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Kings Of Coney Island

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Mid-September, and the night was dry and cold. Freezing, actually, but that had the happy benefit of numbing Tony’s split lip, slowing the steady drip of blood to a sluggish ooze. The deep bruising on his arms and ribs wasn’t so serendipitously affected, but it was pain he could ignore. The tight knot in his stomach - panic; betrayal; cold, dead fear - was a much bigger problem.

Tony sauntered confidently as he could up to the main entrance of a tastefully upper-class apartment building. It tried to blend into the neighborhood’s run-down background, but no amount of somber brickwork or plain wrought-iron filigree could hide the fact that the building was practically dripping with ill-begotten money, a nexus of power and wealth just outside of the law. The tell-tale sidearm bulges under the doorman’s uniform were additional, more obvious clues. Tony flashed the guard a winning, somewhat blood-stained smile and waltzed over to the resident call-box. He wasn’t bothered - it wasn’t the first time a place like this had seen a beat-to-hell socialite, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

He pushed the button next to the “Rogers, S.” nameplate and waited. The doorman continued to glower, and Tony continued to radiate charm and good-will right back at him.

Faint static and a sleep-rough voice diverted Tony’s attention back to the intercom. “Rogers. Who is this and whaddya want?”

“Rogers, darling!” Tony forced as much carefree delight into his voice as he could, though it ended up sounding quite a bit more like panic. “It’s Stark- Tony Stark, of course, because we both know dear Gregory would never deign to consort with, ah, independent entrepreneurs like yourself. I’m in a spot of trouble and was wondering if you might find it in your heart to hear me out?” Was he babbling? He was babbling.

The intercom stayed quiet for a long moment, which didn’t do much for Tony’s mood. When Rogers did finally respond, he sounded much more awake but not much happier. “Not something you can talk about in public, then?”

“Not as such, no.”

A deep sigh, like the concession was physically painful. “Fine, I’m on floor 26. This had better be good.” The intercom cut off.

Tony was well aware that Rogers was being as polite as he could manage, but the terse invitation - and extremely thorough pat-down from the doorman - didn’t exactly help endear him.

The interior of the elevator was all mirrored panels, and Tony took the opportunity to straighten himself up. He’d started the day dressed impeccably as ever - designer suit, silk tie, loafers polished to a shine - but it turned out getting assaulted by hired thugs and chased out of ones own home on threat of death resulted in some wear and tear. He’d lost his jacket in the scuffle, which had made the hike over uncomfortable, and the defensive bruising on his forearms was starting to turn purple, but the swollen split lip was thankfully the only place they’d drawn blood.

Even after he pulled his sleeves down, it was more weakness than he felt comfortable showing in front of someone like Captain Steve Rogers, but he didn’t have much choice. Maybe Rogers would take pity on him if he looked like something the cat dragged in out of the cold. Or maybe Rogers would take one look at him and kick him back to the curb - Rogers did love his charity cases, but Tony wasn’t exactly an underprivileged inner city kid.

The elevator dinged quietly and slid open, revealing a minimalistic entrance foyer done in soft woods and warm colors. Classic Rogers, no taste for modernity- but now wasn’t the time to critique interior design. Tony knocked on the front door of the penthouse, which opened almost as soon as he touched it.



Rogers did not look especially happy- but then, he rarely did. The handsome lines of his face and jaw seemed permanently set in a scowl, and his faintly crooked nose gave him a thuggish air. A pity, Tony considered, because the man had some seriously impressive physique, which was fortuitously on display. Apparently meeting Tony rated pants and double chest holsters, but not a shirt, which was fine by him.

“So what’s your problem?” Rogers took in the black eye, the split lip, the way Tony curled ever so slightly around his ribs, with a soldier’s keen appraisal. “Sleep with someone’s wife again?”

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes; Rogers’ distaste for his playboy lifestyle was well-known, which was part of the reason he’d come to him for help. No one would ever expect a respectable up-and-coming mafioso like Steve Rogers to spare a second thought for some rich, eccentric debutante like Tony Stark. “Please, I’m much more discreet than that.”

He waited for a retort, some of their semi-normal banter, but Rogers just stayed irritable and silent, possibly because it was 3 in the morning but also possibly because Rogers had no joy in his soul. Fine, he wanted to cut to the chase? Tony could do that.

“We should get married."

