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Tony can’t believe how nervous he is about this.

He has done worse. A hell lot worse. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t remember everything he’s ever done all that well, mostly because it all happened during a period of his life that was mostly guided by the sweet, electric buzz of alcohol and flashing lights, but he knows worse things have been tried. More intense, he means. He does remember the night in Monte Carlo when he found himself dangling from the ceiling, tied chest to ankle with a rainbow rope, aching all over and not completely in a good way. His muscles ached for days after. He thinks this is the best example he can give on why he doesn't have any reason to be nervous, because even hanging in the air and high off his mind he'd still been able to get off, and that’s a feat—

But this?

This feels… more.  

He has done similar things to this before. It was… okay. It was fine. Not groundbreaking or anything, not exactly something to write home about – not that he would, write home about it, he means; but considering that he does have a sex tape or two online, one might think this is the sort of thing he does often— but no.

It’s not like that at all.

Tony tried years and years ago, with very discreet and very carefully selected partners, some who were paid, some who weren’t, but the truth is that he had never fully… surrendered himself to it. Hah. Surrendered. As much as he had experimented in his youth, his instinct to guard and protect himself had always been difficult to fight, ingrained in him like a subconscious vice he could no longer let go of, marks and scars of the consequences of his vulnerability printed in front pages of the news and in stinging hot flesh on his cheek long before that far too effective in putting him on defensive for the rest of his life.

Whenever it had happened, however, it had been spontaneous and very, very fast. It was part of the switching, it was all in good fun – until it became scary, or too much, or too open, and he retreated so fast it almost gave him and whoever was in the room with him whiplash, and suddenly, all the fun was gone. Some even pitied him for it. Which is offensive, but also kind of embarrassing, and somehow also sad – but anyway. That’s not the point. The point is:

After that, he never tried it again. He didn’t allow himself to.

He’s a bit of a control freak, he’ll admit it. He doesn’t truly trust anyone to do this for him, to him, and that's why he kept putting it off, delaying and delaying it, trying to forget the urge, hoping that one day the fantasy would fade. Maybe with age, he thought. That's another misconception people have about him; Who is Tony Stark, if not a playboy? Poor bastard, in his mid-fifties and still a bachelor. Sounds like a nice life in theory, but what will he do once his body starts betraying him? Maybe that's why we don’t see him with women hanging off his arms anymore, they whisper after he walks by. Finally, the weight of his sins drag him down by the shackles, his body no longer obeying to his will, and he will have no dignity, because he never built himself a nice, domestic life for when that happened. That's gotta be a lonely way to live.

Hah. He wishes.

He wishes his body had stopped acting on his will.

The problem is that it didn't go away. He still wants to.

He really, really does.

He has no idea why, he just does.

When he imagines it, it makes him hot. It makes his chest and face feel warm and flushed, makes his dick twitch, even if by now he can't get hard like he used to just from a fantasy. But when he masturbates, it's his favorite thing to think about, especially with how long he can take to come sometimes, when he's particularly stressed or anxious – the ache in his muscles, the slight chafing sensation, the feeling of constantly being on the edge but never quite making it. It’s – It’s embarrassingly good. He has never fingered himself as frequently as he has for the past year, and against all expectations, he's actually enjoying getting himself off more than he used to. He doesn’t get off as frequently, but every time he does, it’s… a moment to enjoy like he never did before. He didn't think that's how it’s supposed to go, but that's how it works for him, he guesses.

Everything else in his life had always been so fast and never enough, Tony is not really surprised that bow his body is aching for slow and too much.

He tells himself this is an experiment. Maybe he is getting a little old to have sexual experiments, but Tony has never been conventional in any way, and he thinks that as a scientist, it’s his duty to search for answers to his questions. Right? Right. Besides, it’s not like he won’t enjoy it… because he probably will.

Very much.

If previous data is correct.

And there’s no harm in trying it for the sake of science, right? Yeah.

So, he’ll try it. He’ll do it, even if just once.

God, anything to get this constant ache out of his system.

That’s why he, a fifty-five-year-old man, Tony freaking Stark, who everyone knows as the biggest playboy from between the nineties up until late 2010’s, is sitting on the edge of a king-size bed in a luxury hotel in New York City – he lives in Malibu, for fuck’s sake! –, jittery and anxious because two, two, sex workers are about to knock on his door at any second now and he’s regretting it right now.

God, this will be on the news and Pepper will kill him.

Natasha said it wouldn’t happen, but it will, because life always finds a way to fuck Tony up, and when it happens, Pepper will kill him.

He just hopes it’s as good as he dreams it is. Shit. He’s a mess.

He’s trusting Natasha on this one. He thinks that’s something he won’t regret – which is bad, because that means that whatever hell breaks loose tomorrow morning, is going to be 100% his fault. He doesn’t know what that’s gonna be just yet, but he knows it’ll happen. But it’s too late to back off now. And he doesn’t want to back off. He kind of does, but he doesn’t at the same time. He’s nervous, and he hates feeling nervous because he’s Tony Stark, so his immediate instinct is to leave this room without looking back and pretend this never happened, but at the same time…

If not now, then when?

There’s a knock on the door, quick, efficient, and Tony’s heart skips an anxious beat, his lips twisting in nervousness, palms sweaty with anticipation. His legs twitch when he gets up in an awkward movement, and they’re stiff as wood, because he’s been sitting in the exact same position on the bed for over half an hour and it’s torture on his muscles.

Oh, this is not a good start to this.

For a second, he’s so nervous that he actually chastises himself for going into this so unprepared. But being unprepared was the point. If he thought too much about it, he would find a way to convince himself he shouldn’t do this – he knows that much about himself, and even worse, Natasha knows it too. That’s why she was the one who picked the escorts, not him. She knows what he likes – probably more than she wanted to, but that ship has sailed –, and Tony trusts her, but now he doesn’t know whoever is outside that door, and that is scary.

What if it’s just room service?

Oh no, Tony will die of shame if he opens that door and it’s a hotel maid or some shit, he might actually have a heart attack. He will bolt if that’s the case.

It feels like forever, but he knows not even a full minute has passed while he stands there, hesitating. He knows, because no second knock comes forth. Whoever is out there still isn’t impatient enough to knock again. For a moment, he wonders if he should pretend he’s not home – but that’s stupid, because this is not his home, and the receptionist knows he’s here, and his feet are already moving towards the door on their own, his hand inching closer towards the doorknob, and his breath is short and quick and his heart is stammering but he’s going forward—

He opens the door, and there they are.

Steve. Bucky. The Brooklyn Boys.

Oh.

Wow.

Oh, God.

Jesus, they are gorgeous. Damn near lethal, what the hell.

He’s going to kill Natasha for this. Goddammit!

Tony is removing her from his contact list immediately. This is not fair. Just because they’ve been friends for years – that doesn’t give her the right to use all the information she has on Tony to bring these two guys to his doorstep. That is cheating. She can’t use his type against him!

God, look at them.

One of them is brunet, with long, soft, silky hair, pulled back in a fashionably messy hairstyle, and it looks so good around his honestly unfairly attractive face. His eyes are so, so clear they are almost grey, a mesmerizing shade of blue that twinkles beneath the lights of the corridor, a gleam that seems sweeter with the tiny half-smile that stretches his lips. Oh, he has a – that stubble, Tony can only imagine what that would feel on the inside of his thighs, and his chest and neck feel unbearably hot just by thinking about it, a burning sense of embarrassment flaring inside him with how quickly the mental image formed itself.

The blond one is the total opposite of him. He almost looks… He has one of those boy-next-door looks, all clean and proper, not a hair out of place and clothes impeccable, but he still – He’s muscular. Incredibly so. His shoulders are mouthwatering wide, a sharp contrast to his trim waist, and the strength in those arms will fill Tony’s fantasies for months, he’s sure of it. His face, too, it’s mesmerizing. His lips are pink and his nose is sharp, his eyes, blue, too, but a different shade, clear skies and electric storms instead of misty mornings and icy mountaintops; And despite his polite posture and his soft smile, the look in those eyes is dangerous. His mouth is so pink that it makes Tony’s own water with the desire to kiss him.

He’s taller than the brunet – and suddenly, Tony is acutely aware of how tall they are, larger than him, and he’s embarrassed by how that nearly makes him shiver with anticipation, like’s an inexperienced boy all over again, aching for a bigger, stronger lover to take him down a journey of pleasure he has not discovered yet.

He’s killing Natasha first thing in the morning.

If he survives this.

“Hello.” The blond one, Steve, says, with a small, kind of awkward smile, all politeness and good manners, but his eyes, so freaking blue, are sharp and observant, and Toyn feels pinned under his gaze. “You must be Tony.”

“Yeah.” Tony nods, jerkily. “That’s me.”

Who else would he be?

Oh, this is going bad. He wants to be swallowed by the floor, right now, thank you.

“Nice to meet you, finally.” James – Bucky, intense and gorgeous, just as gorgeous, blinks lazily, his eyes lidded in a tease of a provocation, even if his smile is soft and inviting, a touch of innocence. “Can we come in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Come right in. Sorry.” Tony fumbles, to his utter mortification, and steps aside while shaking his head as discreetly as he can, trying to regain some of his composure. “Don’t know— What’s happening today, sorry. Can I get you guys anything? Water? Beer? Beer is probably not a good idea, right? Shit. Smoothies? I have smoothies, don’t ask why, but I have them.”

Great. He’s become a bumbling teenager again. That’s why people say age makes you soft, he hasn’t been this nervous for a date – or for something more – in years.

Steve smiles, amusedly, – fuck, he’s so, so beautiful, when was the last time Tony felt dazzled by someone’s looks as he is right now? Decades. Ages ago, what is it with these two –, and says: “No, thank you, we’re fine.”

“Hm, I could have a smoothie.” Bucky comments offhandedly, and jerks his head teasingly when Steve throws him a nasty look. “What?”

“We’re okay, thank you, Tony.” Steve affirms, polite sweetness sparkling in his tone, but his eyes are getting sharp, weirdly intense, “It’s very nice of you.”

Tony can’t decide if that’s condescension or genuine mirth in his tone, so he tries not to think too hard about it.

He’s trying very hard not to think in general, because if he does, he’ll remember why these incredibly attractive men are here in the first place. They are here because they were hired – they were hired to fuck him. Christ. Both of them are going to fuck him, and they’re going to hold him down and tie him up—

“So how do we do this?” Tony asks, and the lack of oxygen in his lungs thankfully stops him from speaking too loudly, but at the same time, it makes him lightheaded, which is also not at all helpful.

Steve and Bucky seem completely at ease, unlike Tony. They look around the room quickly, not like they’re analyzing it, just getting familiar with their surroundings, and the way they walk and stand is completely relaxed, even if they both are just pure muscle and strength. They haven’t even removed their jackets yet. None of them were wearing scarves but Bucky is using gloves, which he also hasn’t taken off, despite the heater being nice and warm inside the bedroom in contrast to the chilly bite of the air in the city at this time of the year.

Something about that makes the hairs at Tony’s forearms and nape stand on end, an uncomfortable, stifling sensation gripping inside his chest, but he doesn’t offer them to take their jackets off.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t, but he doesn’t.

He watches silently as they finish they quick look around and turn their gazes back at him, and immediately he goes stiff again, willing himself very still as a way to not give any hint of how nervous he is, even though him being frozen in place should be as much as an indication of his nerves as anything else, crap. He’s not sure why this is so awkward. Has it really been this long – or is it the… the threat of not being in control of this situation that is just… making his hands so clammy it’s actually disgusting?

Probably.

But there’s not much he can do about that.

“We should go over everything once more, just to be safe.” Steve prompts, with a nod and a kind smile.

“Again?” Tony asks, his brows furrowing in mild confusion.

“Yes.”

They'd gone over the details already. Very extensively, Tony might add. When they first started exchanging messages to arrange a session, they had asked Tony questions he had never even considered in a sexual scenario before. Not to himself, at least. Like, does he like temperature play, with wax or ice cubes? He has no freaking idea. He doesn't think so, the thought really doesn’t do anything for him. What about restraints? He's been tied before, but does he want to be tied again? What about name-calling? Spanking? Does he cry?

Does he want to?

Tony kind of wants to take it slow, but – that is the opposite of what he’s set to do here. What is the point of going slowly to not be overwhelmed, when all he’s asking them to do is to completely overwhelm him?

“Couldn’t hurt.” Bucky affirms, and his voice is so understanding and his face so open and sincere it’s honestly reassuring, in a… gentle way. “You could also have changed your mind about something. We’re always open to negotiation.”

“There’s not much else I can add to what we already discussed.” Tony shrugs.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty much.”

“What about areas of the room?” Steve asks.

“Sorry?” Tony blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean, areas of the room?”

“What areas do we have permission to go in, in case it’s needed?” Steve clarifies, motioning to the door to Tony’s right with a tilt of his head. “If you are tied up and want some water, do I have permission to go into your bathroom and get some for you?”

Tony gets kind of hung up on that, both at how unexpected the question is and how appealing the phrase ‘you tied up’ sounds to his poor, sexually frustrated brain, but he manages to say, the words coming out as confused and baffled as he is:

“Yes, of course. You can go in the bathroom. It’s – it’s fine. But we’re not – we’re not going there to do anything, right?”

