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Supersoldier Superserum Superspunk or Why SHIELD Can't Have Nice Things

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"Good afternoon, Master Rogers."

"Could you—"

"Sir, I don't mean to alarm you but I am detecting very abnormal body scans."

Steve took a heaving breath and closed his eyes. "Um, yeah. Could you—"

"Adjusting to light-sensitivity, sir," Jarvis said, his automated voice already softer and Steve barely suppressed his sigh. It wasn't that it hurt, so much that... yeah, forget it. It hurt pretty bad. He was in a hefty amount of constant pain, more so than he was used to. Or well, a different sort of pain than he was used to. Before the serum, Steve was always in some sort of lingering pain. Since he became an Avenger, he spent more time getting hurt and healing super-fast—that kind of pain was a whole different ballgame.

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve rasped out, his throat feeling thick.

"Sir, may I inquire as to the cause of your abnormal state?"

Steve huffed out a laugh that turned into a whine as he stumbled over to his bed and sat down. His skin felt like it was on fire, his clothes were sticking to his skin as if he had gotten out of a scalding shower and laid on a frozen lake. It was such a war of sensation and the sheer intensity of it danced behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes.


Steve took a deep breath, bracing himself, before he pulled off his t-shirt. He almost screamed, the sensation was too much and fire raced up the skin of his back, seemed to lick and linger on his ribs. God, it burned.

"Sorry, Jarvis. I was at SHIELD for testing," Steve said, grinding his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to take off his khakis and briefs but the thought of the same racing icy heat on his groin and ass actually brought tears to his eyes.

He'd been hard for almost two days. Which, not only was it downright embarrassing to be aroused in front of almost a dozen scientists in a government lab—they were no doubt recording their findings in Steve's official file—but it was darn uncomfortable. He wanted so badly to do something about it but his head was throbbing and his body was so overstimulated that he thought he might actually pass out if he touched himself like that. His shame was palpable. He didn't hate SHIELD as much as Tony did, but in this moment, Steve would admit to not being particularly fond of the agency. Being a science experiment was rarely fun and the excitement usually only came when Tony was involved and thought Stark Industries should expand into the adult toy market, but Steve was biased.

"Jarvis, I told SHIELD I'd have you record—"

"I've been carefully monitoring your vitals since I noticed the abnormalities in your profile, Master Rogers. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

Steve grunted, holding his hands up in the air as his palms tingled. Just letting them sit on his thighs created a weird feedback of stimulation that had him panting and his chest feeling tighter.

"If you could make it colder, that might help," Steve said, but whatever reply Jarvis gave was lost as Steve struggled to strip off the rest of the way. By the time he managed to get his shoes, socks and khakis off, his breath was ragged and his head was pounding. He still had an erection but the dizzy mess of his head was a more pressing concern than the admittedly painful twitch of his dick.

"Body levels indicated dehydration," Jarvis spoke quietly. "Master Rogers, I suggest you intake a healthy quantity of water before attempting rest."

"Yeah, alright then."

Two bottles of water felt good and Steve's breathing was still laborious to his own ears but his chest didn't feel as tight.

He was exhausted.

It took a few moments to get still lying on the bed. His whole body felt like it was vibrating with pure sensation.

"Jarvis, could you lock the door?" It still felt odd asking Jarvis, the computer that lived in the house—and even just thinking about some sort of computer monster out of a SHIELD file observing him made Steve nervous—but that wasn't what Jarvis was. He was... well, he was oddly helpful and most of the time, it felt like Steve was talking to a person who was constantly just out of sight. Besides, he was something that Tony created and no matter how many times Steve heard about Tony designing weapons, it was hard for him to reconcile that person with the man that Steve had braved the 21st century with. The Tony that Steve fought alongside, constantly found himself arguing with, living with and sharing a bed with—that man wasn't a man who made weapons. Tony was the creator of Jarvis, a dear friend and a constant for a man who had everything the world could ever ask for, except for some of the things that Tony had needed.

Steve listened to the white noise in the room. His head was still pounding and his body felt like he had been hit with Mjölnir and gone a few rounds with Thor's lightning bolts. It seemed like he was actually vibrating but that might just be a side effect of the throbbing behind his eyes.

"Jarvis," Steve said, forcing deep breaths.


"Don't bother Tony with this. I'm going to be fine," Steve said with a sigh. "I just need to sleep it off. He doesn't need to be bothered by this."

Jarvis didn't answer.

It took a long time for Steve to find sleep.


It was literally just chance that led to Tony getting the message about Steve's condition before going into a four hour board meeting.

"Pep, my dearest darling sex-Potts, I'm am twenty feet from a board meeting that you're making me attend. I am not late—"

She held up her hand. "Jarvis called."

"Aw, he misses me," Tony said but there was a tiny wrinkle between Pepper's eyes that said something was wrong.

"Do you want to take the call?"

Tony just held out the phone. "What's up, Jarvis?"

"Sir, I hate to interrupt your board meeting—"

"Wasn't there yet, but I appreciate your faith that Pep can keep me on time."

"—however, it has come to my attention that Master Rogers has been injured and may need assistance."

Tony felt his throat stick a little. "Jarvis, elaborate for me, will you?" But it hardly mattered because he was already turning away from the board room, where twenty five people were staring at him with disappointment and nothing like surprise but Tony wasn't paying attention to them anymore. Pepper could soothe them, besides, if they had known that he was going to spend the entire time ranting about how they need to get their head out of their ass and kick up their clean-energy initiative, they wouldn't look so sad about him leaving.

"What's his current status?"

"Master Rogers' vitals indicate REM cycle has been initiated," Jarvis said in soothing tones.