Tony quickly shoved his foot and most of his body in the door jam as Rogers attempted to slam it in his face. “Come now, just hear me out!”

Rogers just glared harder. “There is no situation in which marrying you would be a good idea, and I don’t have time for your jokes.”

“Greg’s started a take-over and ousted me. He tried to have me killed.” Tony swallowed as much of his pride as he could. “You’re the only person I know with the resources to keep him off me who isn’t also in his pocket. I need your help.”

For a long moment, Rogers just started, eyes narrowed and calculating. Tony, heart in his throat, tried his best to keep a look of total sincerity up, which wasn’t hard considering he was, in fact, totally sincere. Finally, Rogers backed away and opened the door, which allowed Tony to stumble into the penthouse.

“I’m listening,” Rogers continued as soon as the door was closed.

“Like I said, Greg- he’s pulling a full take-over of the company, all our holdings, all my holdings.” For once, Tony didn’t try to hide how the relief at not being thrown back out onto the street made his voice shake, and followed Rogers further into the penthouse. “He’s got the board in his pocket, moved my patents to his name, forged documents, paid off witnesses, hired thugs - the whole nine yards. He’s trying to frame me for corporate sabotage or something, trying to get me incarcerated or blacklisted- I don’t fucking know but it’s my company.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair, tried to pull his voice back down from the angered pitch it had risen to.

Rogers’ voice remained impassive and skeptical, but his expression softened faintly even as he leaned back against the marble countertop. “So you need what, guns? Money? Bodyguards?”

“I need someone I can trust.”

Silence settled over them, heavy, and Tony wondered if he made a tactical error, being so meticulously honest with Rogers right out of the gate. The good Captain was a not the kind of man who responded to desperation with unconditional aid, after all- or at least, not right away. He needed a reason. People always did.

Rogers’ eyes were remarkably blue, cold and calculating and earnest all at once as he stared Tony down. When he finally spoke again, Tony felt as though some small weight on his chest had lifted, like a held-in breath being released.

“Why the marriage proposal?” Rogers asked, wary but willing to play along.

Breathe in, breathe out, stay in control. “Because Greg’s my only family and we’ve not always liked each other, but I didn’t think he was a murdering snake until about 2 hours ago, so he’s still in my will.” Tony eyed up the decanters of whiskey over the bar behind Rogers, but maneuvering casually around his bulk would be too difficult to bother with. God, he needed a drink, just one or two to still his shaking hands. “If he does manage to kill me, he’ll get everything. I’m not going to let that happen, not even over my dead body.”

Rogers crossed his arms, which had the dual effect of showing off his massive biceps and making the WWII-era pin up on his sleeve tattoo ripple enticingly. It was possible that Tony had had secondary motives when he’d picked Rogers for his plan. “And marrying someone will block Greg’s easiest path to your half of the company.” The contemplative note in his voice sounded almost approving, and Tony latched onto the advantage.

“Right, he’ll have to go aboveground to get rid of me, use, well, not actual tactics, but methods other than brute force, things I can actually counter. He’ll have to fight on my turf, and I’ll tear him apart,” Tony growled reasonably.

“This’s a pretty complicated revenge plan for something that could be fixed by changing your will,” Rogers remarked, settling onto one of the bar stools, legs spread imperiously to either side. He relaxed slightly, like a large predator amused by the antics of his potential prey. It was a terrifyingly attractive tableau. “Unless Greg has that, too.”

Tony tried not to scowl too forcefully - his lip had only just healed over. “Don’t be an ass; Greg’s my brother, but I’m not an idiot. It’s out of his reach,” he paused, and conceded, “But there’s no way I can get to it and change it without forcing his hand, and knowing my luck he’ll find some way to get the changes thrown out when he does kill me, so it won’t even fucking matter.”

For a brief and promising second, Rogers’ hard, calculating gaze softened sympathetically, and though the walls went back up almost immediately, it was enough - Tony could tell he’d won, because he’d found Rogers’ soft spot. For all his finely leashed barbarism, Steve Rogers wore as much of his heart on his sleeve has he could afford, and he was morally incapable of abandoning someone who’d ever wronged him, even if he did always search for a practical justification. It was a weakness, and Tony was glad to see it. Everyone had a weakness, after all, a poorly hidden and poorly healed wound, and one of Tony’s many sorts of genius lay in finding that spot and never hesitating to dig in, to keep pushing until it hurt.

