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Scopophiliac

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Steve felt guilty; it wasn’t an emotion he was particularly used to. He felt like a kid caught red handed in the cookie jar. He’d jerked off a time or two back when he’d been skinny Steve. Who didn’t like to feel good? It was normal and healthy. Not according to the propaganda pamphlets they handed out in the 40’s, but Steve knew a load of malarkey when he heard one. Since he’d arrived in the future, sex really hadn’t crossed his mind that often. He was living in Stark’s tower, which made him feel awkward. It probably shouldn't have, because if everything he’d heard was true, Tony was like a cat in heat.

He’d wanted some help setting up his I-pod, and knowing Tony’s schedule, he’d made his way down to the workshop. Tony was at the welding station, Alice in Chains blasting on the stereo in the background. Steve paused in the door, looking at Tony. Smooth sculpted arms, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, oil and dirt smeared everywhere, a black smudge riding one cheekbone, his nails filthy with grime. He wore a black tank top, and his face was accentuated by the light of the Arc Reactor. Steve could feel himself getting hard. He choked, digging his fingers into the I-pod, and retreated up the stairs. Tony lifted his welding mask and looked curiously after him.
Steve took a cold shower and didn’t touch himself. He leaned his head against the cool tiles and took deep ragged breaths.

Two days later, Steve was watching TV in his room. He flopped onto his back and sighed. It was boring without any missions or tasks to complete. He thought of Bucky, his smile, his warmth, his hand around Steve’s cock, and oh, that flashback was painful. He smiled wistfully, and; what the hell, shoved one hand under the waistband of his sweats. He panted softly, picturing Bucky’s mouth engulfing his dick, hands digging into his ass. He imagined Bucky talking dirty, but it was Tony’s voice speaking. Bucky’s face faded until Tony’s sultry eyes were staring up at him, lined with long lashes, and oh, that was wrong, so wrong. Steve panted, one hand fisting the sheets. Imaginary Tony licked his lips; ran his tongue along the slit of Steve’s cock, and he came, warm and sticky, into his hand.

Tony turned the blowtorch off, and looked at Steve retreating up the stairs. The man was a little cracked sometimes. He shook his head and pulled the protective mask off, taking a sip of his cold coffee, and smearing more grease on the mug. He’d have to ask Steve is everything was ok.

Two days later, Tony was on a lunch break when Jarvis cut in over his cell speaker, “Sir, normally I wouldn’t remark, but since it seems unusual, I thought you should know, Captain Rogers seems to be in distress, his vital signs are elevated, respiration increased, blood pressure spiking. In keeping with your policy, I am not visually monitoring any of the suites in use by members of the Avengers."

Tony set his glass on the mahogany table. “Steve has been acting strange lately.” If it were anyone else, he’d just assume they were en flagrant delicto and let it go. But Steve was a million years old. The thought of sex would probably make him burst into flames. “Bring up the video feed J.A.R.V.I.S."

Ok, wow, definitely not bursting into flames then. Steve’s hand was in his sweats, mouth parted. He gasped raggedly.

Tony should cut the feed.

Any good, morally upstanding person would.

Tony was not a good, morally upstanding person.

And Steve was, oh god. Steve arched his back, toes curling as he came. That was, that was so hot. Tony was going to be jerking off in the shower to this for months. Steve was flushed, and he wanted to see, needed to see more. Tony hit the zoom button, and that was better. But Steve didn’t pull his hand free; he opened his eyes, and smiled. Tony cut the feed.

Steve started a new sketchbook. He bought inks, charcoal, pencils, and watercolors. Every day at noon, he would retreat to his room and jerk off thinking of Tony’s hand, or his mouth, or his arms, the way his hair curled damply behind his neck after a particularly long session in the gym, the way he would come in, tie undone, mouth flushed, after some long and boring soiree with the glitterati. Steve would come into his hand, wipe it on a towel, and immediately begin to pencil in a new sketch. They were all pictures of Tony. Tony bending over to retrieve something, Tony wrapped in a towel, laughing as he exited the shower, Tony with his foot skimming the water of his indoor swimming pool. There were plenty of nudes. There were also portraits, Tony’s mouth quirking up, or Tony biting his lip and staring off into the distance contemplatively. Each day he added one more sketch, and placed the book into the desk drawer, humming to himself as he went to take a shower.