Tony was writing down a quick note while Pepper stared him down, her face clearly indicating that she was waiting to pass judgement until he finished his note.

"Do you know where he was injured?"

There was a pause, as if Jarvis was thinking about lying to him—that sly, over-programmed AI—but then there was Jarvis' version of a tight sigh and, "Master Rogers returned from a 48 hour stay at SHIELD's laboratories shortly before he lost consciousness."

"Fucking bastards," Tony muttered, shoving the note into Pepper's hands and heading for the door. "He told me he was going on Bruce's yoga retreat—sonofabitch. I'll be there in twenty minutes, Jarvis."

"Indeed, sir."

Tony didn't wait to see Pepper's reaction to his note:

Steve needs me.

Tony dropped his phone on his way into the tower, struggling out of his suit jacket and trying to make his way to the bedroom that Steve was sleeping in.

Then he paused, "Jarvis, where is Steve?"

"Master Rogers is located in the master suite," Jarvis said, voice only slightly mocking, as if he knew that Tony would be stupidly pleased because Steve doing clinging things that should send Tony right back to his Malibu booze den instead left him with a funny feeling in his stomach and a hard on.

Tony turned tail and took off for his bedroom.

"Tell me you did my dirty work for me, babe," Tony said, walking down the hall.

"I took the liberty—"

"Naughty girl."

"—of investigating SHEILD's medical files for Master Rogers," Jarvis finished, ignoring Tony. "It seems that they were attempting to understand the parameters of his enhanced senses. Unfortunately, they failed to discover anything conclusive from the data."

Tony barked out a harsh laugh. "Next time I see a an idiot in a lab coat, Jarvis. I'm going to fire them so hard that being a volunteer for super-villain experiments will look like a promising job opportunity."

"Yes sir," Jarvis dutifully replied. "Please be advised that Master Rogers is experiencing extreme sensitivity to light, temperature and other surface stimuli."

"He's freaking out?" Tony stilled, his hand hovering on the Stark Industries answer to out-dated appliances, like door-knobs and key boxes.

"Master Rogers appeared to have an elevated heart rate, and exhibited several outward signs of discomfort that are consistent with pain but also with arousal," Jarvis said, ever so carefully.

Tony sighed. "Great. So he'll be pissed off and ashamed," but Jarvis didn't have a reply for that.

The room was completely dark, but Tony could make out the naked figure of Steve on the bed. He lay unnaturally still for Steve, who seemed to have a knack for falling asleep and then reenacting a circus performance while dreaming—so even if it wasn't for Jarvis' invasion of SHIELD's files, Tony would have known something was wrong. Steve was a twitchy sleeper, always trying to strangle Tony with his deliciously governmentally-advanced arms and legs. Tony found it annoying. Not endearing. Nor was he turned on by the way Steve grabbed at him in the middle of the night and then breathed all over him.


"Jarvis," Tony whispered, going to the closet and grabbing a second black tank top. "Would you pull the lights up slightly? I don't want the contrast with my arc-reactor to be painful."

Ambient light glowed throughout the room, but Steve didn't wake.

"Is he still in pain?"

"Indeed, it seems that—"

Tony sighed, "He was just exhausted."

"So it seems, sir. His temperature is still elevated and his brain processes appear to be under a considerable amount of distress."

Tony shook his head. Normally, his answer to Fury's stupid-ass ignorance about how super-humans are still, y'know, human would be a drink, an unauthorized fly in the suit and a public snuffing of any and all government protocol.

Steve couldn't get drunk.

Flying was usually Steve's favorite thing but considering just lying in Tony's bed was painful, a skin-tight uniform and a couple of Gs wasn't going to go over well.

And since Steve had been Tony's main squeeze for making out in public and mocking SHIELD's request to lie-the-fuck-low, Stark, there wasn't really anything to be done.

But damn, did Steve look good.

In that Sleeping Beauty sort of way.

Man, when did fucking Steve make Tony a total creeper?

"Jarvis, can you find out what can be done when he wakes up from his Cap-Nap? Because chances are, he's not going to magically feel better," Tony whispered, moving around the room as silently as possible.

"I'm already corresponding with an individual who may prove helpful," Jarvis responded quietly. "May I suggest that you disrobe, sir? Master Rogers appeared to seek minimal contact with synthetics."


Tony debated with his tank tops for about five minutes before deciding to keep them. His arc reactor was quite bright and as much as he appreciated the way Steve's expressive face looked lit up by its light, there was no need to blind Steve. But the rest of his clothing went and he even took the time to put it away. It wasn't like he had anything better to do anything. Other than to fret like a mother hen over Steve's sleeping form.

Which wasn't really Tony Stark's style.

Or classy.

"Jarvis, do you have the files from SHIELD yet?"

"Yes, Master Tony," Jarvis replied. "I've uploaded them to the mainframe, under Master Rogers' subheading."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered, moving to the panel on the other side of the bedroom from Steve. He could still keep his eye on Steve, once again creepy, but far enough away for the light not to bother him if he happened to wake up. "Don't spill the beans on my mildly stalkerish files, Jarvis."

"Sorry, sir," but per Jarvis standard, he didn't sound very sorry at all.

"Alright, hit me baby," Tony said and he began to read, with only the light from his chest as his guide.

Thirty minutes later, a dozen whispered curses and one large Captain-shaped file later, and Tony was ready to kidnap the Avengers to some remote island, tell Fury to kindly go fuck himself and spend the rest of his life force-feeding drinks with tiny umbrellas to Steve.

That being said, that wasn't an irregular feeling for Tony.