“Not this time, no.” Steve clarifies. “This time, we keep it to the bedroom only.”

This time.

“But…” He smiles, and there’s a sharp edge to it, so easy to miss with how white and perfect his teeth look, but the gleam in the blue of his eyes is a little hotter than it should have been. “If you decide you want to try this again, we can get a little more adventurous for the next session.”

“Okay.” Tony breathes, and he very much sounds like he’s dying.

They’re smiling, and Tony almost wants to tell them to fuck off. Why are they smiling, oh my God, why is this so nerve-wracking!?

“Tony.” Bucky calls. “Sit down.”

It’s not an order – just an amused suggestion, only slightly forceful, in the same way a close friend would say, friendly, well-intentioned, but purposeful.

But Tony obeys; He doesn’t simply do as asked, he obeys, letting himself fall back onto the plush mattress, and all of a sudden, it feels important. It doesn’t feel like just following a suggestion – the quick movement he makes, all the weight he drops down, heavy enough that the mattress bounces like a spring, and the way his hands find his thighs in the most nervous schoolboy position ever, rubbing the clammy feeling on his palms away on his expensive pants, because Tony is a coward and he didn’t have the courage to change into something more comfortable before, the expensive fabric and clean-cut suit giving him a false sense of security and control.

And as soon as he obeys, the chastises himself for doing it. Because didn’t he just look like the most desperate person on the planet? Where did all his smooth Stark charm go? He knows – he knows the point of this entire scene is for him to obey, he was very specific in his request form, but at the same time, why.

Tony doesn’t know how to relax in these circumstances.

“You’re very tense.” Bucky observes.

“I think I have the right to be.” Tony quips back.

“True.” Steve agrees, smiling kindly. “But you don’t have to.”

“That doesn’t really help, you know.”

“We'll make it better.” Steve assures him. “Can you tell us your safeword?”

“Safeword.”

They both smirk at the answer, much like Tony had imagined they would, when he thought about it. But what can he say? He’s practical.

“And what are your check words?”

“Green, if I want to keep going. Yellow, if I need a break, Red, if it's too much.”

“And if your mouth is occupied?

Repressing a shudder, Tony raises his hands high in the air, flashing out a peace sign.

“Very good, baby.”

The pet name gets under Tony’s skin, but probably in the wrong way. No, not wrong. Just… not the right way. It feels weighty when he thinks about it, settling at the back of his head like a rock at the bottom of a lake, present, but concealed. Something that intrudes the surface and ripples in soft waves, disturbing the peace and quiet stillness, only to be completely engulfed by the water, to sink down, heavy and solid, like a treasure to be hidden from sight, to be disguised.

He’s not sure if it’s the intimacy of it – when they’re not… doing anything. The promise of it. Whatever it is, Tony doesn’t know how to react, so he doesn’t. Because Tony doesn’t react, they don’t react either. It’s a little awkward. For him – maybe not for them. Maybe they’re used to this. They certainly don’t look like they find the lack of Tony’s reaction odd.

They don’t look like they’re judging him, even if Tony fidgets under their gaze. They seem like they’re just… waiting.

“We can just touch each other a little. Go slow.” Bucky suggests, smiling softly. “We like slow.”

Slow. Tony can do slow.

“Slow is good.” Tony nods, a little more confident.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve agrees, and his smile widens; But this time, it’s warm, and soft, and sweet; And Tony likes it, Tony likes that smile, Bucky’s too, and he dares to relax a little bit with a long, deep breath.

“Can you give me your jacket, Tony? So you can be more comfortable?” Bucky asks, and he steps close enough just so he can extend his left hand and hold it out to Tony, waiting.

Tony looks at his hand for a beat, an uneasy, jittery feeling climbing up his spine, but in the end, the feeling he gets when he shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms is anticipation, not anything else, and he lays the garment on Bucky’s hand carefully, not for a fear of wrinkling, but with careful movements to let their hands brush, even though Bucky is still wearing gloves.

“You can hang it… right there. Yep.” Tony says awkwardly, even as they both take off their own jackets and leave them by the coat hanger, without any prompting necessary from him. They take their time, shrugging comfortably now the extra weight had been removed from their very wide, very delectable shoulders, and Steve turns to him while Bucky takes off his gloves, and says:

“Thank you, Tony.”

He sounds pleased, oddly so, and Tony frowns a little, as he turns to Bucky—

Is that—

Oh, he’s going to kill Natasha. He’s going to – He’ll kill her, that’s—!

Bucky has a metal arm.

Christ, Tony feels his heart give a painful, surprised beat, and despite how nervous he is, he can actually feel the blood rushing to his cock at the mere sight of the beauty Bucky had been hiding until now.

Tony watches him move, enraptured, drinking in the sight of the smooth metal plates shifting and twisting as Bucky places his gloves neatly on top of the side table, then reaches into his pockets to grab other personal belongings and leave them close to the bed, within reachable distance. It’s incredible. It’s shiny, slick and elegant, the movement so natural and easy it only adds to the graceful slow tempo of Bucky’s pace, and Tony would kill to take a closer look at it. Maybe touch it. Oh, he’s gonna be touched by it, that’s… That’s, that’s something. Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

In a moment that’s so quick Tony almost misses it, he notices the keycard for the door among the condoms and the lube – and realizes they could have just entered when they wanted to. Of course. The receptionist gave them a keycard. But they knocked.

It makes him feel oddly touched.

He’s sure he’s not gaping, but he’s definitely staring unabashedly at Bucky as he moves, and he can feel that Steve is staring at him in turn, but Tony does his best not to look at him, knowing the mortification that will burn his cheeks hotter than hell itself if he does. He can feel Steve’s amusement at Tony’s reaction coming in waves, through the air, breaking in goosebumps on his arms, and Tony kind of wants to ask them if they knew, if Natasha told them, or if she planned this secretly and is now somewhere laughing at Tony’s suffering.

And if Steve knew, or he’s just finding out, and Tony can’t even blame him for finding out because he’s so obvious about it, and will most definitely rile him up about it?

He’s not sure what would be worse. Or better. Who knows.

He just… He’s just suddenly very aware that these men are going to touch him, alright?

Steve is smiling, the bastard, when Tony dares to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything. He wants to, Tony can tell, but he doesn’t. Bucky doesn’t either, but Bucky is not being an ass about it, like Steve is. Tony huffs.

Steve doesn’t care that Tony huffs. He comes closer, his steps slow and quiet on the plush carpet by the bed, and the way he walks is… unexpectedly intimidating. No, not intimidating, but… intense. Focused. Commanding. He walks like he knows the world with part to give him passage if it pleases him. All the annoyance and the frivolous thoughts of revenge quickly fade from his head, as a small, almost imperceptible, but definitely present sensation of wariness lights up inside him, making him alert.

Oh.

Steve is the one…

Oh.

Oh, Tony is an idiot. He assumed it was Bucky. The dark look, the quiet, almost taciturn face, the intense eyes, the fucking metal arm

But it’s Steve. Steve, and his boy-next-door face, tidy blond hair, and wicked, wicked smile. Two sides of a coin, Natasha promised, one to go gentle, one to break him apart. Two halves of the whole Tony had been aching for. But he hadn’t realized—

He blinks, and suddenly, both Steve and Bucky have stepped closer. He hadn’t noticed.

“Would you mind if we joined you?” Bucky asks, insinuating, provocative; but polite. Respectful.

And yet, the smile on Steve’s face… God, Tony truly is an idiot.

He feels like he has just lost his ground, for some fucking reason. He doesn’t know why.

Tony nods, shifting so he can sit right between them, leaving them plenty of room to climb up the edges of the bed beside him. Still, he asks, with a light note of teasing in his tone, trying to make himself look not so vulnerable in this position. “Aren’t you supposed to order me around, instead of asking?”

“Not yet.” Steve smirks, and his eyes shine with amusement. “You’re not in the right mindset.”

“Yeah, about that.” Tony hums. “I don’t – know exactly what takes me there. If I even can.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

True, but…

“I don’t know.” Tony shrugs, but it doesn’t come off as nonchalantly as he wished to. His eyes drop to the floor, avoiding their gaze. “I don’t want it to be… disappointing, you know? So, if you can’t get me there, no hard feelings. My brain is just not easy to work with.”

“Can we trust you to know your limits?” Bucky asks, eyes intense and mouth too pretty and way too close.

“I know some of my limits.” Tony stresses, as he’s sure he did when they scheduled the scene in the first place. “Kinda was expecting not to hit those tonight.”

“We’re not.” Bucky nods. “We’re here to make you feel good. But if we do something you don’t like, you’ll let us know?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s good.”

“You don’t have to worry about getting down on your own, sweetheart.” Steve assures, and he sounds like he totally means it. He believes it in his core. He means it. “We’re here to take you there. You just have to let us.”

Tony exhales a long, shuddering breath, then softly says, “Okay.”

Okay.

And just like that, Tony signs a deal with the devil.

“Can we kiss you?”

Steve’s lips are very, very close to his own, his breath hot and teasing on Tony’s lips, and it feels very, very nice. Up close, the blue of his eyes has some green in it too, his eyelashes are light and long and make him look mesmerizing, so, so pretty. His cheekbones are high and defined, his skin is perfect and he smells so good, a faint scent of something earthy and rich teasing Tony’s nose, masculine and potent. It’s… very hard not to pay attention to how beautiful he is like this. Even with Tony’s nerves, Steve’s broad frame and nice smell, the golden hue of his hair and eyelashes, his lips—

His lips are just as pink as Tony thought they were from a distance. They look soft. Shiny and tempting.

Tony really wants to kiss him.

He nods, slow and small, barely a jerk of his head – and Steve smiles out of the corner of his lips, like loving amusement, and brings his face even closer. Tony’s eyes slip shut in anticipation, the heat radiating of Steve’s body in such close proximity to his own somehow comforting, grounding; And when Steve raises his hand and softly caresses the side of Tony’s neck with his fingertips, his hand unexpectedly cold, Tony jerks, taken off guard, and a gasp escapes his mouth and parts his lips. The hairs on his nape bristle, and a shudder runs through his arms, and, embarrassingly, his nipples feel a little tight inside his pristine white shirt.

Steve is mere centimeters away. He doesn’t lean forward.

His fingers trace an idle pattern on the taut tendons of Tony’s neck, almost playful, and slowly move towards his nape, pressing more insistently until Steve has his whole hand holding the back of Tony’s neck, fingers sinking into the soft curls Tony’s hair makes when it grows too long, never losing their somewhat cold touch, even if Tony feels like his skin is on fire.

“Good?” Steve asks, and Tony can feel the words on his tongue as much as he can hear them, the low tone of Steve’s voice vibrating deep inside Tony’s head, the rush of his breath breezing in through Tony’s parted lips like a secret.

“Yes.” Tony whispers back, eyes still closed, spine buzzing with an electric sensation he can’t quite point out, and then – only then, Steve’s fingers tighten, and he pulls Tony forward, and their lips press together.

Hot. Steve’s mouth is hot when his hands are cold, and the contrast makes it even better and Tony immediately presses in with a vigor that shocks even himself, slotting their lips together eagerly, pushing into the kiss with enthusiasm.

Kissing he can do. He knows kissing. He likes kissing. He likes the way Steve’s lips fit into his, how Steve pushes and pulls with soft, close-mouthed kisses and gently moves Tony’s head to the side, tilting at a more comfortable angle to get him closer, to give his bottom lip a light suck and a run of his tongue. Tony’s mouth opens a little, hoping Steve will follow his cue, and he does – their kiss grows hotter and wetter, hungry and eager, and the slick glide of lips becomes gasping short breaths, a skilled tongue in Tony’s mouth, caressing his own; A firm hand on his hair to stop him from escaping, teeth and suction on his mouth to make him not want to.

God, it’s a good kiss. Tony thinks he hums in satisfaction without meaning to. Steve sucks hard on his tongue for a moment, and the sound of it is loud enough that it actually makes Tony’s face a little hot, makes him surge forward and bring his hand to Steve’s face, to pull him impossibly closer as Tony tilts his head and drives his own tongue deep into Steve’s mouth, feeling a rush of excitement run through his body in a wave, twining Steve’s tongue with his own so voraciously he almost forgets to breathe.

“Shh, slow down.” A voice drawls right behind his ear and Tony startles, breaking the kiss so suddenly he’s heaving, eyes snapping wide open and mouth still parted, lips cold with the wet sheen of spit in them now that Steve’s hot mouth is not glued to his.

Bucky, is all Tony can think before his hand is being pulled away from Steve’s face by Bucky’s shiny metal hand, fingers so delicate and gentle with their motion like nothing Tony has ever seen, and with no time to say anything, he’s being pulled forward again by cold fingers on his chin, and Steve is on his lips like he never left, savoring Tony like it’s his right, and he’s not done, he wants more.

Bucky, now – Tony is suddenly very aware that Bucky is there. Now that he is, he can feel the dip on the mattress behind him where Bucky raises himself on one knee to have a better angle, so he can surround Tony’s back with his entire frame, wide shoulders encasing him gently to Steve’s body, the press tentative, and teasing. He can feel the warmth of Bucky’s chest radiating into his back, even through his shirt.