Tony began taking his lunch break at noon each day, locking himself in his office with a large decanter, and his video feed. Sometimes he jerked off with Steve, biting his hand as he came violently, aching, and weak with need. Sometimes he actually remembered to eat. At some point Tony stopped sleeping with random strangers. Each day Steve jerked off to pictures in his sketch book. He’d wipe himself off, and sit down to draw. Tony tried to get a look at the drawings, but the angle of the camera was too poor to see anything. He burned with curiosity. Whatever was in that book, it must be really fucking hot to keep Captain America curling his toes like a fifteen year old losing his virginity after prom. Steve put the sketchbook away and went into the bathroom. Tony smiled.

The next day when Steve put his sketchbook away, Tony was ready. He had the feed of Steve’s room streaming on his Starkphone; when Steve shut the bathroom door with a soft snick, he smiled. Tony entered the master security code and opened the door slowly. He padded into the room barefooted, and slid the dresser drawer open. The sketchbook was smooth and cool to the touch. He picked it up reverently and checked his watch. The water was still running in the background.

He flipped it open.

The first picture was Tony, kneeling in front of Captain America, hands bound behind his back, mouth on Steve’s dick. Tony’s pupils dilated, and he whimpered. He flipped through the sketches quickly, breathing hitched, they were all pictures of him, every single page. Steve had a very vivid imagination.

“See something you like?”

Tony jumped a foot. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

Steve arched an eyebrow.

“You left the shower on.” Tony said accusingly. He looked at Steve, beads of water running down his chest, hair in little wet spikes, lips quirked in amusement. “You,” he stuttered, and stared incredulously.

“I know you watch me Tony.”

“How?”

“The cameras move when you zoom in. I figured it out the very first day, are you sure you graduated from MIT?”

Tony flushed. “I was trying to make sure you were ok,” he stammered indignantly.

"I didn’t realize jerking off was dangerous.” Steve’s voice was a low purr.

Tony’s lips quirked, “I hear it can make you go blind.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Maybe you can help?” Steve dropped his towel.

Tony was across the room, and on his knees, before he had time to rationalize. He rubbed his cheek against Steve’s dick, already swelling impressively. Steve sighed and tangled a hand in Tony’s hair.

Tony cupped Steve’s balls with his hand, and nipped at his thigh.

“Don’t tease,” Steve growled.

Tony smiled, and took Steve into his mouth, looking up at him for approval from beneath sooty lashes. Steve groaned. Tony ran his tongue along the bottom of Steve’s cock, and sucked, hollowing his cheeks out.

Steve’s hands were both in Tony’s hair, cupping his head. His muscles corded with the effort not to fuck Tony’s mouth. Tony took him deeper and paused; taking a brief second to suppress his gag reflex, before letting Steve’s dick hit the back of his throat. He would be hoarse in the morning. He didn’t care.

Tony felt Steve’s muscles clench as he bobbed up and down with varying degrees of pressure, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face.

Steve groaned a deep and guttural, “Tony.”He tried to pull back, but Tony dug his fingers into Steve’s ass, marking him, and taking him deeper into his mouth. Steve came, warm and sticky, down the back of Tony’s throat.

Tony let Steve pull out, and licked his lips, before flopping back on the bed.

Steve sat down next to him, leaning over for a kiss. “Your turn?”

“I came while I was blowing you,” Tony sighed happily.

“Jesus Tony.”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I was sixteen,” he grinned.

Steve rolled over and looked down at him. “Are you busy tomorrow? Because I’d really, really like to fuck you in your workshop.”

Tony gave a breathy laugh. “We are going to get along so well.”