However, Tony wasn't sure who he was more pissed at: SHIELD, for never learning from their mistakes with experimenting on humans; or Steve, for mistaking hoity-toity duty for masochistic stupidity. Jury was still out on it, leaning more toward both of them needed to be hit with Thor's hammer, when Steve decided to wake up.

"Ugh," Steve groaned, but he was still completely still. Tony stepped closer but didn't touch the bed. He was unsure how bad a shape Steve was in. Sometimes the files were just the tip of the iceberg with SHIELD—slimy cunts. "Tony?"

He took a few steps forward until his knees hit the bed, carefully watching Steve's face. He was a horrible liar because he couldn't keep anything off his face. Sure enough, with the bump of Tony's legs, Steve winced.

Still fairly sensitive then.

"Hey, Capsicle," Tony whispered. "Still feeling like shit?"

The downturn of his mouth at Tony's curse was familiar but the furrow of his brow was deep and his eyes were half-lidded. Tony moved to cover up his chest, only stopping when Steve shook his head and then winced at the movement.

"No, just," Steve swallowed. "Can I get some water?"

"Sure thing, babe."

Tony handed him a bottle of water and set a second next to the two other empty bottles. He watched as Steve brought the bottle to his lips and then attempted to pour it into his mouth without connecting it to his lips. He missed, hands clumsy and ended up spilling half of it down his front.

Tony attempted not to be turned on, but it was hard when they were both so naked and Steve kept frowning. The frowning was irritably sexy.


Steve nodded. "It's been worse," he rasped out, voice sleep rough and absolutely delicious. "Thought you had a meeting."

Tony shrugged, looking down at the blond hairs of Steve's leg. "It got canc—"

"Oh, Tony, you didn't have to come," he reached forward, wrapping his hand around Tony's wrist. Instantly, he gasped and pulled back.

"Alright, there?"

Steve shook his head. "Sorry, it's just—it hurts but at the same time," then he looked away to the very clear evidence of his arousal. "You feel really good."

Man, that was a cock that Tony was never going to tire of and hello there, scary and completely inappropriately heavy thoughts. Sometimes he really wished he could reprogram himself.

"Sirs, I hate to interrupt—"

Tony watched as Steve attempted to smile, hands flexing in pain. "Go ahead, Jarvis."

"The SHIELD doctors believe that Master Rogers' system is experiencing a build of sensation," Jarvis' smooth voice said. "Their theory is that Master Rogers should engage in activity that will release tension and clear the dopamine receptors in the brain. Although they do not believe this will completely alleviate his symptoms, it should lessen the pain he is experiencing."

This was one for the books. Sometimes Tony was amazed that his life was so ridiculous. He couldn't believe that SHIELD was telling him to give Captain America an orgasm to cure him.

"Did Fury just tell me to bang you for the good of America?" Tony asked, watching as Steve flushed bright red, even as he was rolling his eyes. Behind that good, All-American veneer, Steve was kind of a sassy bitch. That aspect wasn't included in his father's notes and part of Tony was incredibly smug that this part of Steve was wholly Tony's.

Well, and the sexy bits, because jesus—now that was a total mindfuck to think about.

"They sure about this, Jarvis? It's not going to make him explode with sexiness or turn into some sort of sex-driven goo that will ravage New York in an insatiable desire to satisfy itself? Because listen, I've fought against enough lab-experiments—no offense, to Bruce—to know that the road to villainy is usually paved with good intentions. I mean—"

Steve put a hand over his mouth. Tony resisted sticking his tongue out to lick it, but only because Steve's face had contorted again.

Tony blinked. Steve shook his head, dropping his hand. "I feel pretty rotten without the endless rambling, Tony," he said, shrugging his beautifully sculpted shoulders. "I'd like to try."

"You sure? Because let me tell you, baby girl, pleasure/pain play isn't exactly—"

"Tony," Steve cut him off, again with his hand. "I feel really, really rotten."

It was really hard not to feel like Tony was corrupting a seventeen year old virgin from the Bible Belt when Steve fueled the notion that his internal dialogue was full of aw, shucks moments and golly, gee exclamations. Even though Tony had been here, with Steve all naked and luscious and had visually witnessed Steve Rogers having a orgasm—Tony still thought about how internally, Steve was coming his brains out and thinking, "heavens to Betsy" or "oh my word". To Steve's credit, Tony had never heard him say more than "oh" paired with a handful of very manly gasps.

Which was nowhere near what came out of Steve's mouth when they kissed. Tony barely pressed forward into the kiss, caught off guard by Steve's mouth, but then Steve was pulling away with a gasp, needy and high and painful.

"Steven," Tony said, soft but firm. This was beginning to seem like a really bad idea. "If it's too much—"

Steve shook his head. "No, it's—it's good, it's just so good, Tony. I don't—I've never felt like this before."

Wow, maybe Tony was a really fucking good guy in a past life because he hadn't done anything good enough in his current life to deserve the wide-eyed, pleasure-awed look on Steve's face.

"You still want to give it a go, handsome?"

Tony might have been pretty wildly turned on but he knew the thread on Steve's consent was tenuous at best. He was a definition of a hot mess with his alcoholism and his emotional hang ups with authority figures and mothers and fathers and, well, pretty much any figure in his life other than Jarvis. However, he was not a rapist.

"We can stop," Tony continued, looking into the lust blown rim of Steve's eyes. "I'm a genius, babe. I'm sure we could figure something out. I can just, you know, jerk off in the bathroom—"

But then Steve was shaking his head, soft, broken noises of "no, no, no, stay" falling out of his mouth and Tony couldn't deny him. It only took a few more seconds of kissing before Steve was pulling away and gasping, body humming with pleasure that was, without a doubt, hurting him.

