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"Tony?" Steve asked, from somewhere above where Tony was spread out and shuddering on the sheets. He blinked. A couple of times. Fuzzy, fuzzy, focus–there.

Steve's face was a flushed mess, and if anyone ever wondered what Captain America looked like after a marathon round of eating ass like a particularly patriotic porn star, well, the answer was really fucking hot. His eyes were glazed and dopey, color high and patchy over his cheeks and neck, and his blond hair was puffing out around his head like ragged dandelion fluff. Fucking amazing, right?

"Nnnngh," Tony said cleverly, and there were words in there. Somewhere. JARVIS could probably work out a Sexed-Out-Tony-to-English dictionary in an hour or so, but that'd be a criminal waste of time and resources better dedicated to pimping out the armor. He shook his head to clear it instead and tried again. "Yeah?"

"I just–" Steve stuttered, looking down at his hands and then back at Tony. He was staring, his arms curved over Tony's thighs to keep Tony open under his gaze, somehow holding a perfect plank by his goddamn elbows. He was contemplating Tony's licked-open ass like he was having trouble believing he'd just turned Tony into a whimpering, quivering mess with his tongue but still had all the time in the world to figure out what to do next. And that was just naïve. They were Avengers. They avenged things–preemptively, if they were lucky–and that meant they were On Call. All the time. At any moment the comms could ring and then they'd have to skip out on sexy-times, again, to go fight Doombots, or sparkly-ass unicorns, or Thor's mother's cousin's handmaid's son who was just a bit confused and not really all that evil. Like Loki Lite, with all the machinations, and only half the malice.

So, Steve was staring. Tony was too used to being stared at to be self-conscious about it, but looking wasn't doing and doing was something Tony would really like to get on with, ASAP, now, please. Yes. Preferably before the inevitable rescue-my-kitten-from-the-Mandarin-and-oh-by-kitten-I-mean-Thing-That-Wants-To-Eat-Your-Face call to assemble.

(Tony was grateful he'd designed the armor complete with faceplate, because the Iron Man armor seemed to be a magnet for unassuming cute things that really wanted to eat his face. Present company included, though he didn't mind so much when it was Steve.)

Lucky for them both, Tony was brilliant at taking initiative. It was one of his primary selling features. Tony Stark: innovative genius, filthy rich, dead sexy, and carpe-ing the fucking diem all over the US of A.

He waited, as patiently as he could (which was more patient-ish under a normal scale but Tony had a gift for pushing the curve until it whimpered and begged for mercy). He squirmed against the weight over his thighs–and yeah, wow, Steve was strong–and Steve's eyes met his, still a bit glassy and heavy of the lid, but so damn kind and present and Steve that Tony kind of wanted to squirm for entirely different reasons. He smiled, instead. A slow, teasing one, like the one that won him a cover spread in Vanity Fair, except he meant it this time. "Want me to show you where to start, big guy?" he asked, tracing the curve of his lower lip with one manicured nail.

Steve sucked in a quick breath, and really, it was adorable, the way he could still blush like that despite having been dating Tony Fucking Stark for almost a year now. But he must've learned something about shamelessness and hedonism and carpe-ing diems in that almost-a-year because he nodded, keeping his eyes riveted on Tony's hand. "Yes," he said. "Please. Show me."

Never one to turn down an invitation to perform for an audience, Tony trailed his hand down his chest, brushing against his nipples, because Steve was a nipple man and he'd get a charge over watching them harden under Tony's work calluses. They did, and Steve sighed, right on schedule, shifting his weight forward like he wanted to taste. "Ah, ah!" Tony admonished, holding Steve back by pressing his knees into Steve's flanks.

Steve relaxed and shot Tony an amused glance. "I thought I was supposed to take the lead on this one," he said, licking his lips like he was still tasting Tony on his tongue and wanted more. That was never going to get old.

