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Best Laid

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Tony notices, of course he does, because (ask anyone) he’s been plenty self-destructive and he knows the signs. Steve runs headlong into danger, throws himself at it, doesn’t even flirt, just wades in like a man drunk off his ass and using bad “are you an angel ‘cause you look heavenly” pick-up lines. Thor saves his life once or twice, Tony a lot more, and Steve is such a great fighter he actually does it himself the rest of the time.

Actually, Steve disguises his problems really well; most of the team only notices after the fifth time he charges in without backup. Tony would be impressed, if he weren’t so... not. He has the monopoly on being a selfish bastard, not Captain Godamn America.

“Hast thou noticed,” Thor says to him in (what passes, for Thor) in an undertone a few hours after Steve has to be taken to the infirmary for a broken arm, “that the Captain courts danger most...”

“Enthusiastically?” Clint says, popping up out of nowhere like the fucking ninja he is. Almost worse than Natasha, Tony swears.

“Verily,” Thor says. God, that guy is Tony’s favorite. (Oh, pun.) Verily. Jesus.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Tony is always the fixer. This is what comes from being a genius billionaire, his life is so hard.

Thor stares at him with big puppy-dog eyes. A really old alien-god-thing shouldn’t be able to do that, it shouldn’t be allowed. Clint snickers at him in the background.

“Fine, fine, I’m amazing, I’ll deal with it, oh my god, here just--have a pop tart, I need to--” Tony yanks open a cabinet in the kitchen and shoves a box of pastries at Thor, grabs his coffee (which was what started this whole mess, how could coffee betray him so, he was going to install a coffeemaker in his lab after this) and runs.

The thing is, he can’t stop thinking about it. He may forget to eat and sleep for days at a time, and never remember birthdays, and almost kill people by accidentally giving them food they’re allergic to, but he keeps all his really important promises. Mostly.

Captain America trying to kill himself in action is definitely important.

Right. Fine. He can deal with this.


He can’t deal with it.

Tony has basically two methods for solving a problem: take it apart and build it better, or seduce it so it isn’t a problem anymore. Steve won’t let him touch his shield, there’s only so much he’ll let Tony do to his armor, and Tony is pretty sure Steve is straight.

He wonders if plying Steve with alcohol will solve anything.


Apparently, Steve can’t get drunk.

“Wow, that sucks,” Tony says.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and roundhouse kicks the punching bag so hard it flies back with a loud snapping sound. Tony takes a step away.

“So I’ll just...” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the doorway.

“Bye, Tony.”

Tony leaves.


Two weeks and five near-death experiences later, Tony decides, fuck it. Steve is a guy. If Tony ambushes him with a blowjob, he’s not going to say no.

“The fact that you’re seriously using ‘ambush’ and ‘blowjob’ in conjunction with each other worries me,” Pepper tells him when he informs her of his plan. “Also, I don’t ever want to hear you talk about blowjobs, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony says. “So it’s a good idea, right?”

“Not everybody is you, Tony,” Pepper says, and hangs up. Tony contemplates this for a while and comes to the conclusion: obviously. Nobody is as awesome as he is.


“What--” Steve says, fingers fumbling at Tony’s shoulder, over his ear and knocking on the side of his head.

“Shut up and listen,” Tony mutters, and makes a triumphant noise as Steve’s belt clicks open.

“How am I supposed to listen when you aren’t saying anyth--Tony!

Tony hums around a mouthful of Steve’s cock (and hah, totally called it, the man goes commando under his armor, how does he get it not to chafe?) and Steve jerks and makes a little whiny noise, fingers going tight on the back of Tony’s neck. Tony rewards this behavior with a move some blonde -- or maybe redhead? -- taught him, Janice or Janet or something, a twist of tongue and a hint of teeth and Steve lets out an explosive sigh.

Tony,” Steve says again, except this time it low and reverent and breathless, which is the way Tony likes it. “What--”

Tony sucks. Steve shouts.

He works Steve until his jaw is sore, until Steve’s thighs are trembling and the he’s panting, little involuntary noises tearing their way out of his chest.

“Puh--Please,” Steve says eventually, agonized. Tony thinks about it, and then decides to be merciful. Steve comes gratifyingly quickly, a surge of hips before he manages to control himself to just little pulsing thrusts, and Tony sucks and swallows because he’s polite like that, and also because he likes the way Steve groans every time his throat works.

Afterwards he leans back and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth (come in his beard, that always happens) and looks up at Steve, who is totally wrecked. A warm tendril of satisfaction coils in his stomach.

Steve tries to speak, manages nothing but moving his lips, and tries again: “Tony?”

“Tell you what, champ,” Tony says, and then clears his throat. “I’ll do this every day if you cut out your death wish thing, all right? It’s bullshit and it doesn’t suit you.”

He claps Steve on the shoulder and strides away, leaving the other man leaning dazed against the wall, pants around his ankles.


“Anthony!” Thor booms. Tony barely keeps himself from flinching; the only person who ever called him by his full name was his father. “You have proven to be victorious, I see!”

“What?” Tony says. “Oh, yeah, I did blast that last one pretty good, huh, glad you noticed, big guy, and your swing there wasn’t bad either--”

Thor gives him a look. “I meant concerning the good Captain,” he says, and nudges Tony hard enough to shift him even with the armor on. Right, Steve didn’t try to kill himself by throwing himself into the jaws of the invading army of giant mutant sharks. And then Thor winks. Jesus, kill him now.

“Oh. Thanks?”

“You are welcome!” Thor claps him on the back.

Tony retracts his statement about Thor being his favorite.


“Are we ever going to talk about this?” Tony stares at the ceiling, hands behinds his head. Steve scoots closer and nuzzles behind his ear.

“Should we?” he says, breath warm on Tony’s skin.

“Definitely not, no.”

“Well, then.”