Tony rubbed his cock on Steve's thigh and set about getting Steve firmly on the side of pleasure and not pain.

He wrangled Steve back against the bed with deep kisses that paused for Steve to suck in gulps of breath. Tony tried not to be distracted by the gorgeous picture Steve was, all shaking hands and red-hot skin and desperate noises that sounded more at home in an amateur porno than America's favorite hero. Tony was about to make a joke about Steve kissing Lady Liberty with that mouth, but then he was a distracted by Steve's trembling palm guiding Tony's hand to his already leaking cock. Tony hovered over it, feeling the sheer heat coming off of Steve's body.

Steve whined, too high and wow, wasn't that just incredibly hot.

"Okay, babe, I've got you," Tony said as calmly as possible because Steve was writhing, a mess of sweat and flushed skin that Tony had never seen before. Steve could hardly work up a sweat when they had sex and this, this was like Steve had been here for hours just holding onto the sharp edge of arousal. Then again, it seemed that SHIELD had kept him like this for too long... Without any relief.

"Tony, ah-ah-ah—" Steve stuttered out, his hips lifting up and pushing into Tony's hand, which laid on his belly. His cock was leaky, sluggishly weeping precome over the crown of his cock and pooling on his stomach.

"I'm going to touch you now," Tony said in as calm a voice he could manage. "We'll see if coming helps, alright babe? You're doing wonderfully."

Tony barely had his hand curved around Steve's cock before he was coming with a scream that sounded nothing like pleasure and everything like he'd just been stabbed in the gut. Tony hated it. God, he hated it so much and hated himself a little too, because despite it all, he was harder than he had ever been in his depraved life. He had never seen Steve lose control like this before—not even close—and the idea of it, how vulnerable Steve must be feeling twisted up, sick and strange in the pit of his stomach.

"Shh, there you go, Cap," Tony said, stroking him firmly, watching as Steve's cock twitched and pulsed in Tony's hand. "Get it all out. Sonofabitch, you're beautiful, babe."

And jesus fuck, he was. Every muscle in his body looked tight, skin glossy with sweat and flushed with a pinkness that only Steve could accomplish—a heady combination of embarrassed blush and arousal that Steve wore with a shyness that Tony could not seem to get over. His thighs strained, feet pressing down onto the mattress so hard that it creaked beneath them. He was still pumping his hips into Tony's fist but it was erratic, like he was coming down but still couldn't help himself to the last tendrils of pleasure that curled up from his belly. Tony leant down and kissed Steve's face, still scrunched up and contorted with a kind of pleasure that hurt so badly because Steve was doing so good and someone should give him a reward. Tony kissed across his brow, sweaty and creased before licking at Steve's open mouth.

"Tony, Tony," Steve whimpered, his body going a bit limp, before contorting again.

When Tony looked down, Steve's cock was still spilling.

"Steve, Steve," but he wasn't listening he was twisting again, hips jack-knifing off the bed and Tony had to stop himself form squeezing too hard on Steve's cock. "Steve, babe, are you still—"

"It hurts," Steve choked out, voice low and rough. "It's—too much, god, Tony, oh it hurts so bad."

Tony moved down to cup Steve's balls, but it didn't help. If anything, he began to come harder—the stream of thick, white come increasing in intensity and flow until it was spurting up and hitting Steve's collar bone.

As if this was his first wave of orgasm.

Tony tried not to feel panicked.

"Jarvis, you got a read on Steve's vitals?"

"He appears to be experiencing sexual climax, sir," Jarvis said, his voice prim and proper and god, how was this Tony's life?

"Um, how's his heart rate?"

"Above his normal average, sir, which is congruent with achieving sexual satisfaction and stimulation. But it is not accelerated enough to cause concern."

Tony shook his head. That might be true but Steve looked in a bad way, well—to be fair, he still looked amazing. He looked like every single fantasy Tony had ever had, rolled up into one writhing mess of a picture.

"Steve, talk to me," Tony said, still stroking Steve's cock. "Tell me what's going on, because I'm trying not to panic here but you're still coming and we're going to need to do something about that. I don't really like the idea of calling for help because I'm pretty sure Natasha is the only one home and she'll never let us live this down."

Steve gasped, eyes wide and hips jerking so hard that he almost kneed Tony in the ribs.

"Okay, more pressure, got it," Tony replied, hastily complying.

For the next five minutes, Tony watched as Steve continued to come. Wave after wave of orgasm seemed to wash over him. At times, it would ease enough that it would trick them both into thinking he was done but then it would hit hard, making his dick shoot come so hard that it would hit his neck and chin and cause him to cry out. Tony had resorted to grabbing a towel and some lube because the sheer amount of fluid was started to spill over Steve's body and pool around him and fuck, Tony didn't know what to do but he didn't want Steve to be lying in a vat of his own cooling come—even if the visual was threatening to make him tumble over the edge as well.

The lube was necessary because Steve's come was thick, too stout for lube, and Tony was seriously worried about more overstimulation.

After five minutes, Steve was starting to panic and yeah, this was a little scary. This was like a really fucked up Japanese horror film and if either of them ended up scarred for life, never able to have sex again, he was going to be so fucking livid.

"Tony, please, do something, oh god," Steve gritted out, hands going to Tony's arms as another wave of intensity hit him and Tony, fuck—Tony had never heard Steve take the Lord's name in vain. Not even during battle.

"Jarvis, have any bright ideas?"

"Sir, I would suggest that you stimulate Master Rogers' prostate," Jarvis said smoothly. "Research indicates that this might be helpful for Master Rogers' current plight."