“So you marry me for the resources and protection you need to clean house, and in return I get- what, exactly?” At odds with his hard-edged tone of voice, Rogers unfolded his arms and started drumming his fingers on a nearby table. Nervous habit? Sign of imminent violence? “You’re asking for a lot from me, Stark, and I still can’t see what I’m supposed to get out this scheme - we’re not even friends.”

“You wound me, darling,” Tony replied dryly, eyeing up the whiskey - and Rogers - yet again. He licked his lips at one or both. “Also, you insult my intelligence and my talents, which is something I’m not about to stand for. I mean, you do realize I’m the most brilliant mechanical engineer in the world, right? That every branch of the US military fights for the right to suck my cock?” He stalked closer to Rogers, drawing up as tall as he could despite the pain in his ribs, and slid easily into the mask his investors were used to, slick and charming and rightly arrogant, like the world had a price and ‘budget’ was a dirty word. “Give me twenty minutes with those sidearms of yours, and I’ll rebuild them 30% more efficient. Give me an hour with the contents of your kitchen and I’ll build you a fuckin’ satellite. Give me a week and a few million and I’ll have untraceable, custom-made, fully automatic weapons for every thug on your payroll.”

He jabbed Rogers in the center of his broad chest, just below the point of a delicate golden crucifix. “Greg took my company, but he can’t take away the fact that I’m the kind of genius you see once a millennium, that I can revolutionize the world before breakfast, that I’m Tony fucking Stark. I pay my debts - you help me now, Rogers, and I’ll make us both gods.”

And just to sell it further, Tony batted his eyes a bit, smirk turning dirty. “Plus, I’m fantastic in bed.”

Rogers’ expression, previously neutral and considering, pinched suspiciously when Tony upped the charm, like the idea of a roll in the sack somehow soured the deal. Which was ridiculous - Tony was so good he could get letters of recommendation - plural! - from past fucks.

Tony was cut off from making just such an observation by Rogers drawing up to his full height, pressing a broad hand against Tony’s chest, and shoving him firmly against the wall. Irritated, Tony tried to shove him off, but Rogers held him down with all the apparent effort of a bear pinning some unlucky rabbit.

“Prove it,” Rogers smirked, and Tony was forced to recall that he was trying to ally himself with one of the most ruthless men in the city. It had been a miscalculation to expect Rogers to just say yes without a downpayment.

For a brief moment, Tony went perfectly still, heart rate picking up. Surely Rogers could feel that, feel the flash of anticipatory fear that shot down his spine like a gunshot, but his patient, challenging smirk never changed. Why would it? He had Tony right where he wanted him, pinned and trapped and with no option left but to submit. The very idea left a foul taste in Tony’s mouth, and he resisted his natural urge to sneer only by reminding himself that Rogers wasn’t wrong - if Tony didn’t concede now, he’d be easy prey for Greg or anyone else who wanted a shot at him, only so much blood in the water.

Or maybe Rogers was issuing a challenge, because he liked to see Tony squirm, because he wanted to test his resolve, because he wanted Tony to understand just what he was getting into. Maybe this was Rogers setting his terms, demanding a downpayment for a serious investment on his part.

Maybe Rogers just wanted to fuck, though if that was the case he really ought to have said something sooner.

Finally, Tony grabbed tight to the shoulder straps of Rogers’ holsters - Steve’s holsters; he ought to start calling him Steve, it was just polite - and smiled, sharp and bright like a knife, a perfect match to Steve’s arrogantly expectant expression. “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”

The kiss he dragged Steve into wasn’t nice or gentle, but it was hot and bruising and desperate, which was good enough for Tony. Steve hesitated only a second before responding and taking control, sliding his hand up Tony’s chest and neck to grab his jaw and force his mouth open, which Tony would have taken offense to if it was so goddamn hot - the idea of Steve prying him open, taking what he wanted, and leaving Tony a shaking wreck sent shivers of arousal sparking through his limbs.

He moaned into Steve’s mouth, thick and a little surprised at just how quickly a kiss could scramble his brains, but the faint rumble of a smug chuckle against his mouth helped him refocus. Steve hadn’t yet earned the right to be that satisfied, no matter how good he was. Tony released his grip on the holsters, confident that Steve would keep them plastered together, and started running his fingers, calloused and perfectly manicured, across Steve’s chest, mapping out the jagged scars and puckered bullet wounds that were as much a badge of his profession as were Tony’s bespoke suits. He flicked his fingertips across Steve’s nipples, then pinched, which got a pleased grunt out of him that Tony was eager to hear again.