He can feel Bucky’s breath on his skin, the smell of his cologne, too.

A hint of sweetness. Fragrant. Like ripe fruit.

It’s so good. Tony wants him closer now, so he can feel it better, so it can mingle with Steve’s and it’ll be perfect.

His hands lightly touch Tony’s shoulders, both warm, even the metal one, and the touch is so delicate Tony doesn’t even startle. He’s so gentle. His fingers dig a little into Tony’s muscles, just a bit, and Tony unconsciously relaxes beneath his grip, tightness ebbing away like smoke, and the sigh he gives goes straight into Steve’s mouth, his lips stretching in what feels like a small smile at the sound. And a fourth hand, Steve’s, cold, slides from below his chin, down his neck, to the dip between his clavicles, soft and smooth, to play with the collar of Tony’s shirt mindlessly, leaving a trickle of sensation all the way there.

He pops open a button.

Two.

Three.

And Tony’s shirt starts to slide off his shoulders like smooth silk, exposing skin, and suddenly, he feels bare.

Bucky’s hands caress softly his shoulders, then his arms, his elbows, his ribs. His hands are so big his fingers fit nice and wide against the soft, ticklish skin of Tony’s sides, enveloping the curve of his flank in a way that Tony can only describe as protective. He feels… safe. He breathes in deep just so he can feel the weight of Bucky’s hands on his sides as his ribcage expands and deflates, and it feels nice, grounding, teasing, as the fingers rub up and down in lazy patterns and Tony can’t help but relax. The fingers play a little with the fabric of his shirt, untucking it from the pants and shifting the soft material against Tony’s heated skin, the contact pleasant and silky, but the brush of Bucky’s hands against his skin is rare, almost purposefully distant, only a mere taste of actual touch that leaves Tony impatient for more. He wriggles, trying to get Bucky to get on with it, but Bucky only huffs out a laugh, all breathy and warm, against Tony’s shoulder, and his hands leave Tony’s sides to venture lower, rubbing lightly and gently on his hips, thumbs digging in circles at his pelvis, dragging hot touch all the way down to Tony’s thighs.

He squeezes, just a bit, and his thumbs are curved into the inner part of Tony’s thighs, his hands hot on top of his trousers, kneading muscle with firmness and gentleness; and Tony’s body gives like a flower, blooming into the sun—

Slowly, but surely, he surrenders.

Bucky’s chest touches Tony’s back like a wall of muscle and he doesn’t back away, stubble scraping a gentle, incredibly good sensation on his left shoulder, dropping soft, slow kisses to his skin, and Tony lets him. He just lets him. Tony had always liked to have his neck touched and kissed, and so easy to lull his head to the side when Steve’s lips leave his own, exposing more of his neck to Bucky, leaning heavily on the big, gentle, cold hand that runs through his hair, like a cat demanding attention. He lets them explore his body as they wish. He allows himself to enjoy the sensation of a warm, sensual breath caressing his skin, to anticipate the touch of soft, feathery kisses on his skin. Just a little. Just… Just a little.

He can let them do that just a little bit.

“Sensitive?” Steve asks, in a whisper, and Tony has to resist the urge to chase his mouth again before he can reply.

“Yes.” He says, after a beat and a swallow, his breath a little too short. “Hard not to, with all this hot muscle around me.”

They both chuckle, and it takes him a second to realize he just walked right into an innuendo he didn’t even intend to make, before he huffs out an amused breath too.

“We’ll see about that.” Bucky muses at his skin, before pressing another soft kiss to Tony’s neck and saying, “My turn now, darlin’?”

Tony almost wants to shrug and act nonchalantly, but the truth is that he is very, very eager to taste Bucky’s lips.

He would like that sinfully soft mouth on his right now, please.  

Bucky backs away just enough so Tony can turn himself around and turn his back to Steve, who immediately latches to his neck with all the enthusiasm Bucky had held back, all tongue and teeth and sinking into his skin with a hint of mark, bringing a shiver to Tony’s spine and a small smile to his lips.

“Sorry ‘bout him.” Bucky smiles, pure charm and seduction and oh, wow, the icy cold eyes and boyish hint of malice in his smile, yeah. Yeah. That’s… yeah. “No manners, sometimes.”

“No need.” Tony assures, and he can’t help but smile himself. “I can handle some marks.”

“Can you?” Steve mutters, the words pressed on Tony’s skin like a kiss itself, and Tony can’t see his eyes, but he knows they’re burning in delight.

He wants to tease Steve. He’s not sure if it’s a good idea, but he kind of does want to. He can’t help it, it’s in his blood. It could backfire, sure, but Tony is not precisely sure on how, exactly, so maybe he shouldn’t push. Too much. Just a tease. A joke. Nothing too daring.

“Why don’t you find out?”

…That works too, he guesses.

Now Tony definitely can feel Steve’s teeth as he smiles, and the scratch of the edge of his bite sends a shiver down Tony’s back, neck bending a little forward to give him more room unconsciously.

But Bucky doesn’t like that Tony tilts his head away. He brings his hand to Tony’s chin, like Steve had, and forces him to look up, into the frosty storm that is his gaze, and Tony finds himself entranced, patiently waiting for something he doesn’t know what it is, until Bucky gives up on words and kisses him, mouth demanding.

The sensation of kissing Bucky with that stubble is amazing. It’s scratchy, but not unpleasant, just texture and sensation, and his lips are just as soft, just as good, just as addicting. He doesn’t have Steve’s amused half-smile, or his posturing – Bucky is sweet, but firm, pushing Tony’s mouth open with his tongue and not letting up, until Tony’s struggling to breathe, and when he retreats, it’s only to nip at his lower lip or give him a peck or two before he dives back in, slow and lazy, but relentless.

Tony doesn’t know how long they kiss.

He doesn’t care.

Steve is leaving marks on his neck. He can feel it. He’s working his suction and his bites up, harder and harder each time, as his hands snake behind Tony’s arms and unbutton the rest of his shirt, big hands spreading on Tony’s belly and holding him tight, from belly button to navel, so close to his crotch he nearly whimpers for a touch.

His cock is stirring. He’s getting so hot, so quick. God. Steve’s hand is cold and Tony feels the contrast against his skin with painful accuracy, the sensitive feel of his neck, the pleasantly sore tingling of his lips, it’s hard to stop himself from spreading his legs further so Steve can slide his palm down and press it against his dick, just to give him some pressure, but Steve doesn’t move, so Tony doesn’t either, but wants to. He wants someone to touch him.

They can sense his distress. Bucky’s mouth parts from his own and Steve’s head lifts from his shoulder, but his hand on Tony’s front stays perfectly and carefully still. It’s deliberate, and it makes a wild feeling of desperation flare inside Tony’s body, and he dares to give a small thrust and hopes he can disguise it as if he’s simply shifting in his seat, but knowing Steve will be able to feel it beneath his palm, hoping that it will prompt him to move and give Tony some relief.

Steve doesn’t give a shit. It’s unfair. 

“Can I take this off?” Bucky asks, softly, running his metal thumb over Tony’s bottom lip, so careful that is almost unbelievable. Tony nods frantically, eyes hazy and half-lidded, the lack of oxygen finally catching up to his muddled brain. He doesn’t care. All that he cares about is that they’re getting more naked now, and Tony likes that, because that means someone is going to touch him soon and that’s all he wants. He can’t say no.

He’s already feeling so boxed in. They are both so big, wide and strong, with sure touches and gentle caresses, like they have all the time in the world to do whatever they want, it’s… overwhelming. Tony hasn’t even touched them yet. They won’t let him. His hands itch to smooth down Bucky’s hard chest, Steve’s broad shoulders and bulky arms, all that muscle and skin Tony is not allowed to lay a finger on. His hands twist on the coverlet mindlessly, restless energy trying to escape his body in any way it can, as he’s forced to just sit here and let himself be kissed.

Bucky slides his shirt all the way down the rest of his arms, lifting Tony’s hands a bit so he can pull the fabric away from the bundle it gets messed in around Tony’s wrists, and he distractedly lets it fall on the floor, not caring where it goes, more concerned with rubbing his long fingers across the delicate skin of Tony’s pulse, through the hairs on his forearms, the inside of his elbows, his ribs.

Fingers graze his nipples and he sighs, pushing his chest forward a little, feeling them harden with a prickly, electric sensation of arousal.

Tony’s hands lift from the bed on their own will, reaching for Bucky’s shoulders to bring him back to Tony’s mouth, and almost immediately, they’re pinned to the bed again, by Steve’s cold fingers.

“No.” Bucky says, firmly. “Keep them down.”

Tony grumbles in protest but does as commanded. His hands grip and twist the fabric of his pants anxiously, not because of nerves, but jittery anticipation, pent up energy buzzing beneath his skin like an electric shock, high voltage current unleashed inside his bones and now coursing through him like it’s out of control.

They smile.

The little shits.

Tony knows what they’re doing and he’s not amused!

They seem amused by his mild distress, which only makes him more annoyed and more inclined to just disobey and have his way, but he knows this is not the point.

But c’mon! He’s not doing anything!

“Don’t get grumpy on me now.” Bucky muses, with a half-smile that’s far too wicked and amused for Tony to appreciate now that he’s being forced to sit here, quietly.

“Who’s grumpy? I’m not grumpy.” Tony replies, grumpily.

Bucky laughs, quiet, secretive, but his eyes gain a shine of mischievousness suddenly. He trades a look with Steve, no words, but somehow, Steve smirks back and nods, and Tony knows they’re up to something.

“If you wanna keep yourself busy while we settle…” Bucky drawls, “Strip, doll.”

Tony stops.

“Sorry?”

Bucky’s smile grows wider. Oh no.

“You heard me.” Bucky says, teasingly slow. “Strip.”

“And then…?”

“And then wait for us.”

“Why? What are you…” Tony asks, knowing he’s pushing his luck, but the question comes fumbling out of his mouth before he can think about it, and it’s too late to take it back when Steve’s eyes go sharp and intense on his’.

“Tony.” Steve warns, pointedly. “Bucky told you to strip. Be a good boy, and strip.”

Good boy. Steve just called him a good boy.

That’s… That’s… fuck, Tony doesn’t know, but he’s squirming and he doesn’t know why. Good boy, seriously?! Did he just… Seriously?! God!

“Oh, I like that.” Bucky mumbles to himself, watching Tony’s nonsensical reaction to the outlandish, perverted pet name Steve has just given him, and Tony bristles like a wary animal and feels a hot flush warming his cheeks, only hoping he’s just feeling it and not actually turning red.

He is a fifty-five-year-old man!

“You want me to strip? Like… dance? I can’t dance, I don’t know who told you that.”, and Tony is not as flexible or full of muscles like he was when he was younger either. He can move, of course, but it’s been said on several occasions that his dance is not sexy, more of an adorable and kinda dorky kind of style, and though he may protest on that description, he knows it’s kind of true.

“No, sweetheart. Just take off those pants, okay?” Bucky assures. “Underwear too. Just nice and easy, take them off, and lay back on the bed. And wait for us.”

And Bucky is nice about it, but it's not really a suggestion. It’s an order. He knows, from the finality in his words. He knows, from the edge in Steve’s gaze.

This a powerplay, his brain unhelpfully tells him. Unhelpfully, because Tony knows. It’s a powerplay, it says, as Tony gets pinned down by their stares, unwavering and patient, long enough that he feels a prickly sensation of terrible self-awareness wash over his every limb, but he can’t escape it. It’s a powerplay, his brain says, as Tony shifts and gulps around nothing, and reaches for his belt because he has no choice, unbuckles it. Powerplay, as Tony shimmies his trousers down his thighs and feels how clammy and heated his skin was beneath the fabric as the colder air in the room hits his now bare skin, making him even more aware that he’s the only one who is stripping in this bedroom, and both Steve and Bucky are still fully clothed.

Powerplay, something dark whispers in his ear, as he hooks his thumbs on the elastic of his boxers and pulls them down with mortification, so, so exposed, as his half-hard dick is suddenly there, against his thigh, in plain sight of these men who are enjoying every second of what they’re doing to him.

It takes a lot of strength to raise his head and look them in the eyes. Far more than Tony would like to admit. Almost more than it takes not to change position and hide in any way, which is ridiculous, because he’s Tony Stark and he has nothing to fear. So he stays where he is. He lays there, as commanded. He raises his eyes.

And they smile like they’re proud.

Tony’s body flares entirely with a rush of mortification and embarrassment that mingle so closely together he can’t tell which is which.

God, what is happening.

“Where are your toys, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, as if this is totally normal, and Tony is not laying completely naked and alone on the bed while they stand there and just look at him up and down like he’s a piece of meat.

“The box in the closet.” Tony mumbles, not trusting his voice, shifting a little on instinct but then forcing himself still.

The toys had been a last-minute decision, to be honest. Or a… last-week decision. Same thing. He’d bought a bunch of things, maybe a little too presumptuously, he’ll admit, because there’s a lot of stuff in there he never used. The dildos, yes. The nipple clamps, too. The collar—

He had experimented with the collar. Alone. And it was… good.

He almost didn’t bring it, because… Because. But he did. He did bring it.

And Bucky is gonna find it. In the box.

Oh, he’s regretting this. So, so much. Regrets. So many regrets.