"At ease, soldier," Tony said, in lieu of the pleading whimper that was building in his throat, and really, that level of control was worthy of some sort of special commendation or field promotion. He could totally pull off the gravitas for Major Stark. In the right circumstances. Probably. "We've got other mission objectives tonight," he said, after a brief mental pause to enjoy the idea of Senator Stern pinning that medal on him. "Now pay attention to the demonstration, or I'll make you run laps around the mansion. Naked."

"Yes, sir," Steve laughed, settling his weight back down to enjoy the show. "I'll be good."

And that, that right there–Steve's laugh–was a big part of why they were doing this now. It made Tony want to curl up inside Steve's skin, throw himself wide open and take in as much of him as he could hold and be greedy about it, because he'd never really had anyone to laugh with in bed before. He never really thought that he'd want that. Until Steve.

Even Pepper hadn't been able to make him just switch off and enjoy it–though he'd enjoyed it, don't ever think otherwise–but he'd still been so keen and wired and relentlessly on that it was hard to untangle the now from the everything else in his head and he'd been secretly terrified the whole time that he'd say something, or do something, so unspeakably Tony that it'd all be over before he had a chance to try.

Which is, of course, pretty much exactly what happened.

Steve, however, just laughed when Tony muttered math into the pillows. He was cool with JARVIS taking notes, and even okay with Tony skipping the afterglow to review them and disappear into his workshop to put specs to paper and run schematics. For all his bitching and moaning about Tony needing to eat and sleep and all that other mundane shit, Steve actually liked Tony. As Tony. Tony was a genius, he had the degrees to prove it; he knew a good thing when he saw it and he'd be an idiot if he missed out on his chance to get everything he could while they lasted.

So, when Steve had approached him two nights ago, all shy smiles and that improbable, adorable blush, half-joking when he asked if there was anything Tony hadn't done already...

Well, after a quick scan of feature fantasies–the good stuff, not the embarrassing new kink for snuggling he wasn't going to cop to on pain of death–Tony's answer had been simple:

Tony trusted Steve, in bed or on the battlefield. Absolutely. Whereas Steve sometimes touched him like he was afraid Tony would break without the armor. He may not be a super soldier, but Tony was a pretty tough guy. For fuck's sake, he'd built the goddamn arc reactor while hooked up to car battery. In a cave. He could take more. He wanted to take more. He just needed to prove it.

And Steve had the most amazing hands.

Lying there on the bed, Tony licked his lips and darted a glance down at said hands, resting on his thighs. Big, strong, tanned, and unscarred. Beautiful. Capable. Steve's. He shivered, filled with the anticipation and longing that would have sent him running for a bottle and a few hundred of his closest associates before Yinsen and the armor had shown him there was more. Before the Avengers. Before Steve. Warmed at the thought, he peered up at Steve through his lashes. "You're always good," he said with a smirk. "I just want you to behave."

Steve huffed his amusement. "Pot, kettle." Steve's thumbs were the best kind of distracting, running tiny circles on the skin of Tony's inner thighs. On with the show then, before he really did lose it and beg Steve to stuff him full of cock instead. Which, while not a bad thing at all, wasn't on tonight's agenda.

"Or maybe the student has finally surpassed the master," he offered, winking. He pinched his nipples with one hand until they hurt, playing up the helpless arch of his spine until Steve was twitching with restraint. His other hand dusted down over his stomach, light touches that would be ticklish if they weren't his. His dick was hard. Of course it was; naked in bed with Captain America was one of those situations where your dick had better be hard, or else. He gave it a friendly tug and kept skimming, down the crease where his thigh met groin, brushing Steve's knuckles with his fingertips, enjoying the light hiss of breath before continuing, tracing a path to the soft, smooth skin under his balls, stopping finally at the clench of his hole.

He teased his fingers around the rim, still soft and wet from Steve's tongue and just loose enough from his earlier prep to pull in the pad of his finger when he brushed over it. "God, Steve," he said, toying just at the edge. "I'm still wet with you here, still loose enough to take some more."

