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Gag Order

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Steve loves Tony's voice, but sometimes he wants him to just stop talking.

Tony's been rambling for the last half an hour, something about robots and monkeys and how there's a more direct link there than one would think at first glance, and Steve's pretty sure he heard something about a goldfish bowl, too, but he stopped really listening about ten minutes ago.

"--since we would need to completely rewrite the entire program, of course."

"Of course," Steve says automatically, his verbal cue recognition still active even if the rest of his brain isn't. This afternoon's mission had taken more out of him than he was used to. He glances at Tony, who's staring back at him, outraged.

"You haven't heard a word I've said at all, have you? Typical, here I am sharing myself with you and you're not absorbing any of it. Why are you holding your head in your hands?" Tony sounds honestly perplexed, like he can't imagine why it wouldn't be soothing to listen to a thirty-minute monologue after all the issues they had in the sewers.

Steve looks up at him. "I'm tired and maybe need to decompress a little, okay? Also a shower would be good," he says, grimacing as he rolls back his shoulders.

This doesn't seem to have the impact he's hoping for. "This is how we decompress though. I talk, you listen--we have a system, and if you're going to insist on changing things up now it might have terrible consequences. You don't know how this could spiral outward."

"I thought you said the butterfly effect was 'misunderstood bullshit,'" Steve says, confused.

Tony waves a hand at him. "Oh, sure, that you paid attention to. Yes, it's misapplied but there is a real mathematical grounding to it--"

"--But you weren't talking about weather patterns," Steve says. "Were you?"

The look Tony levels at him would normally make Steve fight off a grin, his satisfaction at winding him up usually rich and full. Right now he just wants to make all this stop so he can go to sleep. "I knew you weren't listening to me--"

"Jesus, Tony, sometimes it would be easier to gag you. Give it a rest, okay?" Steve says, falling back onto the couch. He glances over at Tony, expecting to see him gearing up to start lecturing again, or maybe, if Steve has accidentally cut closer to the quick than he meant to, he'll be walking out the door, giving Steve exactly what he asked for in the worst possible way.

Neither of his expectations is met. Instead he's faced with Tony watching him, his fingers on the side of his face, eyes dark. Steve can almost see Tony's brain calibrating something new, but he's too tired to even wonder at it. Tony will tell him eventually.

"Hmm." Tony finally stands, pulling his hand away from his face. "Okay, up you go, time for all good little Captain Americas to go to bed," he says, dragging Steve to his feet and pushing him towards the bedroom.

Steven thinks that's the end of it; he sleeps like the dead for eleven hours, and when he wakes up, Tony's already gone. It's not until he comes back to the mansion later that afternoon after a couple of hours at the gym and finds Tony naked on their bed, arms extended back and secured by rope to the headboard, a blue cloth next to Tony's chest, that he realizes he missed something.

"You can tie yourself up even when no one else is here?" he asks dumbly, focusing on the first thing his brain catches on.

"It's come in handy before, I was testing something." Tony is staring up at him, wiggling his feet from side to side, his dick jutting up away from his body. "Take your clothes off."

Steve grips the strap of his workout bag tighter. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

Tony sighs. "You said you wanted to gag me. Here's your chance. Come on, get on up here."

Steve's hands start working before his brain has consciously given the order, dropping the bag to the floor and pulling his shirt up over his head. "This really wasn't what I meant," he says, his eyes looking Tony over, the glow from the arc reactor steady and familiar. He swallows hard, still not entirely sure how this man became all he wanted, but he'd spent long enough in the dark about his feelings. He doesn't question it anymore.

"That may be true, but you have to admit it's a useful application of the idea. Now shut me up, will you," Tony commands, his hands tugging on his bindings when Steve straddles his body.

Steve thinks for a moment about not doing it, about seeing whether Tony will beg to be silenced, but in the end he did ask for this, even if he didn't expect it to come in quite this form. So he picks up the gag and leans forward, first kissing Tony impulsively, lingering for a moment. When he pulls back he doesn't give Tony a chance to remark on it, wrapping the cloth around Tony's head quickly, his mouth already open in an unintentionally helpful manner. He ties it tight, knowing even as he does that if Tony really wants to get out of it, the knot isn't going to stop him.

He holds Tony's gaze as he he shuffles back down his body, grabbing the lube and slicking up his fingers before he presses one inside. His skin feels hot, his entire body aware of Tony's eyes on him, the way he watches as Steve works himself open. He's lost some of his bashfulness at this point, but he doesn't think he'll ever fully lose it all. He'll never be the natural exhibitionist that Tony is.

But he can focus inward, on how it feels to have Tony's body between his thighs, his other hand stroking up over his own stomach and chest. The heat in his face burns brighter when Tony quirks an eyebrow at him, the tilt of his head saying it all. Steve's eyes slide shut in defense and his hips rock forward, pressing up into the empty air.

His dick is completely hard now, his patience beginning to vanish, and he slides his fingers out and reaches back for Tony's cock. He sinks down slowly, breathing steadily as Tony fills him, the angle deep and full. He tips his head back, hands clasping his ankles as he takes a moment before he lifts himself up a fraction and then slides back down, fucking himself slowly.

His breaths are loud in his ears, nothing distracting him from the slide of Tony's dick inside him, the steady pressure that's just on the right side of too much. Steve opens his eyes and looks down at Tony's face, his arms stretched above his head. His expression has smoothed out completely, no trace of the ironic detachment still present, his face open and relaxed as Steve rides him, Tony's hips thrusting up in countertime. The sensation is almost more than he can take without Tony's steady mutterings and observations and commentary tempering it.

The moment he makes eye contact he realizes his mistake, but it's too late, he can't break away, and he's caught: caught in everything that he can see there, that Tony is telling him with his gaze, pinning him with it. There's no escaping it like the way he can evade Tony's voice, no letting it wash over him, words and meaning blending together and never truly landing, just skimming the surface. He feels splayed open, his heart there for Tony to see, to catalogue, to remember. His dick jumps against his stomach as he rises and falls, one hand coming up to grip the head of his cock hard before he starts to stroke.

Tony makes a small noise when he does, his eyes flicking down to where Steve is jerking himself off for a moment before coming up to look at Steve's face again, and Steve wants to close his eyes, wants to shut himself off just a little, both from the intensity of what he sees in Tony's expression and also to keep at least a small part of himself secret, protect that last bit of private space. But when he closes his eyes he hears Tony whine, and it's a question, a request Steve can't ignore.

So he stops pretending, stops holding onto the idea that there's been anything other than the flimsiest barrier between them for ages, stops clutching firm to his fear and his secrets. He opens his eyes and lets Tony see everything and sees everything in return, and he comes, body trembling as he loses control, muscles tight around Tony inside him.

He can feel Tony getting closer to the edge, his thrusts into him growing erratic, and he holds himself upright with an iron will as Tony finally comes inside him, dick pulsing, his eyes wild and hand clenched into fists, pulling the ropes taut.

Steve collapses forward onto Tony, chest heaving as he pants and their bodies slide against each other, and he reaches up to the gag, his fingers clumsy working the knot open. Finally it's free, and he presses his face up against Tony's neck and whispers, "Talk to me."