Bucky opens the door to the closet calmly, like both Steve and Tony aren’t watching him with gazes so intense they burn, and as soon as he looks inside, he can see the box Tony left there when he got to the room earlier this afternoon, in a jittery, anxious attempt of not looking at it warily every three seconds while he waited. It’s beautiful, honestly. A deep sea-blue, with golden details on the top and corners, something you’d expect to guard jewels and precious items instead of sex toys. But Tony panicked, alright?! It was the best he could do. He had a few items he kept at home for his own entertainment, but he never had to carry them anywhere, how does one choose a box that doesn’t give away “sex toys inside” vibe? Without also giving the “this is shady package” vibe? He had no idea. Something fancy seemed the way to go.

The elegant style of the box seems to amuse Bucky, who throws Tony a look and smile who speak a good-hearted teasing, and Tony huffs and shrugs the best he can, trying not to be too aware of how it stretches his chest, vulnerable, exposed, knowing he has a few scars there from various accidents in the workshop over the years. Or how his nipples are feeling tight again, the nubs getting hard, even if he has no idea if it’s because of the shock of the temperature, or the nerves, or the excitement, or the mortification, or whatever the hell it is.

Or that his cock is half-hard still, and he doesn’t know what is worse, the fact that he doesn’t go soft, or the fact that he doesn’t go hard. Suspended on anticipation. He has nowhere to run.

Bucky opens the box. Tony’s breath gets caught in his lungs.

Bucky doesn’t say a word.

Steve begins to talk to stand beside him, slow, almost arrogantly so, and unexpectedly, he reaches up and begins to unbutton his shirt. Just like that; and Tony’s legs kick unexpectedly, like a jolt, when he realizes what’s happening, and he makes an inquiring noise, but they both ignore him. He wants to scream, but he doesn’t have any air in his lungs to do so. He wants to ask, but he lacks the words.

And Steve doesn’t stop. One button, then another, another, another, and his chest— What the fuck. What the fuck. Oh, they’re undressing. This is real. This is happening. They grabbed the box and they’re undressing and this is real. Steve’s pecs, what the fuck, Tony could sleep on those things. His abs are so fucking cut that they look like they’re made of marble, what the fuck. What do you even do to get a body like that?! The dark blue shirt falls away Steve’s honestly impressive shoulders and the tapering of his wide chest to his trim waist is also very much not an illusion, a delicious, hypnotizing curve that Tony didn’t even know it was possible to exist. Tony wonders how it would be to wrap his legs around that waist and have those arms hoist him up and his dick twitches, oh no, bad idea, they can see that, stop.

Steve throws him a look, his attention taken away from the box in Bucky’s hands by Tony’s squirming, and he lets out a huffed, breathy laugh before lowering his gaze again, pretending Tony isn’t dying there waiting for them, making very clear that Tony is not as important as the box right now.

And Tony is a mess, because he dares to feel affronted about that. Like he desperately wants their attention to be focused on him, which he doesn’t, but at the same time, why are they just leaving him naked here. The waiting is unbearable.  He’s not even sure what they’re staring at so intensely, and he’s terrified of what it might be.

The plug? The clamps? Oh, god, the dildo. Tony likes red, alright! And it’s not that big! There’s rope, red too, and fluffy handcuffs, which he doesn’t even like but, you know, options, and—

“This is yours, doll?”

The collar.

It’s the collar. That’s what they’re looking at, Tony can finally see it when Bucky raises it balanced on a single finger, dangling in the air, and Tony’s hands grip the covers beneath him so tightly he fears he might rip them with his bare fingers.

“Yeah.” Tony rasps, and he has to lick his lips to try to regain some composure because his mouth is dry. “Of course. Who else?”

Bucky gives a thoughtful hum, running his thumb over the stitching, bringing it closer to his face so he can carefully inspect the material. It’s a sturdy, small band of dark brown leather, almost black, with golden stitching and clasp, that sits nicely at the base of Tony’s throat if he puts it on. It’s not tight, but it has a nice weight, and it’s… it’s pleasant to feel the press of it against his neck and clavicles.

Urgh, it’s like he’s talking about buying shoes. “Expensive leather and beautiful stitching”. What is wrong with him, it’s a collar, for fucks’ sake. This is so much more embarrassing than the had anticipated.

“You ever used it?”

“Once.”

The short reply makes them both look at Tony with curiosity, analyzing his posture and his expression with far too knowing shines behind their eyes for Tony’s comfort. Then, instead of asking Tony to elaborate, Bucky asks, quietly, “You like it?”, and his voice slurs, sensual, and it goes straight to Tony’s dick because it’s on purpose, “The weight of it around your throat?”

Tony takes in a deep, deep breath. “Yes.”

“What about this?” Steve asks, and in his finger, dangles a – oh, God, he forgot that was there! – a ball gag, all black, hanging from the clasp of the straps that sits around Steve’s cold, long finger, swinging from side to side like it’s not an incredibly scandalous thing to be flaunting around.

“No.” Tony admits, and he purses his lips and swallows again, enjoying the feeling of having full freedom to speak and move his mouth now that he’s very aware that he might not be so free very soon. “Never.”

Steve hums, arching his eyebrows, and says, “Better leave it for next time, then.”, settling the gag back into the box and Tony’s nerves back to a reasonable level below absolute hysterics.

But he’s still kind of jittery, though. He’s still jittery when, a few more moments of silence, of Bucky and Steve trading looks that are full conversations with just their eyes and Tony having no way of interpreting what they mean, long, agonizing moments of laying there naked and waiting, before they finally reach inside and grab a few items each, and Tony curses that from this distance and this angle, he can’t see exactly what, except for the bright red rope wrapped around Steve’s wrist, which very efficiently causes Tony’s brain to completely blue-screen.

“You like rope, right?” Steve asks, smiling as if he already knows the answer.

Tony is not sure how he knows it, but Tony knows that he knows it.

“Yeah. Tried a few times. Feels—” Tony stops. Tries again. “Feels good.”

“Yeah, it does. I like it too.”

While Bucky takes the box back to the closet, Steve, shirtless and gorgeous, Steve, big and blond and far too hot for Tony’s health, stalks closer, coming up to the right side of the bed with the grace of a lion, all the power and posture the same, and he kicks off his shoes distractedly before climbing on the bed on his knees, the mattress sinking softly under his weight, jostling Tony. He gulps, because Steve is suddenly so close and Tony is not sure if he should move, because they told him to wait, but he doesn’t know what for; and he’s lying there, holding himself up by his elbows and looking lost, and like this, Steve looms over him like he’s gigantic, his already bigger frame seemingly amplified by the lower perspective Tony’s position forces him into.

It’s intimidating and kind of hot. Very. Very hot. Honestly, it’s… too much. Almost. Almost too much.

Steve smiles, innocently, like he’s totally ignorant to the distress he’s putting Tony in right now. He shifts to find a comfortable position, sitting a little turned to the side, and when he reaches a hand out and holds it open, patiently.

“Give me your hand, Tony.”

Tony blinks. Okay. Deep breaths. Okay.

He’s going to shift all his weight to the other elbow and extend his right hand to Steve, but almost immediately, Steve stops him by saying:

“Lay back. Relax.” His voice is calm, but it gives no illusions that this is anything but an order. “And then give me your hand.”

Oh, Jesus. Alright, here we go.

Tony lays back, a little more stiffly than he was supposed to, he guesses, but ignores his awkwardness for his own sake. He looks at Steve, searching his face for any hint of displeasure or disapproval, but Steve’s eyes go soft when Tony’s head lands gently on the fluffy hotel pillows, and Tony is happy to see that things are going well, despite him still being a little nervous. He’s gonna make this. He’s gonna be alright. He raises his hand, slowly, and lays it on top of Steve’s open palm, already expecting the cool touch of his fingers, comforted by the idea he’s getting familiar with them and their touch.

Steve’s hands are skillful with the rope. It’s… mesmerizing, to watch. His pale, elegant fingers hold Tony’s hand with all the precision and familiarity only someone confident in their skills would be, and he brings the red rope around Tony’s palm and fingers with mastery and efficiency, and it all fits so well it’s actually comfortable. Comforting. He doesn’t go to Tony’s wrists or forearms like Tony expected – he makes it sturdy and firm around and into the middle of his palm, a structure, Tony realizes with surprise, that’s meant to give him something to hold to when he makes a fist, as Steve instructs him to do to check the give and if there’s any pinching.

“It won’t cut off your circulation.” Steve assures, stroking the sensitive inner part of Tony’s arm once he's done with his left hand. “And there’s still plenty of rope on the side to hold your hands to the bed when we’re done.”

Oh. “Mhm. Efficient.” Tony stupidly says. “Nice.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Steve agrees, amused. “Now give me the other one.”

Tony does, and he’s not sure if he’s trembling or if it’s just an illusion, but he has no time to confirm it before Steve grabs his hand and also ties it like the other, and Tony can’t do anything but watch, watch as Steve ties him up, and he lets him.

When he’s done, there is a string on red rope free gangling from both sides – they kind of look like fingerless gloves, Tony dazedly thinks, his brain maybe going a little crazy from all this blood rushing in his head, who knows –, and Steve throws those pieces up and around the headboard, and when he pulls, Tony’s arms go up with it, raising his hands above his head and leaving his chest, his whole body, totally exposed. He makes a surprised, undignified noise, that he will deny until his dying day.

“Easy, honey.” Steve reassures, with a calm voice and gentle movements, swiping soft caresses against Tony’s arms. “Deep breathes for me, c’mon.”

Tony takes in a deep breath, loudly and intentionally, very aware of the feeling of his lungs expanding and filling with air with his whole body exposed the way it is. Exhales slow, counting seconds in his head. The pressure in his temples alleviates, thankfully.

“Good.” Steve praises. “Again.”

Tony does it again. He closes his eyes this time, and counts again. Five seconds, air in. Five seconds, air out.

His shoulders relax. When he opens his eyes, Bucky is watching them, perfectly still right in front of the bed, calm and patient.

Tony tries to smile at him, but finds out he can’t. He’s still a little too winded-up.

Deep breath again. In. five seconds. Out.

“Good.” Bucky concedes too, face smoothing out in an approving, almost fond expression, and as a reward, he reaches for the back of his black shirt and pulls it over his head by the collar, exposing his incredibly beautiful body like a curtain being lifted from the stage, revealing the masterpiece. A masterpiece that includes pale, unblemished skin, a light trail of hairs descending from the belly button into the waistband of the dark washed jeans, hard abs and dusky nipples, a defined collarbone and also amazingly wide shoulders. Not to mention that damned metal arm.

Jesus.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.  

Steve chuckles from somewhere above Tony’s head, and he leans over Tony to reach the ropes and wraps them around some notches, quickly, but simply enough that Tony is not exactly trapped completely, with just a tiny bit of give on the pull. He wiggles a bit, testing his range, and as he does it, Bucky comes closer too, his boots making sound against the hardwood until he decides to remove them on the way, so he can climb on the bed by Tony’s left, effectively trapping Tony between them. Both towering over him as they sit and Tony lays there, helpless, completely presented for them to touch and watch and do as they please.

And Tony’s naked. And growing harder by the minute. Let’s not forget that part.

Tony is not as muscular as he once was, his body finally giving in to some of the effects of his age, and the lack of exercise that comes with his less strenuous work these days – but he hopes they like what they see. He really does. He… he wants to enjoy this. He’s nervous, and he can’t help it, but he’s here, and he really wants this to work. Just once. He’ll be happy if he can have this once. He’s getting old for fantasies, for a life of debauchery with no sense or purpose, but damn it – he’s human, and this low, simmering, relentless desire is driving him insane, even if it’s scary, if it’s outside of every comfort zone he’s ever had, and all he can hope for is that it’s good, for him, and for them. For Steve and for Bucky. He wants to enjoy it, and he wants them to enjoy it, to enjoy… him, this one fantasy with him. For just one night, that’s all. For one night, he wants to be able not to be in charge and not worry about who sees him doing it, and Tony can trust them, he somehow knows he can, so he just…

He wants this.

It’s embarrassing, a little mortifying, and nerve-wracking and too much, and he really wants it.

They are looking at him from above with attentive eyes, both blue and intense, like they can see into Tony’s core and all the insecurity beneath, and the way they brush their fingers on his cheeks and his hair is like receiving a gift, contact after Tony has been denied the permission to touch them whenever he wanted, to appreciate each touch they give him as the reward it is. He suddenly gets it. The touch. It is a reward. Tony basks in it once he realizes it, a little too wantonly to be honest, raising his chin to chase the touch running through his hair, turning to the side to feel more of the contact of cold fingers on his cheek, helpless to the affection.

Their scents are stronger here, when they’re so close and shirtless, and Tony lets out a low groan and shifts his hips, cock getting harder where it lays on his belly, the steady pumping of his heartbeat echoing in his veins like a drum, the weight and low throbbing of it pleasurable in itself, legs bending of their own volition. He doesn’t know if they’re looking, but if they are… if they are, he hopes they like it. He enjoys it for a moment, for what it is, to feel his body warming up and preparing for touch on its’ own, the tantalizing certainty that pleasure is on the way, letting the fantasy fill his cock with a slow blink of his eyes and a minuscule thrust of his pelvis, just so he can feel his hard-on better.