Steve shuddered. His eyes were dark, almost entirely pupil as he watched Tony sink his index finger in up to the first knuckle. "Tony, you're–"

"Dead fucking sexy, I know it, baby." Tony grinned and pressed in harder. Two knuckles now, and he could feel the burn. "How far do you think I can get with just your spit? Two fingers? Three?" He spread his legs wider, almost toppling Steve who forgot to rebalance himself. He was staring again and the weight of it settled on Tony like the armor; he felt powerful and just and worthy, all at once. "Fuck," he panted. "I'll take my own fist dry if you promise to never stop looking at me like that."

"Tony," Steve said, low and urgent, like he was saving the world with a whisper or something. Maybe he could; he was Captain America. "No, Tony. I want–"

Three fingers now. Just him and Steve's spit, going deep enough to hurt if it he hadn't been wearing the plug all afternoon in anticipation. "Yeah," he said, crooking his fingers and scraping his way back down, moaning when the jolt of pleasure shocked through him like electricity (it was remarkably similar to the time he'd accidentally stepped in the line of fire for one of Thor's lightning strikes. Only, you know, good). "Yeah, Steve. I want you to."

Steve's nostrils flared. Tony watched Steve's abs clench in fascinated, toe-curling approval as he levered himself to kneeling. Steve's hands shook when he reached for the lube, spilling some onto the black silk sheets in his eagerness. Tony liked the image he presented, the way the darker material framed Steve's skin, outlining him like one of the clever caricatures Tony found scribbled on spare scraps of paper all around the mansion.

"That's right," Tony breathed, "get them wet. Get me wet. Gonna feel so good." He pressed his fingers back in, a placeholder and reminder of what was to come. He groaned at the thought. "So good."

Steve's hand was soaked and dripping when he finally brushed against Tony's hole. He leaned forward, hoisting one of Tony's legs up over his shoulder. "Like this?" he asked, ragged and strained.

"Mmmm," Tony sighed, withdrawing his fingers entirely to guide Steve's into place. "Like this, yeah. Start with two. I'm good for two."

One of the best things about being part of a team and knowing each other's strengths and weaknesses was that Steve took him at his word. Two blunt, strong fingers pushed inside without hesitation to Tony's great appreciation. One of the best things about being part of a Relationship was that Steve knew exactly how to push Tony's buttons. More specifically, where to find his prostate, and holy shit–that was good. Great even.

Tony didn't bother biting back his moans. Steve liked him noisy and JARVIS had heard it all before. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck," he whined, wriggling his hips to work himself down on Steve's fingers and take him deeper. "Harder, just like that. Fuck, you're amazing. So fucking good at everything. Wish you could be in me all the time, just like that."

Steve took that as his cue to work in another finger, wet with lube and spreading Tony apart with short, sharp thrusts in.

"God Tony, you're so–" Steve bit his lip to stop whatever Tony was from escaping and that was fine, really. Perfect. Tony could talk enough for both of them. Another point in Steve's favor was that he liked listening to Tony talk, but was totally willing to shove his tongue down Tony's throat when he'd had enough. Tony could get behind that strategy. Captain America, tactical genius. And a fucking phenomenal kisser.

On that happy thought, he pulled Steve down with his leg, took hold of his face and shut them both up for a minute. Steve's mouth was hot and wet and filthy, such a contrast to the poster boy image. Tony could still taste a hint of mint in Steve's kiss and he fought a grin at the thought of Steve getting ready for tonight. He'd brushed his teeth before coming to bed, because of course he did–a night spent doing filthy, awesome, amazing things to your boyfriend's ass with your tongue was no excuse to skimp on hygiene. Tony bit down on Steve's lower lip and ground himself down on Steve's hand to show his appreciation.

Steve bit back, hard enough to sting. Tony wrenched away and licked at the spot that would be swollen tomorrow. Steve's lips were red and puffy, and it was a damn shame that he healed so fast. For now, though, Tony could take in the beard burn on Steve's jaw and he'd remember how it felt to be the one to put it there. (For the record, photographic memories were awesome. Everyone should have one.)