Tony dragged his nails down the flat planes of Steve’s stomach, grabbing onto the hem of his pants for purchase as Steve continued to plunder his mouth. When they finally broke for air, Tony couldn’t hide the way he had to pant through his bruised and swollen lips, though Steve’s eyes were satisfyingly dark, pupils blown so wide only the thinnest ring of blue remained around the edge. Tony licked his lips, noting the way Steve followed the motion, and smirked, shaky but challenging. “Mmm, not bad for a start, but how’s your follow-through?"

Steve nearly smiled, eyes dancing with the first hint of genuine amusement he’d seen all night. “Good enough for you,” he teased back, and then tore Tony’s shirt off. Buttons flew everywhere, but Tony was thoroughly distracted from being offended by the feeling of Steve pressed flush against him, his skin almost painfully hot against Tony’s bruises, and the heavy, gradually hardening weight of Steve’s cock against his hip bone. He swallowed a groan as Steve tilted his head to the side and bit hard at his neck, arching up into the muscular thigh so courteously wedged between his own. Tony wouldn’t admit to anything as undignified as writhing, but the way his hands scrambled about had as much to do with involuntary reactions to Steve worrying an impressive bite mark into the meat of his throat as it did with getting his hands on Steve’s outstandingly firm backside.

He rolled his hips up at the same time he pulled Steve forward, forcing them to grind against each other, a sensation that was only improved by Steve’s low, surprised groan. Tony could feel Steve hardening against his thigh with every roll of their hips, which was almost as flattering as it was arousing. He wanted to get his mouth on it, see if he could take Steve apart just like that, make his eyes glaze over, soften the harsh frown lines of his face.

The thought of Steve above him, wrung out and dazed and flushed, made Tony groan through his teeth, and he skated a hand up Steve’s back and into his short-cropped hair, pulling him away from Tony’s throat and back onto his mouth, where he belonged. He made sure this time to push back properly against Steve, make him work for it. Steve was physically stronger, to be sure, but Tony wasn’t without tricks of his own, like the way he sucked on Steve’s tongue, or nipped none so gently at his lips, all the while running his fingers through the fine hairs at the back of Steve’s neck, making him shiver faintly.

It was immensely satisfying, then, that when they separated again, Tony wasn’t the only one panting for breath - Steve’s eyes were dark and shuttered, his mouth slick and swollen. It was an extraordinarily good look on him. “Well-kissed looks good on you, but I’m willing to bet well-fucked will look even better.”

Steve blinked once, twice, and then smirked again, evidently satisfied with Tony’s gung-ho attitude. “Only one way to find out.”

“See, we’re already cooperating splendidly,” Tony said, as his friendly pat of Steve’s impressive bicep turned into a caress. “Though, might I request we move somewhere softer and more horizontal? My ribs aren’t really up for anything too rough.”

The smirk slid off of Steve’s face almost immediately. “Your ribs? Shit.” He glanced down and- ah, there was the classic Rogers scowl, along with a strange twist of expression that might have been guilt. Tony didn’t want to think about it, or the way Steve was starting to draw back. “We shouldn’t-“

Tony stopped Steve’s hesitant retreat with a white-knuckled grip on his belt. “Don’t even think about it, Rogers.” Panic, held back only by rage, bubbled up in Tony’s throat. He wasn’t going to be thrown back out on the street, he fucking wasn’t. “We made a deal. You can’t back out of your own conditions.”

“Your ribs are bruised, Stark, maybe even cracked - you shouldn’t-“

“Fuck you?” Tony laughed at the accidental pun, and also at the look on Steve’s face, worried and angry and sanctimonious as hell. “Actually, fuck you anyway, just for good measure - you don’t get to hold me down and tell me I can’t get help without putting out first, and then change your mind when you find out I’m damaged goods.” He bared his teeth, and tugged harder. “You made a bed for both of us, Rogers, now man up and lie in it.”