“Comfortable?” Bucky asks, caringly.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Steve smiles, happily, and presses a butterfly kiss on Tony’s collarbone, delicate. “We’re getting a little more personal now, okay, Tony? If you need us to stop or take a break, you can let us know – but from now on, we’re leading. You’re okay with that? Give me a color, honey.”

“Green.” Tony says, and he’s absolutely sure when he says it. Green. Keep going.

“Thank you, doll.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky leans lower to capture Tony’s mouth in a kiss, surprisingly chaste, his lips exploring Tony’s with a lazy, unhurried rhythm, tongue darting out to seek Tony’s in short, playful licks, spreading a warm, fuzzy feeling down Tony’s spine. The way a few stray strands of his long hair fall and brush against Tony’s face is ticklish. The touch of his light facial hair against Tony’s own beard is just as nice as it was before, sinking him deep in the amazing feeling of being kissed in such an intimate, thorough way, and the brush of his fingers on Tony’s hair is sudden, but soothing and pleasant, and he makes a satisfied noise against Bucky’s mouth.

Steve lowers too, Tony can feel him. He hums in a tone that almost sounds like approval, breath colliding against Tony’s skin like a wave to the shore, overwhelming, inescapable, like a tease of a caress on Tony’s collarbone. He brushes his lips there, not quite in a kiss, but just to announce his presence, and Tony pushes his chest up just a little bit, to indicate his compliance. Then, as something that is most definitely a reward, Steve presses an open-mouthed, wet, hot kiss into Tony’s chest, light suction and just a hint of teeth, before he goes back to merely brushing his unbearably soft lips on Tony’s body. He goes lower, and lower, so damned slow, Tony’s nipples perking up at the proximity of his mouth, the anticipation of touch despite no evidence that it will ever come, a reflex longing that Tony has no control of, and can’t stop, and Tony’s breath catches in the middle of his kiss with Bucky, leaving him with no air when his tongue sneaks past his lips and curls against Tony’s own in a sensual move.

Steve pauses, and Tony feels suspended on air while the freezes for a beat, anticipation coursing through his body like boiling lava is mixing with his blood, heart thumping loudly against his chest, a whiny noise muffled against Bucky’s mouth, until, suddenly, something warm and wet and rough flicks at Tony’s nipple, and the sudden cold and the touch sparking a shock, so intense that Tony gasps as he rips his mouth away from Bucky’s.

He looks down, and Steve is staring at him like the cat who just got the mouse. Mischief and challenge, all rolled up into one, and the best Tony can do is stare back, unblinking, and show Steve is not backing out of this, and he can do his worst and Tony will take it.

He was just surprised. He can take it.

Steve understands, obviously, and because he is an asshole, his tongue darts out teasingly slow, approaching the swelling nipple so dramatically it’s almost infuriating, the taunt, until it finally reaches down and touches the tight nub, in a long, languid lap, up and down, then circling it in small, lazy circles, until Steve goes down the rest of the way and closes his lips around it, giving it a soft, firm suck.

Hng, fuck, it goes straight to his dick, Goddamnit. Tony’s nipples are small and usually not this sensitive so he doesn’t know… he doesn’t know why this is happening, how Steve is doing this, but it’s his tongue, and his lips, and his stare, and then it’s a cold hand on his thigh, right above his knee, pushing his legs flat on the bed again in a silent command to keep still, rubbing up and down, up, and down, higher and higher every time, until that hand is almost brushing at Tony’s balls and he can’t do anything but stay still and feel it.

The muscles on Tony’s abdomen shudder when he sucks in a shattered breath, a whistling noise passing unbidden through his mouth when he exhales harshly.

He waits. Squirms.

Steve hums thoughtfully, and says, almost like he’s speaking to himself:

“Let’s see how far we can push you.”

Tony inhales a sharp breath, but before he can speak, Steve’s hand cups his balls, tugging them gently, and Tony chokes on a gasp when his already filled lungs spasm in an effort to take in more air in his surprise.

His body clenches with the sudden sensation, pleasure sparking through every muscle and pulling them tight before he can stop it, and as Steve’s fingers expertly roll and caress him, Tony struggles not to squirm and push against his touch, not to seem too desperate for a firmer tug, a more intense sensation than just the light, provoking brush of Steve’s fingers.

Steve traps Tony beneath his mouth and hand, palming him gently, flicking his tongue at his nipples, giving Bucky the chance to lean away and reach for the condoms and lube. Tony’s breathing goes short and staggering with anticipation, knowing it will only get more and more intense from here on out – and he’s aching for it, cock twitching in random jolts of excitement as his blood pumps it full and rigid, a red flush painting the soft, tight skin, the head swelling and the veins more and more visible as it curves upward, straining and hungry for attention. It’s obscene to stare at, even for himself. It’s his own dick, Tony has seen it many times, but somehow this is different, because his hands are stuck and he can’t touch, no matter how hard he tugs on the ropes wrapped around his hands, and Steve smirks devilishly at his poor attempts of getting himself free, and rewards – punishes, threatens, teases, who the fuck knows – Tony with a swipe of two of his fingers up Tony’s cock, from base to tip, just the tiniest brush of the pad of his digits; and it’s slow and deliberate, so Tony is already aching for the brush against the sensitive edge of his cockhead even before it happens, and can only thrust up mindlessly when the fingers stop there for the briefest of seconds, waiting, and Tony’s hips push up to bring himself upward, to chase the touch even if it’s not nearly enough.

His hips are hitching forward in stuttering, minuscule thrusts against Steve’s finger when Tony regains awareness of Bucky standing above him, too instinctual for him to stop, the rub of Steve’s finger right at the little pad of incredibly tender skin in his frenulum too good not to chase, but Tony feels his cheeks flush with unexpected bashfulness at the intense, heated stare in Bucky’s face, the tiny delightful sigh that escapes his bitten-red lips. He’s aroused, and that makes Tony feel… he likes it, he likes that Bucky likes him, likes the sight of his body helpless and his cock hard, of Tony’s dazed eyes and rumpled hair, parted lips and heaving chest, God, Bucky likes it. Tony dares to look down at Bucky’s crotch, still criminally covered by the dark jeans, and he can see the volume straining the fabric, a bulge that denunciates exactly how much Bucky likes to see Tony like this, and something lewd inside Tony groans in deep satisfaction of making this gorgeous man react like this.

Bucky’s metal hand, slick with lube and just as beautiful up close as it was from far away, gets into Tony’s field of view, and suddenly, it’s all Tony can think about. Because it’s glistening, it’s wet and shiny and that can only mean one thing, touch, and Tony wants to have that thing touching him intimately so badly he feels like he could die if he doesn’t get it.

Tony moans when the hand grips him at the very base, not even because of the sensation it causes, but the inherent pleasure Tony can’t hold back on at seeing that incredible hand wrap around his cock, too many fantasies and secret wishes he never gave voice to but now desperately try to claw their way our of his throat in any way they can, and the only way he knows how to is moan. His hips snap up on his own, the muscles working to get him sliding through the tunnel of those fingers until he’s almost bursting to come, to fuck Bucky’s fist desperately and spill all messy over the shiny silver, but Bucky gives him nothing. He just holds Tony’s erection by the base, squeezing and dragging his thumb over the underside, pressing into the soft part below and making Tony’s legs spasm with the delicious shock it causes, downs to his toes and up his spine, all the way to the head of his dick.

“You like it so much.” Bucky says, in awe. “It’s damn flattering, doll.”

Tony can only make a whiny noise of agreement, because he has no words to explain how much he really, really likes it.

“You’re feeling hot yet?” Steve whispers, and his voice is gravely and sexy, right at the shell of Tony’s ear, and he shudders in excitement and struggles not to turn to the other side to escape the sensation.

“Yes.” Tony admits with a gasp. “Really hot, big guy.”

“Good.” Steve says, sounding pleased. “You want more, honey?”

“Yes.” He says through gritted teeth.

“And what do we say when we want something?”

The word comes stumbling out of his mouth on its own volition, any feelings of embarrassment or hesitation gone before the opportunity of getting more if he does as he’s told, “Please.

Steve gives him a sweet, pleased kiss, nipping at his bottom lip as he backs away – and Bucky’s fist suddenly slides up and down his cock in a rough, unexpected touch, smooth and wet all over, slick sensation and firm pressure and Tony groans, uselessly trying to keep thrusting when the fist goes back to hold him by the base, not giving him any more friction.

“Damn it.” Tony curses, hissing through gritted teeth.

“Count for me, sweetheart.” Steve says, out of nowhere, and Tony frowns at him confusedly, blinking rapidly and struggling to keep up when his brain is still focused on the steady throb of his dick and the terrible, terrible need burning at his balls that neither of them seem to care about. “Three.”

Three? What the fuck does that mean?

Does he want—

Tony lets out a shocked moan when Bucky’s hand strokes him again, with no warning, quick and dirty and filthy, all rushed and no finesse touch, just raw, demanding friction, a hot slick grip for Tony to slide into, frantic and desperate for more.

It’s over before Tony can realize what’s happening. The sound that leaves his lips is animal, unfiltered and inexplicable confusion, feverish desire, and he has no time to feel self-conscious about it because his dick is on fire, aching to be touched, and he doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Don’t stop. Why did you stop?” Tony pleads, looking down at Bucky with what he knows is a face of clear anguish. “C’mon. Please?”

Bucky has no mercy. He merely grins, and places a wet kiss on Tony’s belly, and it feels oddly sensitive. “Polite and pretty.” He muses, like Tony is an entertaining thing to watch. “Just how we like ‘em.”

“Three.” Steve says, while Tony is still gasping and fighting to gather his thoughts, taking advantage of his vulnerability, and Tony can only whimper and writhe as, suddenly, Bucky’s fist moves again, jerking him hard and fast, fingers tight in all the right places, twisting around the head and pressing down on the base, making Tony feel like he’s sinking balls deep on something, and as it presses against the muscles clenching uselessly there, hopelessly trying to get him closer to the pleasure he’s not allowed to take for himself. Tony lets out a pained moan, defenseless against the sensual torture.

Bucky does it again. And again.

And suddenly, his hand is completely gone.

Ah, no, please!” Tony harshly says, voice wrecked and breathing ruined. “Just a little more.”

“I can’t do that, doll.” Bucky regretfully says, although he doesn’t look like he regrets shit.

“You can, just—”

“You know why I can’t?” Bucky interrupts, in a voice that clearly says this is not up for debate. “Because it’s not your turn yet. You don’t come until we do.”

Tony groans in protest, loud and deep, the sound ragged and scratchy in his throat, throwing his head back to the pillow in desperation, hair completely messed up when he shakes and turns side to side, struggling to hold on. His arms are going numb. He jerks and jostles, tries to pull his hands back down, but he can’t. The rope doesn’t give, not one bit. He squeezes his fingers around the lump settled at his palm, gripping the hold the knots give him with all the strength left in his spasming muscles, trying to ignore the sweat and the hot feeling of his clammy skin, trying to take in deep breaths to calm himself, despite the hard, rapid beat of his heart pounding in his chest.

They’re edging him. Oh, God. Three. Three strokes at a time. That’s what Steve meant. Three strokes, and then nothing.

He can’t handle this. He can’t. This is not fair.

A shiny, single bead of pre-come dribbles out of his slit, dainty and mocking against the rosy red flush of his cockhead, pulsing and twitching in needy jerks.

Tony is gonna die.

“You don’t like being on the edge, honey?” Steve asks.

“No.” Tony stubbornly says, and it’s a huge, fat lie, and they all know it, because Tony is so hard he could pound nails and his toes are twisting and curling anxiously, his entire body craving more stimulation with a delicious, agonizing need – running through his body as if it’s liquid, flooding him like storm until he’s nothing but sharp lightning wrecking under flesh and throbbing hunger growling through gritted teeth.

Steve hums, and Tony wishes he had enough movement range to sit up a bit and reach him, because he would bite him in retaliation if he could. “You know what I like?”

Oh, that’s not good.

“I like you eager like this.” Steve praises, sliding a hand to Tony’s thigh, pulling it to the side and enticing him to open his legs, resting his bent leg against Steve’s long ones. Tony goes with it, pliant and so easy to the invitation, aware of how the position makes him look like he’s the most wanton thing in the universe, but at the same time, unable to resist it, the heat radiating from his body torturous and oppressing, and even the slightest brush of air on his sweat-slicked flesh is a blessing he can’t refuse.

“And if I press right here…”

Suddenly, a finger, from Steve’s hand, Steve’s hand is sliding up his thigh with no hesitation and brushing knuckles against the sensitive skin of his balls and a finger presses into the sweet spot below, merciless and – and Tony cries as his cock twitches hard, balls pulling tight, legs bending, brows furrowing and eyes snapping shut in the reflex of reacting to the overwhelming sensation, the massage against that small strip of skin that presses into his prostate inside too much to bear, pleasure muddled with the shock of too much mixed in with the agony of not enough, because it’s so good, it’s so good, it sends waves of sensation up his cock steady and pulsing, rubbing and pressing so nice, even externally—

God, Tony needs someone to finger him. Finger him right. To fuck him. He needs it. He needs it, and he wants to ask for it but all that escapes his lips is a pained keen.

