It takes them time to get back to the Mansion, showered off and dressed again, and Steve is still not looking him in the eye. He is waiting in the lounge though – they all are. Tony is surprised Steve even managed that.
Tony looks at them, stares at Steve long enough that he has to look back, and stretches, working the kinks out of his back. “Pizza?”
“Tony.” Steve’s voice is soft. Tony hadn’t heard that before today, not aimed at him, and right this moment he doesn’t know if the one before (whispering in Tony’s ear, close and closer) was worth the version he’s getting now.
“What? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving. Apparently involuntary orgies really work up an appetite.”
“Tony! You can’t just-.”
Apparently they’re not going to be able to just breeze past this. “What?” Tony asks.
“We had sex,” Clint says, bluntly. “Collectively.”
Tony hums. “Not really collectively. More like you guys with me.”
Steve makes a strangled noise. And doesn’t that set off all kinds of excellent memories (Steve plastered against Tony’s back, in so tight and trying to get closer) but Steve’s stomping all over them with that face he’s making now. “You didn’t-,” Steve says. “You didn’t want-.”
Tony is willing to admit his memories of the day’s events are not necessarily sequential. His brain doesn’t connect things up that way at the best of times and right now he’s jumping from the furrow in Bruce’s forehead to his look of deep concentration while Tony was jerking him off and sure now that seems like a dangerous thing to have done but Tony’s history is full of dangerous things that didn’t kill him.
Steve is still talking. “You weren’t- was there anything you could have done before it got-?”
Tony gapes. He assumes his most reasonable tone but he’s starting to lose his grasp on it. “Putting my ego aside, which I will admit is a challenge for me, I wasn’t wearing the suit. On my best day, I can get one of you down, some of the time. What the hell do you think- what is it you think I could have done to stop five of you?”
Steve’s whole body moves with the flinch and Tony hadn’t meant to do that. Probably. He’s getting a little sick of the look on Steve’s face. Steve can’t believe that he might have enjoyed it.
The thing had started glowing, and they should have been safe but their protocols clearly need revising because the others had all turned at once, looking at him. Tony’s usually fine with people looking at him, and he’s usually more than fine with looks like that but they are not usually on his teammate’s faces. Those expressions tend to run between amusement and distrust and these ones had been nowhere on that spectrum. There had been a moment, maybe, when Tony had thought okay because at least he knew what to do with that. He can’t make them a team and he can’t undo the mistakes he’s helped them make along the way but he can do this. The moment had been long enough that there wasn’t time after it to stop anything. And Tony had come to in ruined clothes and stuck to other people’s bodies but it was still far from the worst position he’s ever woken up in. Tony realises his judgment and Steve’s don’t always line up.
Steve steps forward, hesitates and goes back to where he was. “Tony.”
“On the other hand, I am grateful that you’ve got the hang of my first name. I’m fine. A good time was had by all, stop being weird.”
“You need to-.”
“Or at least, stop being weird on my behalf. If you want to freak out, that’s fine. I can clear out for a while.” If this about Steve – about any of the others – Tony can go back to Malibu and keep out of sight until things are okay again. He would understand why they might want that. But he can’t have Steve thinking that Tony has become any more messed-up than usual over this thing. He says, “But if you’re worried about me, there’s no need.”
Thor says, “If we harmed you in any way-.” (He’s big, sure, but Tony’s already opened up and high on sensation and nothing could hurt him right now. Tony laughs.)
“It was sex, all right?”
Steve is making this helpless bewildered face and Clint bites down on his lip (his hands were rough on Tony’s cheek, holding his head steady while Tony’s mouth worked on his cock.)
Tony wants to bang his head against the wall. “I have a documented history of liking sex. And I’ve actually had sex that was way more ill advised than this, and where I was way less aware of what the hell was going on. Read the tabloids some time. It was sex.”
“It was sex with us,” Steve points out. “You should be able to trust that we won’t-.”
“Steve, for crying out- on the long list of things which have fucked me up, starting with a family history of alcoholism and my father the emotionally-stunted war-hero, running all the way through to waking up in a cave in the desert wired up to a car battery and then having this thing literally plucked out of my chest in my own house- do you think this competes? You think it even makes the top twenty? Sex with five gorgeous people who, fine, don’t always like me that much but didn’t seem actively out to get me, while under the happy influence of magic which made everything pretty shiny, and being attended to by, again, the five gorgeous people…? I’m sorry if you’re sorry, okay? But I was doing absolutely fine up until we started this conversation. Funny thing? Weird-magic induced orgy with teammates, totally okay. Five minutes talking to you and I feel like a whore.”
“Tony.” Steve keeps the step closer this time. His fingers twitch towards Tony’s arm, but he doesn’t touch. “I hurt you.”
Tony looks down at the bruise. “Sometimes that happens. Some people happen to like that kind of thing.”
Natasha has walked across the room. “That one isn’t yours.” She looks at Steve. “My hand is smaller than yours.” She does touch, closing her hand carefully over the mark on Tony’s upper arm. (She’s holding on to him, legs wrapped around his back and pushing herself up and down while he shakes with that and with Steve inside him.)
Tony pushes up the hem of his shirt and grabs Steve’s hand. He settles the palm on his right hip. “That’s your mark, right there.” (Steve is solid. Present. All the ways that he is to other people and is not for Tony, he is now. He holds onto Tony tight and whispers God, Tony, you’re so- you’re so- Tony.)
“Bruce was the wrist. Bite marks on the back of the neck are you, but I can’t see those. Clint must’ve drawn blood on my shoulders. Pretty sure the ones on my thighs are Thor, but he swapped places with you about then so the marks are a bit muddled up. He’s definitely responsible for the hickey though.” Tony touches the base of his throat, where he saw the mark in the mirror when he cleaned himself up. His pulse thrums there, hot but not unpleasant.
Steve touches the side of Tony’s face, turning his head so he can see Tony’s neck. His finger brushes the mark he left and Tony shudders.
They’ve all come closer now and his body doesn’t know whether to be crowded or turned on; it can’t decide if this is a sex thing or a threat. It could be both, Tony guesses, in their line of work, and his rational mind isn’t much less certain.
Bruce rests two fingers on Tony’s wrist, as though he’s checking for a pulse, nothing like the way he had held on so tightly to Tony like he needed to create a break in the circuit, something that wasn’t only Tony’s hand on his cock, trying to figure out how much was too much.
Tony’s shoulders don’t hurt, even when Clint drags his blunt nail up the red down-stroke he made in Tony’s skin.
Thor looks inquiringly at him and Tony leans his neck back to expose the mark. (That was the start. It hadn’t made sense but the edges of the world had blurred and they were around him but not moving. Tony rolled his head back and bared his throat. Steve had-)
Steve’s hand cups the back of Tony’s neck and pulls him in.