Steve finally stopped trying to get away, but the hesitation still hung heavy and sharp between them. Tony’s heart, rapid with arousal and panic, beat thick in his throat as Steve looked at him, at his split lip and clenched jaw and flushed skin, and at the bruises mottled across his torso. When he met Tony’s eyes again, the unease was still there, masked with something like acceptance, or maybe something like rage, cool and calm and fathoms deep-- but either way his answer was obvious even before he bothered to speak.

“Fine.” Tony smirked, triumphant, though it dimmed a little when Steve’s jaw stayed clenched. “But we’re taking this easy - I’m not paying for your medical bills if you manage to puncture a lung.”

Tony laughed, which was clearly not the reaction Steve had been expecting. “Of course, darling; we’ll work out medical care in the prenup,” he wheezed, ribs considerably more painful than they had been minutes ago. Endorphins needed come get back into the picture asap. “Now let’s pay a visit to your nearest soft, horizontal surface - I want to see how far you can stuff your cock down my throat.”

Steve actually blushed at that, a dusting of pink across his cheeks that only accentuated the blatant hunger in his eyes and was especially hilarious because he’d been enthusiastically humping Tony’s leg not moments earlier. Tony muffled another laugh, and then stopped muffling it when Steve’s faint embarrassment turned into affronted embarrassment and he growled and kissed Tony again, presumably to shut him up. It was a sound plan, and Tony moaned shamelessly into Steve’s mouth.

He pushed off the wall and into Steve, who stepped backwards with almost unnatural grace, tugging Tony with him. They wound back through the penthouse, breaking contact only when Steve needed to open doors or Tony needed to gasp for air (which was a little more often than he wanted to admit to, but Tony could deal and if Steve noticed, he wisely kept his mouth shut). By the time they reached Steve’s room, Tony was mostly in his boxers and not a lot else, his shoes having been discarded somewhere in the kitchen and his pants victims of Steve’s aggressively wandering hands. Those same hands were currently wandering around in some very lovely places, namely the small of his back and the deliriously sensitive crease at the top of his thigh.

Tony hitched his leg up around Steve’s hip to give his hand more room to maneuver, and sucked in a surprised - and jarringly painful - breath as Steve simply grabbed his other leg and lifted, pulling him entirely off the ground. Necessity dictated Tony cling to Steve’s broad shoulders and wrap his legs around his waist, which turned out to be a fantastic opportunity to grind their cocks together.

“Glad to see,” Tony panted between sloppy kisses, “those arms aren’t just for show.”

Steve grunted eloquently and sucked on his tongue. It was really quite unfair that he should be so good at shutting Tony up so early in their relationship, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to complain all that much, especially since Steve made such lovely little gasping sounds, low and swallowed, every time Tony rocked his hips up. Steve’s fingers were digging ten perfect bruises into Tony’s thighs - he could feel them forming clearly, hot points of pressure and dull ache just on the right side of good - and Tony’s head was swimming with sensation and oxygen shortage.

He smacked at one of Steve’s massive shoulders to get his attention - no small feat, considering how focused he was on wrecking Tony’s mouth with his tongue - and managed to gasp out something mostly coherent about moving to the bed. Steve’s eyes, dark and thoughtful, darted to the bed, back to Tony, and his arms tensed like he was considering tossing - or worse, gently placing - Tony on to it.

“Oh, put me down, I can get there myself.” Tony growled, irritated. He pushed at Steve’s chest, which was physically futile but it seemed to get his point across.

“Are you sure you don’t-“ Steve set him down carefully, and Tony batted his suddenly cautious hands away. He didn’t need pity, dammit.

“Bed, Rogers, come on, off with your pants,” he babbled, tugging pointedly at Steve’s belt. “I wasn’t kidding about you fucking my face.”

Steve frowned, even as his eyes darkened with lust. “That’s not exactly taking it easy, Stark.”

“Look, you can kneel over me and I’ll suck you off - I’ll be lying down and not taking any extra weight and then your mother-hen subroutine can complete.”

“And what about restriction of your airways? Busted ribs making breathing a hell of a lot harder under even normal circumstances.”

Tony rolled his eyes and gestured impatiently himself. “Hello, have we met? I’m Tony Stark, voted New York’s Best-Loved Man-Whore 15 years running - if I didn’t know how handle a little bit of playful asphyxiation, I would’t have made it to 20, trust me.”