“Like that.”

Jesus— Christ.” Tony chokes, body jolting like he’s been electrocuted.

“What do you like, honey? What do you want?”

Tony wants—

Tony wants—

Tony wants them to fold him in half, spread his legs as wide as they can go and fuck him hard. He wants their hands hot at the back of his thighs, keeping them open, so they can push their cocks into him and take him apart from the inside out. He wants Bucky’s hand to jerk him off hard and fast, like they’re teenagers trading handjobs in a hurry before they can be caught. He wants Steve’s cold fingers inside him, slippery with lube and impossibly long, rubbing against his inner walls and spreading him open for something bigger.

Tony just wants to come. He can’t take this torture for much longer.

He doesn’t know if he says that out loud – But Steve’s hand brushes the sweat lick hair away from his forehead with unending softness, loving and encompassing, and leans down to look Tony straight in the eyes and say, with complete confidence:

“You can take it.”

Three fast, hard, quick strokes, from root to tip, and pleasure flares inside him so hot and bright—

And then it goes away.

No.” Tony gasps, sharply.

They don’t answer to his pleas. They shush him and kiss him, butterfly kisses all over his face and chest, his neck, his shoulders, and the gentleness of it all almost hurts in contrast to the burning, raging pit of arousal inside him, that makes him grind his ass down on the mattress, desperate for relief, for something inside.

His heart is beating so loud he can hear it in his temples, can feel its rhythm on his cock, the thump, thump, thump of his blood running fast—

And then the hand comes back, gripping his cock tight and delicious, and Tony’s entire body locks up, legs spreading further, his hole clenching down on nothing, desperate for friction, his balls going tighter and tighter, please, more—

One.

Two.

Three.

The strokes are fast, fast, up and down, up and down

No!

No, no, no. Please, come back.

Oh God, please, he just wants to come.

One.

Two.

Three.

Nothing.

Irrationally, Tony whines in distress, and he feels a tell-tale prickle of tears gathering at the corner of his eyes and it makes him burn with embarrassment.

“Shh.” Bucky coos, and that somehow makes Tony want to cry more, and he squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, sucking in air through his mouth like he’s in pain, trying to hold off his pleasure and trying to make it peak at the same time, body confused if it wants to keep pushing or take a step back to breathe. “There we go. So pretty, doll. So good.”

Tony’s trying, he’s trying he doesn’t know what he can do. He’s racking his brain to come up with a solution, a bargain, a plea that will grant him an orgasm, but he can’t. He can’t move. His hands are tied and he can’t run. He can’t jerk himself off, he can’t finger himself. His body is screaming at him, begging him to do something, but all he can do is whine and gasp, fighting to breathe normally when his heart is beating so violently he can’t calm down, he’s sweating and his legs are shaking. He can’t do anything. He can’t come if Bucky and Steve won’t let him.

Bucky brushes his hair fondly with his dry hand and Tony chases the touch like he’s starving, blinking blearily and panting hard, and Tony watches, hypnotized, as his grey-blue gaze locks with Tony’s own, cool and collected where Tony is feverish and disheveled, his brown hair so soft and his lips to pretty and his jaw so perfect and all Tony wants is to kiss him, kiss him, to wrap himself around him and ride his fingers and come just like that.

But he can’t. He can only lie there, lie there as Bucky leans close, breathing deeply, eyes burning hot, and says, against Tony’s cheek

“Want us to fuck you, pretty thing? Make you come? Messy and wet, all over the sheets?”

Yes.” Tony groans. “Yes, yes, c’mon, yes.”

He heaves when their hands leave his body, stuck between protesting and sighing in relief, writhing on the bed like a fish out of water trying to regain some sense of control over his pathetically sprawled and shivering limbs. He wants to make a protesting noise, but Steve and Bucky are backing away and getting up to strip down the rest of their clothes, quickly and efficiently, with more haste than sensuality, but the mere sound of belt buckles being unfastened and buttons being popped open is enough to give him an almost Pavlovian response of arousal.

Tony can barely process it with how fast it is. They drop their pants, exposing muscled thighs and strong calves, underwear stretched over their erections straining underneath, and Tony watches, with no shame or pretense of hiding it, as they hook fingers over the bands and push down— oh my God.

They are uncircumcised. Both of them.

Oh, Jesus fuck, that should not be as hot as it is. It should –

What is wrong with him, why is that – why is that so hot. They are big. And they’re hard, it’s so… Tony can’t stop staring. He kind of wants to ask if one of them will let him suck them off because he really, really would like to do that. Both. Would they let him?

Bucky says something Tony totally misses, still reeling from the absolutely delicious sight, and he’s still kind of dazed when they come closer again, fully nude, all that exposed skin and hard muscles and hot damn, only when Steve cups his face and rubs a fond caress on his cheekbones that Tony understands, in the whisper that follows, what they said.

“Let’s turn you over,” Steve smiles, so sweet, so, so wicked, “Bucky wants you on all fours.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Okay. Okay. Yes, okay.

“Before that, doll.” Bucky calls, demanding Tony’s attention when he starts to wiggle impatiently. “Can’t forget my favorite part.”

Tony’s eyes are wide when Bucky suddenly pulls out a collar, Tony’s collar, out of nowhere, and brings it to his neck, but – but when he comes close, Tony’s head just falls back on its’ own, the idea of resisting or questioning it not even crossing his mind until the leather is lain down on his skin and hands fasten the clasps delicately on his nape. He just… accepts it. He welcomes it, gladly. It’s not tight, a finger fitting easily in the space between the band and his throat – as Bucky demonstrates, when he fits a finger in there and pulls Tony up a bit, just a bit, by the collar, so he can plant a sweet kiss on his lips, before setting him down again.

Tony’s thoughts go a bit fuzzy on the edges for a moment. The collar, the depravity of it – with the sweetness of Bucky’s kiss, the fond look in Steve’s sky-blue eyes, the gentle possessiveness of their touch; The collar… The collar makes him feel like… Like he actually belongs to them, he didn’t know, he didn’t know it would feel that way, but it does, and it makes him breathless and dazed and a little confused but…

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He just—

He likes it. He likes the collar. He likes it when Bucky touches his neck before bringing his hands to Tony’s hips to help him turn around, he likes it when Steve runs his fingers over Tony’s crossed wrists gently to make sure the ropes have enough room for the movement and are not hurting him, adjusting the length of the cord so Tony has enough range to support himself on his elbows if he needs to breathe better; He likes that he can feel the gravity pulling the collar down when he turns and makes him more conscious of its weight, he likes, even if it’s a little scary, a little nerve-wracking, to turn his back to them, to lay himself vulnerable to whatever they might do while he’s not watching, any movement or touch able to catch him by surprise as he’s turned to face the pillows instead of their faces.

His hard cock is trapped between his abdomen and the mattress, still leaking, still turgid and throbbing, and his nipples are so sensitive even the soft brush of expensive sheets feel like a tease. Tony ruts against the mattress unthinkingly, fisting the sheets between his fingers, rubbing his cheek against the soft pillow as if the silky texture could somehow ease the feeling of his face burning with the heat of the anticipation. His breath is growing heavy, sighs melting into groans, and the tiny jerks of his hips are no more than a promise of sensation, not nearly enough, but it’s the only friction he can take for himself now, and he can’t waste the opportunity.

“Oh, that’s—” Bucky exhales raggedly behind him. “That’s really pretty.”

Pretty, Bucky calls him, as Tony ruts against the bed like he’s a mindless animal. God. Tony feels himself flush and his head drops down unthinkingly, exposing his nape, in a futile attempt to hide his face. He thinks Tony is pretty like this. Desperate and impatient, consumed by lust. Pretty.

Fuck.

A pair of hands – both flesh and cool, strong grip and long fingers, Steve – hold his hips, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to warn, halting his movements. “But you know you can’t, don’t you, honey?”

Tony whines, but concedes, “Sorry.”

“That’s it, well done.” Steve placates, laying a kiss between Tony’s shoulder blades. “On your knees. Spread your legs for us, sweetheart.”

He inhales a shuddering breath.

Tony has to put way more strength into his legs than he had imagined to manage to push his hips up, like his bones have suddenly been filled with concrete, muscles heavy and exhausted and so uncooperative, which is the worst, because the mere implications of spread your legs for us send his brain down a spiral of desire so violent he will get into position even if it takes all the energy in his body. He’s shaking when big, strong hands squeeze his cheeks, kneading gently like they’ve got all the time in the world, like Tony’s cock and balls aren’t hanging there, dark red and throbbing, still aching for the release they’ve been denied. Tony balances on his elbows and shoves his face on the pillow as he feels thumbs hooking into the meat of his cheeks and spreading them open, exposing his hole, and Tony clenches involuntarily, the brush of cool air against his opening and the knowledge those two gorgeous men are just… watching, standing there between his open legs and playing with him, running a thumb over the fluttering entrance, Jesus, please, Steve—

Something hard rubs against Tony, wet and cool and smooth, a gasp escaping his lips and muffled into the pillow at the sharp contrast between the familiar touch of another person and the sudden foreign object Tony wasn’t expecting, and he has a brief moment of wild panic, trying to identify the – is that his plug? No. It can’t be. It’s not a dildo either, what – oh, it’s – it pushes into his entrance, slick and wet, relentless – Bucky’s fingers, Bucky’s fingers, yes – hard and big, stretching the hot, tender rim of his hole, pushing in slow and easy, forcing him open and spreading lube into his insides, and Tony tenses it on reflex, entrance contracting and stopping him from going forward.

“Relax, baby.” Bucky tells him, placing a kiss on his tailbone, the scratch of his beard soft in contrast to the bluntness of his metal finger pressing steadily into Tony’s hole. “Let me in. C’mon. Let me fuck you with my metal fingers, don’t you want that?”

Yes. Yes. So, so much. Tony heaves and squirms, nodding, and forces himself to go fully lax and allow the slide of Bucky’s finger into his body.

His metal finger, Christ.

Tony’s body resists a little, just at that first ring of muscle, to the cool feeling of the lube and the hard edge of Bucky’s digit, but – but he wants it, even the slightest opening of his rim around the press of the finger is so good, pressure against the sensitive inner walls and the slick wet drag inside him, where he’s hot and wanting, where a little further, that sweet spot on his prostate that’s so, so tender and so eager to be touched is just waiting, waiting for Bucky’s clever fingers to find it.

Two fingers, in a closed ring, close at the base of his dick. Slick, slick pressure. They slide up, and up, thumb and forefinger squeezing tight all around, and Tony’s moans get breathier and raspier the higher it goes, almost at the head, almost, dragging under the sensitive part on the underside and right at the edge of the crown – and Bucky uses the hitching of Tony’s hips to take his finger deeper, past a knuckle, then the other, until his entire metal finger is inside Tony’s ass and it feels incredible, just the smallest pressure pushing open Tony’s hole is already a low, constant static feeling of pleasure he adores, the nice feelings of bearing down and feeling how the solid presence of the intrusion keeps him open around it is… it’s good. He really likes it, he loves the feeling of it.

Bucky groans, suddenly – and his groan is almost like a growl, scratching his throat and leaving ragged and raspy through his lips in a breathy exhale, dragging around the edges like he’s fighting it back, and it’s hot, Tony has no idea what made him sound like that but it’s so hot, and he’s not brave enough to turn around and check because he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to know, he wants the surprise of it, he wants to let them do whatever it is and he has to resist the urge to turn his face and peer at them if he doesn’t want to shatter this illusion. He can’t. He pushes his face harder into the pillow and wails a muffled sound into it when Bucky’s finger pulls back in a long stroke and then pushes in again, curling and massaging the inside all the way in and out again, lazy, firm pumps of Bucky’s wrist straight into the passage that just goes more and more pliant by the second, all resistance and hesitation just melting out of Tony’s body like it’s evaporating through his pores. And he grunts when Bucky does it again, and again, and again, and after a few pumps, the finger retreats, and before Tony can protest, a larger pressure, two, pushes into him, and the sloppy mess of lube on Tony’s hole eases it in so nicely that his body just opens up to it naturally, the stretch burning a little brighter, a little sharper, even better, but Bucky barely gives him a few thrusts before removing them again, leaving Tony aching for something back inside.

“Impatient.” Tony hears Steve muse, almost in a laughing tone. But it’s not directed at him – it’s distant, like he’s talking to Bucky.

“Like you’re not.” Bucky replies, in an angry, growly voice, that Tony suddenly realizes how Bucky sounds when he’s too excited. That Bucky sounds like that because of him. “Look at him. So fuckin’ pretty. Beggin’ for it.”

Tony is not – Tony is a fifty-five year old man, he’s not as fit, or as thin, or as sexy as he used to be; He’s gotten chubbier, he has wrinkles and tiny spots all over his shoulders, his hair is graying and he’s getting old – and this beautiful, gorgeous man, this man who us built and cut like a God made flesh, with such an attractive face and raw magnetism, this man is calling Tony pretty. And it – God, it does something to him, deep inside, it fills him with satisfaction and pride, with a thrill of feeling sensual in his own skin unabashedly, unashamedly, despite his age and flaws. He feels wanted, he feels desired, and his crossed hands twist into the pillow and dig his nails into the fluffy plushness of it, the erotic feeling coiling inside him so strongly he squirms because of it, like it’s a physical touch.

