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Tony blinked at the ruined mess of the bed.
"It's just a one-time thing," Steve said as if Tony hadn't been seeing him and Bucky sauntering out of rooms, all rumpled clothes and satisfied faces, regularly for the past month. Tony’s breath caught and he fought the urge to squirm. As if Steve knew that Tony couldn't do anything about the fact that Steve was lying to his face. Blatantly.
Tony was still figuring out how to process that when Steve continued, blithely. "Anyway, me and Buck are gonna go see that new action flick. Don't wait up."
They pushed down the hallway and Tony was helpless to do anything but watch them go, Bucky's arm slung casually, possessively almost, around Steve's shoulders. Then he turned back to the rumpled bed.
“Sheets might need changing!” Steve called over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner. Tony clenched his fists, feeling a tight string of tension down his body, across his torso. He was almost trembling with it, whatever this it was.
He turned back to the bed, the sheets he had picked out with Steve - one of the first things they had bought together. Normally that was arranged by whoever managed his household at the moment, but Steve had wanted to do it as a thing, and so they compared thread counts and colors and weaves and came home with this set to see how they wore.
They were a deep blue, and Tony loved how Steve looked when he was laid out across them, panting and flushed.
He wondered if Bucky liked that too.
He was clenching the fabric hard enough to wrinkle, hard enough to make his knuckles ache. Carefully he exhaled and let it go.
There was a still damp stain to the side of the bed, Tony’s side of the bed. Steve’s side was barely wrinkled. He pulled, tried to sort out the crumpled pile of bedding and found his pillow, mashed and mangled and fouled.
Tony let out a low moan, not even really conscious of it and half startling himself with the noise. He shoved the pillow into his face to muffle his sounds. It smelled like sweat and bodies, the messy physicality of sex none of it his.
Fuck it.
He collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to pull his pants down as he ground into the mess of come and sweat they had left on the sheets. His shirt rode up and he gasped when he felt the cool dampness of the evidence of Steve’s indiscretions in their marital bed. That was almost too much.
He shoved his pants and underwear down to his thighs, jerking himself roughly, frantically before a thought occurred to him and he stopped, whining at the denial of pleasure even though he was doing it to himself. Then he grabbed the pillow again, buried his face into its smells and fucked against the sheets moaning at the stickiness, at the almost too rough texture of the damp fabric, at using their come as his only lube. He was breathing the stale pillow air of them, getting off on the remnants of their pleasure. They had likely been here for hours, the two of them in their prime. They would look like gods fucking each other. One dark one light.
And here was Tony, furtively humping the leftovers.
He came convulsively, the waves of almost agonizing pleasure crashed into him and he was floundering, helpless to do anything but hold on. He was spurting onto the sheets adding his own pathetic contributions and and gasping into the pillow as he twitched and choked on the spasms and his own breath.
When it had passed, he found himself flopped onto his side, the sheets now entirely kicked off the bed. His pathetic spend looking inconsequential next to Steve and Bucky’s stains.
He really should change the sheets. Or at least move over to Steve’s side. But the warm post-orgasm lassitude weighed heavy on him. He could do that later. For now, he could just sleep.
–
He woke up to Steve dropping bedding over top of him and slipping into bed behind him. The world was dark beyond the windows of the penthouse, but beyond that he had no idea what time it was. He looked around. It hadn’t been that late when Steve had left - they’d been aiming for an 8pm showing - and Tony had barely been sleeping five hours lately.
"It's just me,” Steve whispered, guessing at reassurance. It was wrong, but it still helped. “Go back to sleep."
“Time’sit?” Tony slurred.
“About 12:30.”
Tony could feel himself waking up. He’d gotten about five hours, that was probably enough for now. "Bucky, get home okay?"
"Yeah, and he said thanks, he had a good time. But how are you doing? Was it what you hoped?"
"It was even better than I hoped.” Tony stretched, rolling back into Steve. He could feel a soft ache in his muscles and the memories were enough to give him that familiar thrill. “I think I strained something I came so hard."
Steve laughed, reaching around to cup Tony's soft cock, and Tony wished he had the stamina of his younger partner and they could fuck their way through the memories of the last evening. But even if it wasn’t for the fact that he had crested fifty, Tony was merely mortal. He'd never be able to keep up, never truly be able to satisfy Steve.
And wasn’t that an idea. "How about next time, I fuck you, then you have to call in reinforcements to actually get the job done?"
Steve groaned, low in his chest and rolled onto his back, away from Tony. Tony watched as he breathed deeply.
“You like that idea.” Tony smirked, climbing on top of Steve, reveling in the way Steve’s hips twitched as he slid his thigh between Steve’s legs.
"You want Buck to come in and show you how it's really done?" Steve asked hoarsely. His hands had automatically settled against Tony’s hips, pinning him in place while he lazily ground his hardening cock against Tony’s thigh.
"Only if you're loud about it."
"Jesus," Steve cursed, suddenly rolling them so Tony on his back, in the no longer wet but kind of crusty spot, with Steve looming over him. "Yeah. We can do that. But first, I’m gonna show you what it looks like when a real man comes."
Tony wasn’t ashamed of the way he whined at that. He couldn’t be ashamed, not when he saw what it did to Steve. He laid back, looked down his body at his still soft cock and looked up at the man who had been turned into the best possible version of himself. The contrast had him writhing.
Steve put a hand down, pressing Tony’s cock flat and almost hiding it entirely with one casual hand, pinning him in place effortlessly.
“Bucky’s is bigger.” He said, and while Tony was still riding out the rush of utterly humiliated arousal, Steve came, his orgasm splattering across Tony’s chest.
Steve flopped off to the side, absently dragging up a corner of sheet to wipe himself off before throwing it over the mess on Tony’s chest. Still Tony’s fucking side of the sheets. If Tony could get hard again he’d have such fucking blue balls.
Steve pulled up his own unsullied side of the sheets and dragged Tony back to his side of the bed, come-splattered sheet and all.
“Bucky will be glad to help. But good Bulls only come to cucks who get over seven hours of sleep a night.”
“Good Bulls shouldn’t be coming to cucks at all,” Tony muttered, but he let Steve get them both settled. “That’s the whole point.”
“Go to sleep, Tony,” Steve said firmly. And Tony already had his almost five hours, but Steve’s breath was warm and even on the back of his neck, and his arm was heavy and comforting where it lay over Tony’s ribs. Tony could just enjoy this for a while and think about the things they could do.
He was asleep within minutes.