"I think–" Tony started, and stopped. Steve was reading him again, like the serum had granted telepathy with the more obvious, physical gifts. A fourth finger slid in to the first knuckle, slick and sure, and if ever there was a time to admire Steve's ability to multitask, it was now; Tony hadn't even noticed him going for more lube. It felt good. Huge. Steve's pinky was just over three-quarters of an inch wide at the knuckle and Tony was acutely aware of every extra micron of it, filling him. He squeezed his eyes shut and just let himself feel it, grateful they'd forgone the gloves in favor of the heat of skin-to-skin. "Oh fuck, wow, yeah," he choked.

"Tony?" Steve sounded worried, and that wasn't... that just wasn't on. He swallowed and forced his eyes to open.

Steve's eyebrows were drawn in and he was frowning a little. "I'm hurting you," he said, scanning Tony's face anxiously. He shifted as if to withdraw and Tony scrabbled, reaching down to seize his wrist and hold it in place.

"No," he said. "Don't stop."

Steve shook his head. "Tony," he said, all wide-eyed concern. "I can't–"

Tony reached up and covered Steve's mouth. "Just... give me a minute. God, Steve, I swear, I want this. This is good, I can fucking feel you all the way inside." He was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but he had to make Steve understand. He squeezed Steve's wrist, forced himself to relax. "Trust me." He dropped his hand down to his cock, still hard against his stomach. Steve's eyes tracked the movement automatically and he sucked in air through his teeth as Tony stroked himself.

"I want this," Tony said, again, desperation bubbling in his voice so his words ran on top of each other. "I want you. I want it so the only thing I can feel is you. I want to see the look on your face when you're inside me, because I bet it's amazing, you're so fucking gorgeous and you can't fucking stop now–" He clenched his jaw to dam the flood of words and bore down on Steve's hand, four fingers deep and worth every tiny stab of discomfort because it was Steve and them and he needed this.

Steve shuddered. "Ok," he said, finally, the tension in his arm easing. He leaned down to nuzzle at Tony's throat, making soothing sounds between barely-there kisses. "Ok. Just... you have to tell me if it's too much." He met Tony's eyes, steady and earnest. "You have to promise."

Tony bit back a probably tasteless quip about his track record with promises and nodded. "Yeah," he said, releasing his grip on Steve's wrist and bringing his hand up to brush the hair off Steve's forehead. "Yeah, I promise."

Steve's answering smile was soft and sweet and it did something to Tony, seeing his word just accepted, not run through countless Tony-bullshit detectors and weighed against his history to be found wanting. Tony said 'trust me' and Steve did. "Come here," he whispered, threading his fingers through Steve's hair and tugging him closer.

This time, their kiss was softer–lips and tongues meeting in languid exploration. Steve pressed him down onto the sheets, folding Tony's knee against his chest–billionaire geniuses, bendier than you might think–and holding him in place with his weight as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of Tony's hole gently. Unbearably gently, so that the movement hardly registered against the fullness and the pressure. Tony sighed into the kiss, rocking his hips in time to the advances of Steve's tongue over his.

"How does it feel?" Steve asked when they parted for air. He knelt back, lifting his shoulder to keep Tony's leg slung across it while he reached for more lube. He embodied every masturbatory fantasy Tony'd had since finding his father's stash of Captain America memorabilia at age thirteen. Unmarked skin stretched over muscles that would make a bodybuilder weep in envy, every angle and hollow outlined and displayed for Tony's viewing pleasure in high definition, crisp detail almost too sharp to take in at once. Perfect, really. And so much better for being interactive. Tony didn't have to imagine what the blunt fingers would feel like out of gloves and stretching him wide. He knew. He knew how warm they were, where there were rough patches of skin from Steve worrying the beds of his fingernails with his teeth. He knew how they slid together when Steve squeezed more lube over his hand because they were pushing in, slippery and wet, right now. He knew how they could twist and maneuver inside to brush over his prostate and keep him strung out at the edge of orgasm for hours–had it been hours? No, no, not yet, but he could and had before and would again–and really, how could Steve expect Tony to put that into words.