“Yeah, really pretty… You sure you can handle that?” Steve laughs.

“Give me the fuckin’ condom, Stevie.”

Bucky’s hands take a hold of his hips and pull him backward, into a position that forces Tony’s face out of the pillow and more into the crook of his bent elbows, impending him from muffling his noises on it. He pants, lightheaded, with a flaming-hot face, as Bucky spreads him open and teases his hole, standing right behind Tony in between his open legs, and after a beat, a rustle of movement, and one hand disappears while the other’s thumb tugs his rim out gently, teasingly, until something bigger – Bucky’s cock, oh God – blunt and hot rubs against his entrance.

Tony tries to push himself back, but he can’t. Steve pushes a hand on his nape and holds him steady, coming forward to lay next to Tony and scratch at the sweat-slick hairs, and the fact that he’s being held by the nape, like a dog, with his ass up in the air and his neck adorned with a leather leash, it all comes tumbling down in his brain at the same time, and he freezes with the force of the arousal that courses through him, unsure how to react to his explosive reaction to the submission.

“Steady.” Steve says, half a warning, half an assurance. “Just relax and let him.”

Let him. Let him. His body screams and his dick aches, dribbling precome sluggishly and pulsing minutely, his entrance quivering with the reflex clenching and releasing of his muscles, trying to pull Bucky’s cock inside with no avail, even if he’s doing his best to hold steady and not move, as Steve commanded. He tries – but his body wants more, it can’t resist trying to take more, needy and hungry for it. Let him.

Let him fuck you. Anyway he wants.

Bucky lines himself up and pushes in, the wide head pushing in insistent and unhurried, forcing the rim of Tony’s hole open patiently until it has no choice but to stretch to accommodate the intrusion, slipping inside with a wet squelch that sounds sordid, and all Tony registers is the burn, the stretch, the pressure, hot and solid and slick and rubbing against his insides so good.

“Hng, oh God.” Bucky lets out, and it’s hard and raspy and a little breathy, and the idea that he’s the one causing this is like a direct hit of drug into his veins, addictive and frenetic. “It’s really good.”

Bucky suddenly pulls back a bit and gives a short thrust forward, unexpectedly, shallow and quick and dirty, and Tony’s back arches sharply, hips twitching, a keening sound leaving his lips, a hit of pleasure punching into his guts before he can steel himself against it.

“Slid in so easy.” Bucky marvels, like he’s awed by how easily Tony’s body opens up to him. “You were made for this, sweetheart. Made to be fucked.”

Oh, that’s so hot.

It’s so—

Ah. Oh, yes.

Made to be fucked.

“You like that.” Steve says, almost in shock, pulling on the hairs of Tony’s nape to force his face up, not violent but not lenient, refusing to be ignored. Tony’s face feels like he’s standing two millimeters away from a hot soldering iron, eyes squeezed shut as if he can somehow escape this shameful ecstasy, but he’s bared for Steve to see. He can’t hide anything.

Tony nods, sharp and stuttering, because yes. Yes, yes. Yes. He likes it. Jesus, he’s burning up, the pressure of Bucky’s cock stretching him open feels so good. Bucky fucks him with shallow, teasing thrusts, the head of his cock dragging across that sensitive spot where his prostate is, the constant rubbing against it blooming pleasure from deep inside like it’s spreading to his limbs like poison, and he says, darkly and high on power, into Tony’s back, “You like being used like a whore, sweetheart?”

He squeezes Tony’s ass cheeks in his hands, one sweaty and soft, and the other hard and firm, his thumbs digging into flesh with a satisfying sensation of pressure, and he pulls them apart, pulls the skin of Tony’s rim taut around his dick, to watch as he thrusts in and out, Tony’s rim greedily sucking him in like it can’t bear to be empty – and Bucky is watching himself fuck into Tony’s body, that he can see what Tony feels, the tug and push, the rosy flush around his entrance, his big cock splitting Tony open. The wet glisten of the lube as he pumps in and out. Tony can imagine it; And he feels like a whore, for a moment, like something to be fucked and ogled at for the mere pleasure of someone else, a body whose needs are secondary – and in instinctive reply to this feeling, his knees try to give out and spread him enough so he can lower himself back to the mattress, to rut against the softness of it and chase pleasure on his most aching part in the only way he can.

The hold of Bucky’s hands on his hips won’t let him.

“Stop resisting.” Steve whispers, darkly.

Tony’s not. He’s not, he’s not resisting, God, can’t they see that? They can fuck him, they can do whatever they want, but just – fuck, he just wants a little touch, just a little. He’s not gonna come. He really, really wants to, but he won’t. Just a little it’s okay.

“Please.”

“We’re not gonna touch you, Tony.” Steve taunts him, whispering breath against cheek. “Naughty boys don’t get to come.”

And suddenly, in the next thrust, Bucky slides in the rest of the way, in, slow and deep, and Tony’s knees instinctively dig into the mattress to push his hips higher, to force his ass flush with Bucky’s pelvis, to let him go as deep as he can, moaning loudly, eyes squeezing shut. He doesn’t even realize that removes all possibility of friction of the sheets on his cock. All he cares about is letting Bucky go in deeper. Bucky breathes out a laugh behind his ear, his lips pressing a soft, rewarding kiss at the delicate skin of his nape, just as Steve’s hand grabs him by the jaw and pulls his head up a little, bringing his face into the light, and even with his eyes closed, Tony feels how close he is, because he feels it in his skin when Steve exhales a gentle “That’s it, sweetheart. Let us in.”

Yes, Tony wants them inside. Yes. God, it’s been so long.

Bucky’s deep. Oh, he’s so deep.

Tony squeezes around him and it’s so good, it feels like pleasure is coming from all directions at once, friction incredibly good no matter how hard or shallowly Bucky thrusts into him. His rhythm is unpredictable, short and quick at times and slow and hard at others, not providing any reliable pattern that Tony can predict, not giving him enough stimulation to come – just enough so he can hang on the edge, cock bobbing with the force of the slap on Bucky’s hips against him, while Bucky takes and takes and takes, using Tony’s body to get off like it’s his only purpose, pulling back almost all the way to tease himself on the rim of Tony’s hole, grinding hard in a way that makes him moan brokenly between gritted teeth, to sinking in in one smooth thrust, moaning openly when he goes balls-deep.

Tony’s hips start to move on their own, helpless against Bucky’s pacing, begging for contact in the only way they can – but Bucky won’t let him. His hands grip tighter on Tony’s hipbones, the wide span of his big palms sinking into the curve of the bone, fingers digging into flesh, and he pulls Tony back and forth in his own rhythm, using him like a toy, giving his cock no attention whatsoever. Steve, laying by Tony’s side, running his fingers gently through Tony’s hair, is completely undeterred, uncaring of how Tony’s brows scrunch and how is mouth parts in heavy pants, how his hands wring the sheets, how he moans broken and pleading. He just watches, hungrily, as Bucky grows more and more hasty, his hips greedier, his moans harsher, his cock driving faster and faster into Tony’s ass until the slap of skin against skin is deafening.

Tony hasn’t been fucked this good in a long, long time. He has made do with his fingers and toys, in nights where his body just begs for something a mere hand around his dick won’t provide, the feeling of being in a vulnerable position and getting pleasure out of it, but it’s not the same. The sensation of being penetrated is different, filled and full and pushed open, the rub against his insides spreads bliss into his body in an entirely other way, and to know your partner is getting off on sliding into him, of the feel of his body, it’s electric. Every time Bucky moans as he bottoms out, as he pulls back and grinds his cockhead across Tony’s prostate – Tony feels aware of his body in a way he can’t feel any other way, an open, wanton sensuality so strong it almost makes him dizzy.

Bucky’s gonna come. His thrust get quicker and quicker, demanding, hungry, Tony can feel it – Bucky is gonna come, he’s gonna come, and Tony wants it but he’s doesn’t because Bucky’s coming and Tony is still hanging here, throbbing and aching, his balls heavy and hurting with the crushing need to spill, but he doesn’t want Bucky to stop, he wants Bucky to – to fuck him, to keep fucking him until he can’t, until his whole body locks up and he comes hard inside Tony, and he can’t do anything but take it. Tony wants Bucky to keep drilling into him, because it is pleasurable – not enough to make him come, but to hold him in this constant state of lust, the sensation steady and enjoyable, and despite the fact his cock is begging for some relief. He likes the feeling – being full of Bucky’s cock, Steve holding him down, everything. He can’t breathe right, the air hot and his lungs struggling to hold in the air every time Bucky’s hips punch gasps out of him in whiny sounds, but that’s okay. It’s okay.

Tony just doesn’t want to be empty.

But Bucky’s hips stutter, stutter and drive forward with force, and he lets out an incredibly ragged cry as he pushes his hips flush with Tony’s, grinding as deep as he can go, as he finally comes. His fingers press into Tony’s hips into shapes that will bloom into bruises later, he’s sure of it. Tony gasps with him, air going into him so suddenly it scratches his throat, brows furrowing and eyes squeezed shut – ah, he wishes –

He wishes he could feel Bucky coming into him. Shit, that would have been – Bucky’s wearing a condom, Tony knows, and the wet feeling in his hole is just the lube; But Bucky’s come, God, it would be so hot, dribbling out of Tony’s ass as he pulls back, marking him from the inside just like the bruises on his hips, he would really like that.

Jesus, it’s decadent, but he really likes the idea. He’s disappointed it didn’t happen. He really—

He really wants them to come inside, oh God. Mark him. Would they do that? Would they want to?

Tony heaves as his heart beats wildly in his chest, arms straining with the effort to hold him, hands kneading on the sheets and the ropes weaving around his palms anxiously, blood rushing into his ears, ardent desire flaring into him, lost in the fantasy and the relentless pulsing of his body, begging for attention. He feels lightheaded. He feels heavy with al the lust sinking deep into his muscles, mind scattering and unable to ignore the reactions of his body, lines of logic being cut off at the middle because his trembling won’t let him focus.

“Are you with us, baby?” A voice asks, from somewhere around him, but it sounds muffled, slurred, like sweet honey.

“Yes.” Tony replies, voice raspy as he if hadn’t spoken in weeks.

“Give us a color.”

“Green.” Tony cries, helplessly.

For a moment that feels like forever, nothing happens. Tony knows nothing but the trembling of his legs and the unbearably hot feeling of his skin as he leans his forehead against his own arm, and he lays there, unable to concentrate on anything that isn’t his shivering body, until something tugs on the ropes tied around his hands and, suddenly, the pull he feels on his wrists loosens, like it’s gone.

Hands reach down and push his face up by his jaw, cradling his face gently between large palms, and Tony’s eyes barely adjust to the shift in the light as he follows suit, not even the frantic blinking able to clear his sight.

“Kiss me, honey.” Someone – Steve, it’s Steve, Steve is holding him – says, firm and kind, and Tony feels so compelled to obey not even the heavy feeling on his arms is able to stop him from leaning forward and capturing Steve’s pink bitten lips with his own, panting mouth, sloppy and messy, but so eager.

“There you go. Look at you.” Bucky croons, the mattress moving as he gets up from behind Tony and crawls to him from the side, opposite to Steve, to brush soft touches into his hair. “So sweet. Knew you would be sweet.”

They think he’s sweet. Tony preens happily against Steve’s lips, and the kiss is cut short when Steve backs away before Tony is ready, and he is left hanging and desperate as Steve backs away and wraps his arm around Tony’s back, pressing one hand to his side and the other to his chest, steadying him and gently helping him up, as his arms tingle when they finally move from the position they were in.

They help Tony to his knees, his sluggish movements slow and clumsy, and he has to be held to make sure he won’t fall back down with how heavy he’s feeling. His hands are not tied to the headboard anymore, but he can’t still use them right. Bucky slides closer and kisses him as a reward, tender and delicate, and here, on his knees, being kissed so soft when his body feels so open and raw – it’s exhilarating, so overwhelming, and his neck falls back lazily when Bucky pushes him away a little, to look into his eyes, gaze scorching hot as he says:

“Gonna give Steve his turn now?”

Tony nods eagerly, gulping dry and blinking slowly, but body just as earnest as before.

Bucky hums thoughtfully, his eyes scanning Tony’s exposed, trembling body with no shame, like it’s his right, and asks, suggestively, “Can you ride him, sweet thing?”

“He can.” Steve says, immediately, with complete confidence. “Can’t you, honey?”

Tony’s nods turn frantic, the fuzzy feeling making his vision blurry and cloudy, his tongue working uselessly trying to plead yes, anything, but he can’t get the words out properly. All that comes out is a dreamy sigh, a frail little thing, but he hopes Steve can understand, how badly Tony needs it, how much he wants it anyway.

They don’t remove the rope cuffs from his hands. Steve pushes the pillows up and settles against them on the headboard, sprawling like he’s a god ready to be serviced, fisting his own hard cock at a lazy pace, pulling the foreskin over the head a few times just to tease himself, before reaching for a condom and tearing the package open to slide it down his shaft; Tony watches like a dog hungry for a treat, hypnotized by the movement. With a slight nudge from Bucky, Tony crawls forward awkwardly, opening his legs around Steve’s sides with a slight difficulty, but succeeding, daring to lay a hand over Steve’s hard stomach to balance himself, basking in the feeling of all that cut muscle flexing under his fingers when Steve lets out an amused laugh.