Again, Steve looked like he was going to protest - or punch something, but that was basically his default expression, so Tony couldn’t be sure - but this time stayed quiet and shoved Tony back onto the bed. The mattress and duvet were soft enough to absorb the most of the impact, but Tony still gasped at the rough shock of pain. By the time he pulled himself together and sat up, Steve had, as request, ditched the rest of his clothing and was working on unstrapping his holsters. His expression was thunderous, but Tony had a hard time focusing on Steve’s anger when his cock was right there, thick and swollen and uncut.

“Wait.” He licked his lips. “Leave the holsters on.”

Steve paused and looked at Tony like he was crazy, but obligingly tightened the straps back down. As he climbed onto the bed, powerful thighs flexing over Tony’s waist, Tony congratulated himself on good idea. Steve was all hard muscle and smooth, surprisingly pale skin, littered with faint scars and puckered bullet holes. His cock jutted up from a thatch of coarse blond hair, darker than on his head, which trailed up to his naval. This close, Tony could see the paler hair spread across his chest and belly, which contrasted nicely with the dark leather of the holsters and the matte black of the gun handles poking out just inside his biceps. Steve exuded power and raw, masculine sexuality in a way that had demanded Tony’s attention even before the mess with Greg, and just the thought finally getting to taste and touch made his mouth water. The anger and irritation still evident on Steve’s face just made it so much better, a brush of fear again overwhelming arousal.

God, he was going to make Steve ride his mouth and hands until he choked, and he was going to fucking love it.

Impatient, Tony wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock, shuddering at how he nearly couldn’t, it was so thick, and stroked, slow and steady, like he wanted to commit every inch of it to kinetic memory. Steve grunted and rocked forward, some of the anger melting away as pleased surprise took its place.

“You should move further up the bed,” Steve suggested - no, ordered, there was no mistaking that tone - voice low and satisfyingly rough. Though reluctant to stop touching, Tony complied.

“Be a dear and get me the lube, would you?” He said, arranging himself on the pillows so his head was tilted slightly up. His neck wouldn’t thank him for the position later, but Tony honestly didn’t care. “And a condom, unless you’re clean?”

His tone, purposefully light and skeptical, got the predicted result from Steve, which was a flash of annoyance and a growled, “I’m clean; shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?,” before Steve tossed the lube over a bit harder than necessary.

Tony laughed anyway. “I’m a slut, not an idiot, but I’ll make an exception for you. Now get up here, Rogers, knees under my arms.”

As Steve moved into position, Tony poured a generous pool of lube onto his own stomach for both easy access and body warmth. No one liked cold lube, and he was willing to bet Steve liked it even less than normal, though the image of Steve reacting to cold lube by bristling like some sort of irritated cat was amusing enough to make him grin.

“What are you smiling about, Stark?” Steve peered down suspiciously, though the effect was ruined somewhat by his dark eyes and full-body flush.

Tony patted consolingly at Steve’s thigh. “Nothing important, darling; now scoot so I can suck your cock.”

He easily ignored Steve’s muttered ‘don’t call me darling’ in favor of focusing on Steve’s dick, red and almost fully erect, the tip only just starting to peek out from the foreskin. Tony kissed it, wet and sloppy, then got his hand around the base and kissed it again, this time letting a bit slip into his mouth so he could get his tongue in the slit. Steve made a sharp sound and tensed his thighs like he was trying not to jerk forward, which just make Tony smile and pull off. He stroked a few times with his hand, dimly fascinated by how the foreskin contracted and retracted with the motion and with how the swollen tip was almost demurely exposed.

“What exactly are you doing?” Steve’s voice was still pleasantly husky, but the annoyance beneath it was obvious.

“Playing peek-a-boo with your cock, apparently.”

Stark-“ he started to growl, but cut off abruptly when Tony went ahead and sloppily swallowed a few inches. The look on Steve’s face was priceless, surprised and broad-sided and a little bit pissed off. Tony would have smiled if his mouth wasn’t so full, and satisfied himself with humming happily around Steve’s cock.

When he pulled off - slowly, cheeks hollowed with suction and the flat of his tongue dragging tortuously along the underside - Steve’s expression had mellowed into pure arousal, his eyes open only enough to watch Tony work. It was immensely satisfying, and inspired all sorts of charitable feelings.