He tried anyway, because giving Steve what he wanted was always worth the effort. "It feels–" he gasped as Steve rolled his wrist and pushed in further. "Oh, fuck, it feels full. Like you're everywhere. and Jesus, do that again–yeah, yeah, come on. Harder." Tony writhed and squirmed as Steve obeyed. "It's different, I knew it'd be different. That makes sense. Your cock doesn't have knuckles and that would be weird, but I can feel them and it's everywhere." Steve's hand went deeper still, setting off a new thrill of bliss burning through Tony's body. Tony arched into the motion, greedy for more. "And condoms," he blathered on, "ribbed condoms. We have to try that. Why haven't we tried that? I'll buy you a cock ring, with studs, we'll get toys and–oh fuck, don't stop–"

A chuckle rumbled in Steve's chest before he curled down to do that tongue-down-throat thing that meant Tony could stop talking. "I won't," he promised as he pulled away. "Are you..?"

Tony focused on breathing through his nose and nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice just shy of thready. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm ready."

Steve leaned away, fumbling for the lube. His hand was trembling. That was... surprisingly hot. Tony had known he was going to enjoy this–his fantasy, right? But knowing that Steve was with him, into it so much that he actually shook from wanting it, sent a coil of warmth through his cock and into his stomach, strong enough to override the burning fullness of Steve's hand in his ass.

"I want you to watch," Tony said, abruptly.

Steve raised a questioning eyebrow.

"When you do it," Tony clarified. He reached down to trace the edge of his hole where it was stretched, so wet and so wide over Steve's hand. He shivered. "I want you to watch me take you all the way in. I want to see your face when you make me come."

"Jesus, Tony," Steve breathed, face flushing red even as his eyes glazed over. Nipples and dirty talk, worked every time. Tony hoped that wouldn't change, that Steve's blushes and turn-ons would be as fixed and immutable as his decency and strength. He wanted Steve to always say his name like that, just a note shy of helpless. He'd program it as his fucking ringtone if he didn't think Steve would kill him for it.

Tony slid his leg down from Steve's shoulder and nudged him to the side with his knee, centering him. He splayed his legs open, so that Steve was framed between them. He loved the contrast of Steve's golden tan next to Tony's own olive tones. His direct line-of-sight was his own cock, hard and leaking over his abs and Steve, bent over his arm as he worked his way deep into Tony. Steve watched the sinking progress as requested, and with dazed fascination. It was another one of those mental pictures that Tony was going to keep forever.

He felt it, of course he did, when Steve's thumb nudged inside, tucked under the pad of his index finger. It burned, even with the lube, but it was the cathartic burn of staying up for too many hours and drinking too many cups of JARVIS's amazing Italian roast and finally pushing past the fog of exhaustion into that place where everything just made sense. Tony groaned and kept himself still, breathing through the pain, knowing it would be worth it.

"Still all right?" Steve asked, pausing his slow stroke in.

Tony nodded. "I'm good," he said. "Keep going."

"Ok," Steve's voice was whisper-soft and reverent.

Knuckles now. Knuckles plus thumb. Knuckles plus thumb pushing on his prostate, not the teasing brushes when Steve was prepping him, or the hard, tight strokes when Steve was fucking him, but a constant, steady press. Pain and pleasure–sharp bursts of each cascading and overlapping as Steve forced his hand past the reflexive clench of muscle–sparked through him, crossing wires and mixing signals and pouring out from Tony's mouth in a keening whine.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck–" Tony's hips jerked, nudging Steve's hand even deeper. "Oh god, Steve, fuck. That's it–oh god, you're in me." He laughed, breathless and shaky, bordering on hysterical as his mind tried to process the conflicting sensations of too-full and so-good and his body worked to accommodate the intrusion.

Steve went still, darting shocked glances between Tony's face and Tony's hole clenched tight around his wrist and holding his hand in place. Still was good, still was fucking perfect. Tony knew that Steve's hands were bigger than his cock–genius, remember?–but this... Oh, fuck, this was so much more than he'd imagined.

"Tell me what you're feeling," he choked out, wanting Steve's voice to ground himself. He felt drunk, champagne-and-whiskey birthday drunk, and it had been months since he'd been so out of control.