“You can’t do that, honey.” Steve chastises, and takes Tony’s hand away – both of them, raising the other from the mattress as Tony finally finds his balance, finding the dangling ropes hanging from the ties and pulling them back, to Bucky, laying them on his hands. “Bucky is gonna make sure you behave, okay? Be good.”

They move him like – like a doll. Steve positions his hips and Bucky tugs the ropes back, pulling Tony’s hands to hold them behind his back, and Tony is just a body for Steve to enjoy, lowering his hips and aligning himself with one hand until his cock brushes against the wet entrance, dragging the lube up and down as he grinds against Tony’s cleft, lecherous, before the pushes into the rim with a buck of his hips and  Tony bears down, the band of muscle opening effortlessly around the pressure.

The slide of Steve’s cock in his tender, burning hole stings deliciously, the stretch just a little wider than Bucky’s, but just as good, just as encompassing and sensual, and Tony throws his head back and moans, hearty and satisfied, the pressure inside agonizingly pleasurable, and then – Steve keeps pushing, and pushing, and he’s so big and he’s going all the way in right away, opening him up so deep, and Tony’s moans turn into a whine, the sensation of fullness he’s been craving finally being fulfilled, with no pause to breathe.

Tony feels his face burning, his eyelids are heavy and his head is dizzy, all muffled and blurred around the edges, the world not registering anymore. All he can feel is how heated his skin is, how heavy his dick feels, how sensitive his insides are. The feel of Steve’s cock inside him is so solid, a stiff, hard, hot pressure against the tender walls, and he’s not sure if he can come like this, but oh God, he might. He might. Steve is still, patient and in control, iron-clad will even if Tony can feel how hard he is inside him, and Tony wants desperately to ride him as fast and dirty as he can, but he just stays there, letting Steve stuff him full, until he can’t take any more, arms held back and chest completely open, head thrown back in abandon.

“Good boy.”

Hng.” Tony bites his lip so hard he almost breaks skin, his head falling forward to hide his red face and his hands tightening into fists as his hips unconsciously twitch and he rocks on Steve’s lap, and he has to force himself to stop, because he urge to move is so strong, but he doesn’t have permission yet. Steve said not to move.

“That’s it.” Bucky praises too, at the shell of Tony’s reddening ears, “Good boy, Tony.”

Oh, please.

Please.

Just – please.

“Open your eyes.”

Tony squeezes them tighter, feeling so overwhelmed he doesn’t know how to react, but they are having none of it.

“No.” Steve reprimands, “I want to see you. C’mon, sweet thing. Show us how much you want this. How much you like it.”

He can’t escape. His hands are trapped in Bucky’s hold, his ass is flush with Steve’s hips and Steve’s cock is filling him full, and he’s throbbing and his cock hurts and leaks precome down the swollen red head and gets no relief, won’t get any relief until Steve comes, and Tony wants it, Tony wants him to come, to fuck him hard and grind into him filthy and merciless, and Tony wants it.

Tony opens his eyes, barely seeing anything past a blurry sheen of tears that well up unbidden, but he does it and he looks at Steve—

“That’s it.” Steve growls, and with a snap of his hips, he whispers, “That’s my good boy.”

All that matters it’s the pleasure. It’s all that exists. The intense, blunt, piercing sensation inside his body, the tender slide against his sensitive walls, the soft, teasing brushes against his sensitive prostate – he’s at their mercy and he likes it, he loves it, he does

He’s so exposed, his chest pushed out by the strength of Bucky’s hold, his neck arched in surrender because he can’t hold his head up for the life of him, the strain of the angle in his throat making him sound like he’s been screaming for hours on end, cracked and broken and ravenous. He’s wanton. He can feel it, he can feel – he feels like a slut, his bruised, aching hips rocking and grinding without his will as Steve drives into him with a strength and force that almost punches the moans out of him, his opening sore and throbbing around Steve’s girth, the tug of skin against wet skin of his rim stinging so hot, his body so sensitive inside, but he keeps going. He doesn’t want to stop, he wants them to keep moving him, to keep him trapped, to fuck him, over and over, until he can’t anymore.

He wants Steve to come inside him. Oh, fuck, that’s it – What if Steve wasn’t using a condom, how would it feel? It would feel so good. So, so good. Next time they fuck, Tony is going to beg them not to use them, he’ll do anything for them to agree on fucking him bare. They could fill him up, make a mess of him. Fuck him when he’s sloppy wet, yes, so wet his body won’t even resist the intrusion. Until Tony is dripping with their spend and all warm and full.

Tony can see the bounce of his cock if he looks down, bright red between the curls of his pubic hair, so rigid and needy it’s sinful, and for some reason, it’s erotic to watch, to see the way it jerks up and down with the flow of his hips, the pearly shine of precome flowing out of his slit; Tony’s body clenches with a wave of arousal so strong it makes his toes curl, hips twisting as if they can’t handle the pleasure when he squeezes around the cock inside him like a vice, dragging a long moan out of Steve without meaning to.

“Gonna make me come, baby? C’mon. Squeeze real tight for me. I wanna feel it.”

Steve is gonna come, yes, yes, please—

He can’t help it, his hips are moving on their own, his thighs getting tighter and tighter around him, squeezing his sides and spreading the taut feeling to his calves and feet, his body getting aroused to a point he knows he won’t be able to come back from. He’s getting there, he’s – he rocks and grinds as hard as he can, spurred on by the anticipation, by the idea that Steve is close and it’s his body bringing him there, it’s Tony’s body and Steve likes it, and it’s so good, and Tony is getting close too, he’s getting close again, and he can’t hold it back.

He can watch – he watches as Steve’s neck pulls tight with his strained moans, brows furrowing deep and eyes falling shut slowly, his face contorting in a mixture of pleasure and pain that’s so pretty, so beautiful that Tony will never be able to forget. It’s as hot as the feeling of Steve’s cock slipping inside him, the way his thrusts start to lose their hammering rhythm and start to stagger, his body straining under Tony’s to keep shoving his hips up again and again, pounding into him, and nothing exists besides this, nothing, nothing but the feeling of Steve’s body and the heat of Bucky’s presence at his back, the kisses and hickeys he sucks onto Tony’s shoulders.

He can’t breathe, he’s getting higher, and closer, closer, so tight, he can’t –

Steve shoves in hard and stays there, pumping lazily as he fills the condom with come, throbbing inside Tony as his release hits him like a freight train, and Tony wails, wails in pleasure and irritation both, because suddenly, the friction is gone and he needs it back, Steve is coming, Tony made him come, but please

“Oh, that’s it.” Steve mewls, mollified by his orgasm, and Tony doesn’t know what he’s doing, what he’s talking about, because all he can think is more, more, more.

His eyes slip shut again and he cries, not sure what he’s asking for, other than more friction, more touch, more sensation. There’s something aflame inside him and he doesn’t know how to put it out, he needs them, he needs them to do it for him, because he’s trapped and he can’t work out how to do it, his brain is fuzzy and nebulous and the instinct of reaching to touch himself isn’t working for some reason. His arms aren’t moving.

He is brought down by gentle hands, leaning forward and hands freed from whatever was trapping them suddenly, but they immediately dart down and balance him on a firm chest he’s being lain on, instead of moving towards his own erection. He sinks his nails on hard muscle and pants against tanned skin, breathing wet where it leaves his parted, drooling lips, and only musters a muffled groan when his hips are grabbed and pulled up, the solid weight inside his hole slipping away and leaving him empty, only for that pressure to be replaced by something lither and flexible, that immediately pumps into him with a ferocious speed, dragging a sob out of him.

“Such a good boy.” A gravely, rough voice whispers in his ear, mellow and syrupy, like the sinuous flow of a river, drowning Tony in sweetness. Bucky. Bucky. “Been so obedient. So responsive. So good, sweet thing.”

The pressure inside him curls, pushes insistently at the tender spot right there, right where Tony wants it most, and it’s sensitive, and it’s enough to make his whole body writhe violently, unprepared for the intensity of sensation.

“Come for us, Tony.” The other, Steve, it’s Steve, says into his hair, breathing in deep in a movement Tony can feel underneath him, his chest expanding in a soothing rhythm, the cradle of his arms secure and safe and everything Tony wants. “You’ve been so good for us. You can have a reward. You can come, sweetheart.”

And a hand grips his cock, his needy, twitching cock, and there’s no tease – it slides up and down, tight, and slick, and amazing, tugging from base to tip quick and dirty, twisting up and squeezing down, and Tony’s hips greedily snap forward, into the fist, back into the penetration, and once he starts, and no one stops him, he keeps going and going and going, rutting desperately between them, insatiable and mindless, desiring nothing but relief.

Bucky presses his fingers on his prostate, fuck, so tender, oh God, it’s too much – Steve’s fist around his cock, slick and warm pulling tight, rubbing hotly at the head, squeezing – Bucky rubs it hard, fast circles, and Ton’s body trembles and contracts and jerks, he’s going so tight – Steve presses the soft skin right below the crown with his thumb, just enough pressure, rubs and drags slow and oh, oh, that’s it, yes, Tony clenches and it’s so good, Bucky’s fingers, Steve’s hand, so close, so close, yespleaseyesyes—

His entire body locks up, agonizing bliss, and he comes like it explodes out of him, tipping over the edge suddenly and so strongly he screams.

He grinds down and thrusts and comes, comes so hard, he has never felt anything so intense as this. His legs twitch around Steve’s body, toes catching at the rumpled sheets as he jostles, muscles spasming with the force of the orgasm, working with all their strength to force the ache in his balls up into his cock, for him to spill and spill, until he’s twitching with the effort, dry and empty, until he has nothing left. His balls tingle, his body is exhausted, and he lets his head fall and forehead lean into the collarbone right in front of him, letting the strength of the bodies that surround him to hold him together, letting himself float above the clouds like he’s high, mind scattered like sand on the wind, full of white noise that blurs with the leftover buzz of ecstasy, not fully grasping anything. Just lost. Lost to the sensation of it.

Christ, he feels… he feels used. He feels like he’s been pried open and they have taken everything, and filled him with misty, hazy euphoria instead.

They hold him tight. They are warm and sticky but so careful and gentle, and they hold him, and it’s the best feeling in the world, to be held by them. They massage his thighs and calves, they brush fond touches across his hips, they clean his stomach and his ass with caring attention, and they pretend they can’t see how even this barest, simplest of actions still makes him squirm a bit, body still wired into a thread that simply melts every sensation into liquid gold pleasure. They lay him down, and they… hold him.

They kiss him. They caress him.

It’s the safest Tony has felt in years.

Fuck. Fuck, that’s so pretty. You’re so pretty, sweet thing.”

“You were so good, baby.”

“Good?” Tony slurs, languidly, eyes closed blissfully as his breathing finally starts to settle, the aftershocks slowly wearing down from his exhausted muscles.

“So good for us, sweetheart.” Steve assures, nosing Tony’s neck with surprising intimacy, seeming content with just staying there. “You were incredible.”

“Thank you so much, baby.” Bucky says, almost in a whisper, kissing his cheek, massaging his chest with his broad hand mindlessly, in soothing motions. “Thank you, doll. Thank you for being so obedient and so patient for us. It was amazing.”

“You feel so good, Tony. So, so good.” Steve echoes, squeezing his hip in a comforting gesture, rubbing his thumb over the red marks on Tony’s hipbones lovingly. “It’s so good to see you enjoying yourself. To see you feel good. Thank you.”

“We loved it. So much. Could have done this forever. Never wanted it to stop. So perfect, doll.”

“Can’t wait for the next time, honey. You’re such a good boy.”

Next time. Tony smiles dazedly.

Next time.

“Feel good.” Tony mumbles, sleepily. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, doll.” A kiss. On his lips. On his forehead. He hums in delight, but he can’t keep his eyes open. He drifts a little bit.

“Sleep, sweetheart.” A strong hug. Warm. Tony just feels good. “We’ll take care of you.”

 


 

To: Natasha Romanoff

(11:42 am) I hate you.

 

From: Natasha Romanoff

(11:44 am) No, you don’t.

 


 

From: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

(02:01 pm) Bucky: Hey, Tony. How are you feeling?

 

From: Tony Stark

(02:04 pm) I’m fine.

(02:04 pm) Thank you for bringing me breakfast. I forgot to say that. Sorry.

(02:05 pm) Thank you.

 

From: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

(02:06 pm) Steve: No problem, honey. You were still a little under. We liked taking care of you.

(02:06 pm) Steve: Thank you so much for the great night. It was really something else, sweetheart.

(02:06 pm) Bucky: Thank you, doll. We really loved it.

 

From: Tony Stark

(02:08 pm) Me too. Thank you.

 

From: Tony Stark

(09:36 pm) Did you guys mean it? About a ‘next time’?

 

From: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

(09:38 pm) Steve: Yes.

(09:38 pm) Bucky: Every word.

 

From: Tony Stark

(09:39 pm) Okay.

(09:55 pm) How does Saturday sound?

 

From: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

(09:56 pm) Bucky: Perfect.

(09:56 pm) Steve: Any time, any place, sweetheart.