"Steven, Captain—babe, I need you to open your eyes," Tony said, leaning over him and waiting until Steve turned his face away from the pillow. For a moment, it just seemed like Steve was turning his head toward Tony's voice but finally, blue eyes that were hazy with pain and pleasure blinked up at him.

"Hey there, Cap," Tony said, trying for a smile.

Steve whimpered.

"Fuck, babe, alright. It looks like my hand just isn't cuttin' it, yeah? You're still blowin' up like a volcano down there. Do you want to try something else? I don't want to take advantage of you, since you are in no position to be giving consent right now but I'm starting to worry that I might not make my dinner plans," he broke off when Steve gave a small little laugh, it sounded awful, but it gave Tony faith that Steve's mind hadn't been fried with over-stimulation. If his boyfriend died from coming too hard and for too long, he was quitting. Seriously. Quitting life because what the fuck. "So, you want to fuck me for a bit? See if that—"

"No, no, no," Steve murmured, head tossing and turning. "Inside me, Jarvis said—just ohohoh, Tony inside me, Tony!"

The brief moment of dulled pleasure was over and Steve was grinding his teeth and bucking up again, riding another wave of too intense pleasure.

This was enough.

Besides, Tony's hand was cramping.

Tony prepped him as best he could with only one hand. It didn't seem to matter how many fingers he coaxed into Steve's pleasure-ridden body—he wasn't getting any looser. His whole body was so tight that Tony was worried Steve was going to cramp soon.

One problem at a time.

After three fingers, Steve was begging. His voice was thin and reedy and despite the fact that Tony understood—fuck, it was so hot. It was mind-numbingly, inferno, holy-fuck-never-recovering hot to see him bucking back onto Tony's fingers, stuffed as full as he could be, and still spurting ropey strands of come all over his amazing, rippling muscles.

"This is the hottest, most traumatizing and awful experience of my life," Tony said, withdrawing his fingers so that he could mop up more come from Steve's body and then he unfolded Steve's legs so that they wrapped around his waist.

"I'm going to take my hand off your dick—fuck, your pretty little dick, babe—and I'm going to rub out your thighs," Tony said, straining for control. "Then I'm going to push inside and see if we can make this a little better, alright? I mean, I never heard of healing cock actually working but I can try."

Steve was nodding frantically, pushing Tony's hand away and taking over. His strokes over his dick weren't gentle, he looked like he was trying to choke it into submission but Tony tried to not think about how hot that thought made him as he pushed into Steve's body, rubbing his thighs and just—shoving himself inside.

"Jarvis," Tony said, cursing. "What's Cap's temperature?"

"Well above average, sir. But again, not anything life-threatening."

"It's like putting my dick inside a damn oven," Tony muttered but it didn't matter because Steve was whining again, bucking back onto his cock and Tony's brain short-circuited.

"Tony, yesyesyes, oh!" Steve's body bowed back and Tony rode the motion of his body until he was thrusting into Steve's body on each sharp jerk of his hips. Each thrust made Steve make a breathy and high pitched "oh!" sound that sounded so much like Tina Charlie (Tony's first girlfriend back when he was 14) when she came that Tony almost laughed.

Instead, he just kept fucking Steve.

It didn't seem to matter if Steve was touching his own cock or not, he still pulsed heavily and flooded the bed with creamy fluid. Tony tried every angle he could think of, spending time up and close with Steve's pained face to kiss him and murmur anything to soothe the choked cries that punched out of his mouth. Tony felt like he was toeing his own line of pain and pleasure because god, it was so fucked up that this was happening; that Steve let SHIELD get away with this, that Tony couldn't make it better, that Tony was even fucking Steve for any reason because there were so many issues—but it felt so fucking good. Steve's body was so hot and wet with lube and the visual was, holy shit.

Tony was never going to forget it.

Steve was drenched in his own come. It was so thick and white that it almost covered up the golden hue of Steve's skin. Tony never had a come-kink before but now—jesus, now that he'd seen Steve at the mercy of his own dick, Tony was never going to recover.

"Tony, please, Tony," Steve pleaded into Tony's cheek and Tony nodded. They were holding hands above Steve's head and Tony was folding him in half and pounding into him like his life depended on it.

"I'm fuck, I'm trying—jesusfuckfuckfuck," Tony gasped. "I'm trying not to come, babe."

He really was but the only time the pleasure seemed to edge away from pain was when Tony was nailing Steve's prostate with so much force that Tony could already see the bruises that were blooming on the inside of Steve's thighs from the force of Tony's hip bones.

Tony wasn't going to last long.

"Jarvis," Tony panted, hips stuttering and shaking into a moaning Steve. "How long?"


"How long—fuckin' hell, Steve, don't squeeze like that babe. I know it hurts just," Tony panted, grinding his hips until Steve's hole unclenched around him. "Jarvis, how long has Steve been coming?"

"Master Rogers has been in a heightened state of sexual arousal for 53 hours and 24 minutes," Jarvis replied. "This prolonged climax has been going on for approximately 35 minutes."

"JesusfuckingChrist, Steve," Tony said, trying to coax his hands out from Steve's but he refused to let go. "Steve—"

"I'm so sorry," Steve was whispering, eyes open in so much pain and blown wide with pleasure and so very wet. "Tony, I'm so sorry. Sorry, sorry—ohoh, god, yes, Tony—sorry—"

"Oh babe, no," Tony said, squeezing their hands together. "It's good, it's too good. I'm going to come and then, then—"

Another wave of incoherency hit Steve and Tony thought his dick was going to fall off with how hard Steve clamped his sweet little ass down. He wasn't going to last long. And then what? Steve wasn't done yet, that much was absolutely clear.