Tony wiped his other hand through the now-warm lube on his belly, slid a few slick fingers up Steve’s cleft, and started rubbing at his hole. Steve obligingly spread his knees a little wider and rocked hesitantly back, caught between Tony’s careful fingers and light kisses. He was fully erect now, the vein on the underside of his cock standing out in sharp relief - Tony wanted to lick it, and so he did, wet and unashamedly eager. When Steve started squirming again, he pulled back up and sucked hard at the tip, then slid his finger in up to the first knuckle. Steve groaned and rocked down, taking the rest of it into his tight heat.

It was so unexpectedly wanton that Tony gasped in surprise, and promptly ended up with considerably more of Steve’s cock down his throat than he was prepared for. He choked around it, which made Steve clench up, which made Tony moan, which made Steve thrust in even deeper, both of them acting unwisely on reflex. Unprepared as he was, Tony could hardly breathe, and it took every ounce of control he had to keep from choking for real, throat spasming and fluttering around Steve’s cock in a way that he had to realize was unintentional. Even so, it was still a few pointed heartbeats before Steve finally pulled back and Tony could suck in wet, desperate breaths.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured, gently rocking on Tony’s finger. He didn’t actually sound particularly sorry, but there was a contrite bend to his frown that was probably sincere, so Tony was willing to let it slide.

“Just-“ he coughed again, clearing his airway. “Warn a guy, next time.” Not that Tony was especially angry, or anything - unpleasant as being unprepared had been, the sensation of being split open on that huge cock had still been overpowering and arousing.

Steve hummed out something that might have been an agreement, but was still awfully smug for Tony’s liking. He retaliated with a second finger in Steve’s tight hole and a pointed curl of the digits, which made Steve shudder deliciously above him. Good to know he liked having his ass played with - Tony was going explore that detail much more thoroughly in the future, and then encourage Steve to return the favor.

When Steve relaxed around his fingers, Tony licked up his cock again, lapping a bit unnecessarily at the precome beading out of his slit. Tony considered keeping this sort of thing up for hours, teasing Steve at both ends, never giving him quite enough, holding him on a razors edge of pleasure for longer than any man’s sanity could last - but right now he wanted Steve pleased and satisfied and willing to go along with his crazy plan, and that meant letting Steve take what he wanted, when he wanted. And if what Steve wanted was to fuck his face sooner rather than later, well, Tony would happily shoulder that burden.

He wrapped his lips around Steve’s cock, pulling him slowly forward into his mouth with crooked fingers. This time, Tony could savor the slow slide of swollen flesh against his tongue, the way his lips had to stretch wide to accommodate it, the hectic pulse of a heartbeat against the roof of his mouth, and how Steve actually reached down and pulled his jaw further open to make room. It was fantastic and heady and empowering all at once, and when Steve twitched against his tongue, Tony couldn’t help but moan. He bobbed his head a few times, letting Steve sink further back into his mouth on every rock forward, then took a deep breath and opened his throat. Steve’s cock slid immediately in and in and in, until Tony’s nose was buried in the coarse hair at its base and all he could breathe was the heavy, masculine musk of Steve’s arousal.

The effect on Steve was immediate - he groaned, surprised and breathy and ridiculously sexy, and Tony rolled his own hips uselessly as the sound reminded him that he was also rock hard and totally neglected. Luckily, feeling Steve struggle not to thrust again - and with two fingers up his ass and a hand on his hip, Tony could really feel just how hard-won restraint was - was almost as good as actually being touched. He moaned wet and sloppy around Steve’s cock, drool leaking into his goatee, and tried to signal with his eyes that he was ready for Steve to move.

Steve seemed to get the message - or just could’t hold off any longer - and started rocking slowly between Tony’s mouth and fingers. Tony just focused on breathing through his nose, on forcing his gag reflex into submission, and on keeping his mouth loose and slick. Steve seemed to appreciate the effort, if the way his breathing picked up was any indication. He curled his fingers into Tony’s hair to anchor himself, a little too tight and completely perfect, and gradually sped up until he was fucking Tony’s throat at a pace just short of brutal. While he was polite enough not to completely asphyxiate Tony with his cock, Tony was probably going to have bruises from the snapping of Steve’s pelvis against his face, which was really unexpectedly hot.

Tony sucked in air as steadily as he could, but he was still edging into the good sort of mild oxygen deprivation that made his body feel like it was floating and the whole world look a bit fuzzy around the edges. He really really really wanted to get a hand around his cock, but didn’t want to loose his restraining hold on Steve’s hip, and had to settle for writhing pointlessly against the duvet, desperate moans vibrating up Steve’s cock.