"Tight," Steve said, hushed. "You're so tight Tony." He flexed his hand and Tony shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's hot, and I can feel you shaking around me. God, Tony, you feel so good."

"Yeah," Tony sighed. "You feel good, too. Huge. I can't–my brain–it's good. It's so much but it's good." He opened his eyes and peered down at Steve through blurry eyes. He reached for his cock and swallowed a cry as another level of sensation flowed through him. "Touch yourself," he said, pulling up to demonstrate. "Touch yourself and talk to me. Just keep talking."

Steve laughed again. His knuckles nudged Tony's prostate again as he moved to obey. "Thought you were the talker," he said.

"Well," Tony said, dimly amazed that he was able to string words together into coherency, let alone attempt wit. "As the fistee, I think it's within my rights to demand a little feedback from the man with the hand up my ass."

Captain America didn't giggle like that, all rushed and embarrassed and genuinely fond. Wouldn't fit the macho image and propaganda. But Steve Rogers did and Tony could hear it lingering in his voice when he spoke. "Anything you want, Tony. Anything." He stroked his cock in time to his words. "I've never seen you like this. You're so–just... What you do to me, Tony. You can't possibly know."

"I know," Tony said, rocking his hips into his fist shallowly. "I can see it."

Steve hook his head, pumping harder. "No." His hand inside Tony curled. "You can't–I've never–" He stopped, watching as Tony writhed on his fist. He curved his fingers in again and Tony squirmed, too overwhelmed to separate the feeling into something he could recognize as good/bad. "Jesus, Tony. Tony. You're amazing."

Tony panted, stripping his cock in clumsy haste. He was close; even through the disoriented feeling of too-everything he could recognize the signs. His balls were tight, drawing in, every motion of his hand resonated through his entire spine, and Steve's hand was heavy inside of him, pressingpressingpressingfullandgood, god, everywhere. And still Steve kept talking, like he promised, because Steve was as good as his word. Always.

"You're getting tighter, Jesus, how is that even possible? Are you going to come for me, Tony? Are you going to let me feel that too?" Steve breath stuttered, and Tony felt his full body shudder like an echo. "I want to see that. Like you said. I want to see that and then I want you to see me. I want us, like this, god, always. Tony, Tony–"

Steve's voice caught on his name. Tony's whole body bucked and spasmed, burning pleasure and Steve's words washing over him. He shouted, a mix of Steve's name and animal grunts, garbled enough that even JARVIS wouldn't be able to parse it into sense. Sticky heat coated his hand and stomach. The last thing he saw before the force of his orgasm greyed-out his vision was Steve, mouthing his name as he watched Tony fall apart. The last thing he heard was Steve's grunt as he followed.


He must've blacked out for a minute, or ten. System reboot after overload and God, he'd never be able to mock JARVIS again after this. Steve was leaning over him, studying his face intently as he worked his way out of Tony's fucked-out body. It was easier on the way out, but Tony couldn't suppress a whimper at the now-foreign emptiness when Steve slid out with a wet pop.

"All right?" Steve asked, flexing his newly-liberated fist to work out the kinks.

Tony nodded. "I just...yeah." He squirmed, a dull ache spreading through his lower back. He'd feel this tomorrow. Probably for a couple of days, even. The thought was oddly... soothing. He smiled up at Steve. "Hey."

Steve smiled back, slow and warm. "Hey, yourself."

Tony braced himself and made a token effort to sit up, sagging back against the pillows with a groan when his entire body protested. "I don't think I can move," he laughed. "Not for at least a year. JARVIS'll have to send all of my business stuff through Pepper and you can break it the to the team that I can't Avenge anymore because I'm too well fucked."

"Thor will be heartbroken," Steve said dryly. He brushed a quick kiss against Tony's forehead and stood. Tony took a certain amount of pride in the fact that he made Captain America stagger to the bathroom. Sex with Tony Stark, more powerful than the Super Soldier Serum. Fuck yeah.

The most amazing thing though? Tony didn't think it was the sex that brought Steve back to bed.

Well, not only the sex.

God, he hoped he didn't fuck this up.