By the time Steve calmed down a little, cock still overflowing Steve's come everywhere, Steve was crying. Big fat tears were streaming down his face and he was sobbing out little "sorrysorrys" that were seriously breaking Tony's heart.

They were also going to make him come.

Because Tony was a seriously fucked up man.

But seeing CaptainFuckingAmerica crying with pleasure was just, beyond imagination.

"I need you to relax," Tony gritted out, panting with exhaustion and the edge of almost coming too many times. "Because I need to get myself ready for you, big boy."


Tony smiled, slowing down the pounding of his hips when Steve blinked his eyes open. He was still crying but at least he was paying attention.

"I'm going to come soon. Can't keep up with you tonight," Tony said, releasing one of Steve's hands to run it down the length of his skin and thumb at the head of his weeping cock. "I want you to fuck me after, okay?"

Confusion registered over Steve's face.

"After I come, just get inside me, okay, babe? You're slowing down. It's not coming out as fast anymore and it shouldn't be long. Just giddy-up and pound my ass, just how I like it," Tony said with a few kisses to Steve's face and the most humor he could muster up. "Do it for me, okay? Save the rest of that come for my ass and give it to me real good."

"Tony, no—"

But Steve was riding another way of pleasure and this was it, Tony couldn't last anymore.

"Promise me, Steve," Tony gritted out, trying to smile for him. "Promise you'll—fuckfuck, yes fuck yes."

He came with a cry, hips jack-knifing into Steve and Tony tried to keep his eyes open to the way Steve bowed his back and splayed his thighs, like he couldn't get enough but he was fading fast, chasing the last echoes of his orgasm. He had just enough energy to roll off of Steve, his own cock still sluggishly coming and breaching his own level of over-stimulation, before Steve's body draped over him and Tony blissed the fuck out.


Tony was fucked back into consciousness.

And holy god, was it ever the best way to wake up in the world.

One of the best things about dating a super-human like Steve, was that he was a morning person—which meant that Tony's aversion to morning meetings or (fucking awful) morning debriefings at SHIELD was tempered by some form of rise-and-shine orgasm. (Tony was always torn between what he liked better, lazy morning handjobs or lazy morning fingerfucking. He was not even a little ashamed that blowjobs miss the cut because have you seen Steven Rogers' hands?)

And this, well, this was just as good.

If a little abrasive.

Tony woke up with a push, struggling to his knees and groaning as he felt the sopping slickness of his ass.

And his thighs.

Oh, and the pools of come by his knees.

"Holy fuck that's hot," Tony rasped out, pushing back and testing his sensitivity. He was still way too sensitive to be getting fucked this hard but Steve was angling the head of his dick so it didn't hit Tony's prostate, so it felt pretty damn fantastic—all things considered.

So fantastic that his cock was making a valiant effort to get back into the game.

"Tony," Steve choked out and yeah, his voice was still thick with tears and oh god, this was enough to break Tony's heart and make his dick hard for the rest of his goddamn life. "Tony, I'm so sorry."

Steve's hips stuttered to a stop and Tony reached back and smacked him on the hip and fuck, he hoped he left a hand print.

He twisted around to get a better look. Steve was drooped over him, his hips still moving unconsciously—his face a miserable picture of guilt and embarrassment and red-faced weeping.

Tony pointed a finger at him. "If you dare stop fucking me, Steven Rogers. I will risk frying all the electrics in my suit with your freaky super-jizz, go down there and put it on and then kick your genetically-altered-ass."

Then he ground his ass against Steve, just to make his point crystal clear.

There were a few tense moments, where Tony could only hear Steve's rough breathing—the way it hitched as he couldn't really stop crying and the slightly squelchy sound of Steve's cock rocking into Tony's ass.

Oh god, his ass was so fucking sloppy. He was probably never going to be able to look at Steve's naked cock and forget about this, Tony on his hands and knees with come literally covering the back and insides of his thighs.

Tony thought he was going to have to make good on his threat but then Steve was bending back over, pressing his face into the curve of Tony's neck and shoulder, getting his hips moving again, even as his tears mixed with the salty sweat of Tony's back.

"Oh, Tony," Steve whimpered. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," Tony said, shifting on his knees to widen his stance a bit, to take the full force of Steve's thrusts. "I might send Fury a fruit-basket."

For a few minutes, there was only the sounds of their drenched fucking to fill the air. Steve was still crying, little hiccuping sounds that were muffled by the way he was mouthing at Tony's shoulders and neck. And they were both breathing raggedly, Tony getting in to the pace of Steve's hips and grinding back on his cock through the flood of come inside of him.

"How's it feel, babe? Better? Worse? Oh fuck," Tony cursed, bucking back as a stream from Steve's pulsing head hit Tony's prostate directly. That, that, wow. If they made it out of this with their brains intact, they were going to find a way to recreate that. Because it felt like there was a direct stream of come bubbling up to dance on his prostate on every frantic thrust of Steve's hips.

Tony looked down at this cock and cursed. He was actually getting hard again and fuck, it hurt, yeah it hurt just a bit more than okay but holyfuckin'hell. If they lived through this, Tony was going to have to figure out how to—maybe Steve would be into watersports? Whatthefuckever, Tony was going to get some sort of power-stream on his prostate again because Steve's accelerated come on his prostate was going to make Tony's knees go out.

Well, that and the sheer force of being fucked by Steve's super muscles was going to break the fucking bed.

"Bet—bbetter," Steve stuttered, grinding his hips and yeah, there it was again.

