matter to him. Instead he rolled his hips forward and back, forward and back, firm but short little movements that kept all but the base of Steve’s cock buried deep. His inner muscles squeezed Steve rhythmically like he wanted to keep him there. The stretch, Steve remembered, that was what Tony liked about this, and this slow, rolling motion would be stretching him out perfectly.
Tony’s heavy, flushed cock was leaking precome onto Steve’s shirt, and his thighs were trembling with every little motion, but he didn’t slow down. Steve wondered whether he even knew he was getting close.
Steve wasn’t close, not exactly, but the pleasure was building up in his gut again, warm and good, and he knew he wouldn’t be much longer in coming. He tilted his hips upward, shifted the angle by degrees, searching again for that spot—
One dead-on thrust, then two, and Tony came hard and fast. He gave a shocked moan of Steve’s name and his pretty cock ruined both their shirts when he slumped forward, pulsing over and over as his orgasm kept going for what seemed like forever. Every jerk of Steve’s hips prompted another shuddering aftershock, a hazy moan. More, more, he couldn’t let Tony down before he’d given every last bit of pleasure he could, and he couldn’t breathe in the best possible way.
Maybe Steve was the one who hadn’t known how close he was. Finally, gasping, Tony stopped shaking.
“Steve,” Tony sighed, almost reverent. He leaned almost all the way down, so far that Steve’s heart skipped with the risk of touching the chestplate, and he kissed Steve once more.
This kiss was nothing like the desperation and exploration from before. IT was slow and longing and grateful, unbearable in its perfect sweetness, and Steve rocked twice more into Tony’s body and came with Tony’s whimpers on his tongue.
“Tony, I…” he said when he could breathe again. Something deep inside him felt full and satisfied. For a long time, they just breathed together, neither sure what remained to be said, until Tony’s arms started to shake from supporting him and he rolled to the side without taking his eyes off Steve’s.
“I’ve never felt…” Tony began quietly.
There was an easy way to finish that sentence, of course. Tony had never been fucked before. But Steve knew the other ending, too; no one had ever meant that for him before, but if he was honest, some part of him had always wanted to hear it. And some part of him had counted on it, tonight. He hoped Tony did remember him.
Steve took a breath, and another. Whether Tony did or not, it was overwhelmingly likely that Steve would never see him again. This had been good—amazing, really—but—
Ending it here would be best, for everyone. When the afterglow passed, Steve firmed up his jaw.
“You should go while it’s still dark out,” he said.
“Then I’ve got some time yet,” Tony said with a little, hopeful smile. He didn’t understand yet. Maybe he thought they could go another round.
“Yeah, if you get home soon enough you’ll be able to get a good few hours of sleep in your own bed,” Steve said as lightly as he could. “This was fun.”
Fun was the worst possible word for what they’d had together, and Steve felt it stick in his throat even as he said it. Tony looked hurt, young and surprised and hurt, and maybe he didn’t just want more sex. Maybe he’d wanted to finish that sentence after all. Maybe, however unlikely, he had hoped to see Steve again, too.
Maybe, like Reed, he was able to see something of the Iron Man’s strength under the frailty of Steve’s body.
Steve’s eyes burned, and he hoped Tony would remember that—remember what had been honest and good about tonight, and not the awful way it was obliged to end. If any part of him lived on with Tony, he hoped it would be that.
“I… I had a nice time,” Tony said quietly. Firmly. “I like you, Steve.”
Then he stood up and gathered his discarded clothes, turning his back to Steve’s shocked expression. Steve had said nearly the same thing to Tony in the bar, when Tony had felt too exposed and turned flippant. And now, after a night that had clearly been so much more than either of them had expected, Steve was making light of it to push him away.
Really damn clever, Tony had called himself earlier. Maybe he didn’t know what was going on or why, but Tony knew what Steve was trying to do now. Steve was abruptly both ashamed and grateful.
“See you around,” he couldn’t help saying. It was a lie, but—
He didn’t want it to be a lie. Neither of them did.
“Yeah?” Tony said, sounding so much more hopeful than he could have if he knew the truth. If he knew what was going to happen tomorrow. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t, and the sweet way he leaned down and kissed Steve goodbye was better than any sendoff Steve could have asked for. Steve smiled weakly.
Tony smiled back, and then he was gone.