"Fuck, Steve, that—holy fucking hell, babe."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered back and Tony shook himself out of his pleasure.

"Steve, give me your hand." It took a second for Steve to redistribute his weight but as soon as Tony got a hold of his hand, he wrapped it around his leaking and very interested cock. "I'm having a good time and Steve, every time you—there, there that!—then I'm about three seconds from blowing my own load."

"Are you sure?"

There was that sniffling again. Why was that so hot?

Tony squeezed his hand around Steve's. "Yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure. So you just keep going, alright?"

"It feels better," Steve said after a few more thrusts, where Tony focused on not coming. If he came again, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the stimulation from being fucked so thoroughly. He just needed to hang on for a little longer.

He hoped.

He was doing pretty well, reciting physics equations and ignoring the fact that this was the single most amazing thing ever to have happened to him.

Then Steve started thanking him.

"Tony, so good," Steve muttered, hips stuttering and coming faster, more brutal. It felt amazing, with his cock slamming into Tony's prostate and then milking him with the stream of Steve's come. But Tony was actually distracted from that sensation by Steve and his precious little mouth.

"Tony, oh Tony, thank you," Steve was saying, low and fucked-out, "Thank you, baby. Oh thank you, thank you so much, thank—

Then Tony came.

He didn't have anything left in him to scream, just opened his mouth and let the pleasure knock him off his feet. It wasn't as intense as the first one because he wasn't 18 anymore, nor was he a government science project, but it was enough to knock him flat, push all the air out of his chest and make him collapse onto his front.

He closed his eyes and for a few minutes, fell asleep to the sounds of Steve's come being fucked into him and Steve's chest-rattling sobs.

This time, when he regained more of his senses, he just wasn't as sensitive. Maybe it was because there was literally nothing left for his body but either way, the only thing really uncomfortable was his cock against the come-sodden sheets.


"Tony, Tony, please," Steve sobbed, huge wracking tears and Tony turned his head so that he could speak a bit more clearly.

"Hey, don't cry, Cap," Tony slurred. "Just keep goin', feels nice."

He wasn't lying. Steve was barely even rabbiting his hips anymore. Tony couldn't tell if he was still coming because his ass was a mess of come but it seemed to Tony that the likelihood that Steve was crying harder than he was coming was high.

Which, okay—so Tony was embarrassed to say this but—the sobbing was kind of hot and cute. It didn't make sense but nothing about Steve Rogers made sense, from his wholesome smile, to his stubborn as fuck attitude, to his control issues, to his fuck gorgeous body—Steve was all about breaking Tony's brain, especially when it came to sex. And right now, Steve was blowing Tony's mind with all the hiccuping sobs and the sniffling, all the while making typical Steve-sex noises. It was so dirty-wrong that Tony's dick gave a twitch that made him gasp a little in pain. Over eager bastard.

"No, Tony, no. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't—"

Tony mustered up a lot of energy to reach back and scratch Steve's thigh.

"You're doing good, babe. Don't beat yourself up over a little extended orgasm," Tony huffed, then grimaced. "Can we do this like spoons? I feel like my cock is about to chafe off."

Steve whimpered and Tony waved his hand a little half-heartedly.


"Yeah, like, on our sides. You'll still be inside me, cause I'm greedy like that, Cap, but it'll be better. I promise."

It took a little maneuvering but with enough patience, Tony got Steve snuggled up behind him. In the transition, Tony grabbed a towel to do a little mopping of his fucked-out hole, made Steve drink two bottles of water and prided himself on only making a small little gasp when Steve reentered him.

"I can just—" Steve hiccupped but Tony shook his head, pulling so that Steve's hand was sitting over his chest. He hesitated, only for a second, before he laced their fingers together. No one could blame him for the cuddling because it was still fucking and this wasn't hand-holding, this was just a way of reassuring Steve that his Frankencock wasn't hurting Tony. This was for Steve. Tony didn't like hand-holding. Pft.

"You stay right where you are, Captain," Tony said firmly. Steve's hips were weakly twitching, almost like the frail little sobs he was making into Tony's neck. Tony was going to have to bring up the neck thing because Steve had never so much as bitten Tony on the neck before now and—maybe it was an embarrassment thing?

"Does it still hurt?"

Steve shakes his head, the wet flat of his bangs clinging to Tony's shoulder. "Just, I'm still—oh--inside of you."

Tony wiggled back and yeah, he couldn't tell if what was leaking out of his ass was new or just leftovers.

"I'm just gonna take a Cap-nap," Tony said with a yawn, pulling on Steve's hand until they were more flush back to front. It made it harder for Steve to do what little thrusting he was but Tony was fine with that—Steve could probably just suck it up and hopefully just sitting inside Tony was enough. "You okay?'

"Gosh, Tony. I'm so sorry, I'm so damn sorry—" came the reply, deep and wrecked and yeah, how in the world was Steve still crying? There was no way that Steve had any fluid of any kind left inside of him. Thankfully, they were so filthy that Tony couldn't tell the tears from the sweat from the come from the well, from Steve's snot because all that crying was bound to produce some. That should totally make Tony want to run for the hills and never, never come back to Steve.

"Tony, Tony."

"I'm right here," Tony said, squeezing Steve's fingers. "I'm right here, Captain Rogers."

It took a few moments but Steve finally squeezed back. "Thank you, Mr. Stark," he whispered back, voice soft and broken in a wholly different way but still so unbearably earnest. Tony was meaning to make a joke—lighten the mood or hell, let go of Steve's hand but then he fell asleep.


The next day, Tony hauled a humiliated, apologetic and incredibly sore Steve Rogers into his ensuite bathtub and told him to stay put.

"I'm serious, if you blow this popsicle stand, Capsicle, I will kick your fucking ass," Tony swore, rubbing at his own come crusted body and absolutely not stomping his foot.

Steve's eyes were so damn blue and huge and hurt. He opened his mouth but Tony cut him off.

"And stop apologizing!" Tony leaned forward, sticking his tongue in Steve's mouth and biting his bottom lip. He going to make a quick get-a-way but Steve had scruff on his face and Tony got distracted because wow, hello, his body was physically protesting getting hard (he might get a cramp in his dick) but Tony really needed some beardburn.

When he finally pulled away, he was still fondling Steve's scruff.

"Stay put in this tub, clean your bits—all those nooks and crannies because man, I would bet all the booze in the world that there is come there," Tony said, against Steve's still swollen mouth. "I'll be back."

Tony waited until Steve nodded, slumped shoulders and tiny pulled smile, before he walked away. He got to the bathroom door before he paused, "And Steve?"


"Don't shave your baby face, baby."


The next four hours weren't pleasant. Tony had to have three tragically awkward conversations with Bruce, endure two medical examinations (to be fair, he refused to leave for Steve's) and actually change his own sheets for the first time in his entirely too privileged life—until he realized that there was sex gunk soaked down through to the mattress and packed it in, moving his body, his super-hero boyfriend and a mound of pillows to Steve's room. There was a hell of a lot of complaining and sorrowful looks from Cap the entire time, with plenty of apologizing—which, for the record, wasn't sexy when they weren't fucking—but Tony was mostly tuning him out. If he missed anything important, he'd have Jarvis replay it for him later.

"Will you just lay down and watch a fucking movie with me?" Tony finally said, throwing down his tablet and glaring at Steve's back.

"I just," Steve stopped, whatever tension flooding out of his shoulders and making his hand hang. "I just want to make sure we're okay."

Tony sighed. "We're more than okay, Steve. Just—get into bed, okay?"

Steve made a funny little sound. Tony swore it sounded like a bag of cats getting hit with a bat but Jarvis insisted that it wasn't anything of the sort. Also, apparently that's insulting because Thor sulked until Bruce apologized for calling his brother crazier than a bag of cats. (Thor has actually said, "Doctor Banner, my brother may have some villainous attributes but that is a burden only my family can shoulder. I must protest your proclamations of my brother's scent. He doesn't not smell of insanity, but of frozen pine and crisp water! Your words haunt me and the Man of Iron assures me that this plague of insults is because I am a victim of your bullying." Seriously. The shit that went down in and around Tony was improbably, impossible.) But whatever sound was coming out of Steve's mouth wasn't stopping him from laying down next to Tony.

Stiff as a board but hey, if Tony wanted perfect, he'd be shacking up with Captain America. Tony liked that Steve had just as many issues as Tony and that they were different issues. He was not looking into a mirror of issues but a completely different, sexy combination of therapy shout-outs. Steve Rogers wasn't trying to fix Tony because he wasn't about the sprint. Steve was all about the marathon.

Tony tolerated it for about ten seconds before he leaned over, peering over his glasses and said as condescendingly as humanly possible, "Honey, do you have a headache, or do you want to have sex?"

Steve looked like he was going to make his Your-Breaking-the-Rules-and-This-Upsets-My-Internal-Order Face (Tony also like to call that one, The-Government-Made-Me-Kinky-With-This-Stick-Shoved-So-Far-Up-My-Ass Face. However, he kept that to himself because the fact that Tony named all of Steve's faces, and was starting to find even the most infuriating ones, Look-At-My-Stars-And-Stripes-I’m-In-Charge-Darn-it and Drinking-Kills-Kittens-And-Aggravates-My-Own-Latent-Daddy-Issues, more attractive and heaven-forbid, endearing than they had any right to be). But at the last moment, it shifted to bashful and lovely and oh, Tony had to kiss him. Those lips had a habit of pouting when he wasn't pressing them into a thin line, trying to be a stoic brat.

"There you are," Tony said. "Can we talk about how hot the blushing is with the beard you got going on, because holy fuck, Captain, if you hadn't fucked me hard enough to knock off some IQ points just hours ago, I would totally ask to come on your face."


But he was smiling and flushing, which was always a good sign.

"I want you to know," Tony said with a seriousness he felt. "That I deserve a reward—"


"Because I didn't kill anyone in a lab coat today. I didn't even threaten a single person of the medical profession today. Hell, I didn't even threaten a member of SHIELD today!"

Steve shook his head. "You told Clint that if he ate the last egg, you were going to shove a bow so far up his ass that it would rupture his sexuality."

"How did you hear that! You are so freaky."

But then there was kissing and Tony stopped fretting because kissing Steve was way better than detailing how much revenge he was going to extract when he could finally sit down for longer than twenty minutes without squirming. He had already sicced Jarvis on Fury but that was only the first act. Act Two was always flashier in the Operas Pepper made Tony go to. And there was much, much more pain and death at the end of them.

"Hmm," Tony hummed when Steve pulled away. "Maybe I could get it up for just one—"

"Hush, give me the remote. I want to watch Casablanca."

Steve laughed, pushing Tony away with a shove and settling more comfortably in the mountain of pillows Tony engineered for maximum comfort.

"Again with Bogart!" Tony yelled, clutching his chest. "Cap, you're killin' me here, babe. Your man-crush is starting to look like infatuation. Bogie might filing a restraining order from the dead and Steve, I'm starting to feel like I'm not the only handsome man in your life. Look! My arc, it's flickering."

Steve's only response was to shove Tony's face in his armpit and start the movie.