They settled into something like a rhythm, with Steve really honestly fucking Tony’s mouth for a few minutes, pulling off long enough for Tony to take a few deep breaths and for Steve to grind down onto his fingers, and then sliding back in, the hand in Tony’s hair angling his head properly every time. Tony felt deliciously used, and couldn’t even bring himself to mind that his lip had split back open, or that he was definitely not getting enough air, or that the wet, half-pained click-chokes he kept hearing were coming from his own throat as Steve just kept stuffing his huge cock down it over and over again.

Steve’s thrusts gradually sped up, unsteady and desperate but no deeper than Tony could reasonably handle, and he started clenching and fluttering around Tony’s fingers, which Tony was willing to bet meant he was close. Tony pulled out all the tricks he could think of to help Steve along, swallowing around the tip of his cock and rubbing steadily at his prostate with two calloused digits, and was rewarded with a series of breathy panting groans that started out low and rose in pitch, rhythmic little ‘uh, uhn, uhn’s that sounded so fucking uncontrolled; they were driving Tony crazy, no man as stoic as Steve Rogers should sound so quietly desperate so close to coming. Steve’s rocking stuttered, and his cock swelled in Tony’s mouth, bitter precome dripping steadily onto his tongue.

When he came, with a rich, clenched moan that sounded suspiciously like Tony’s name, Steve thrust harshly forward once, twice, and a third time, then held Tony down on his cock, his grip like steel as he blew his load down Tony’s throat and forced him to swallow it. Tony’s eyes rolled back in his head as he hitched-choked around Steve’s twitching cock and tried to keep breathing, but Steve just kept coming, grinding hard into his mouth until he started to soften. When he did finally pull out, Tony gasped and coughed, the come he hadn’t managed to swallow dribbling out of his mouth and into his goatee. God, what a fucking picture he was.

And of course, Steve, Tony noticed when he’d gotten his breathing back under control, wasn’t a half bad image himself, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon, jaw slack, lips swollen from where he’d bitten them to keep quiet, a full-body flush leading down to his softening cock, which was still visibly wet with his spunk and Tony’s saliva.

Tony belatedly pulled his fingers out of Steve and wiped them on the covers at the same time he tried to scrub the worst of the come out of his goatee. Steve immediately flopped over beside him and, before Tony could open his mouth to request some fucking reciprocation, oh my god please oh fuck, Steve put his hand back in Tony’s hair and pulled him into a filthy, sloppy kiss that stole what little breath he’d managed to get back. When Steve wrapped his big, warm hand around Tony’s cock and started stroking, his entire body spasmed like he’d been shocked and he made a noise that sounded suspiciously like whimper, not that he’d admit to it. Steve may or may not have laughed against his lips, but then he was plundering Tony’s mouth again, like he was trying to chase the taste of his own come, and that was it, Tony was done for, he jerked and shuddered and spilled messily all over Steve’s hand and stomach and chest, fuck.

He also must have passed out a little, because the next thing he realized a warm, slightly damp cloth smacked into his chest. When he blinked his eyes open, Steve was standing by an open window with a mostly finished cigarette dangling from his fingertips, one arm still extended in an underhand toss. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed, which Tony appreciated almost as much as the cloth.

“Thanks,” he coughed, voice very justifiably rough, and sat up. He grunted in pain as the motion reminded him that his ribs were definitely cracked by now.

“You’re getting those looked at tomorrow.” Steve was suddenly much closer, warm and smelling like sex and smoke. Tony scowled but didn’t look up.

“I don’t do doctors, and besides, they’re fine.” He wiped at his face, then tugged his boxers off and cleaned off his torso.

“You don’t have to leave the penthouse, don’t worry,” and wasn’t that a freaky bit of mind-reading, what the hell. “I’ve got a…physician on retainer who’s discreet and good at house calls.”

Tony hesitated, the cloth clenched in his hand. A small bubble of hope rose in his chest, because it really didn’t sound like Steve was going to go back on their implied deal. “So…I guess that means we can announce the engagement in the morning?” He tried for teasing, but there was a shaky wobble that he couldn’t completely write off as a side effect of a fantastic orgasm.

Steve, the bastard, stayed conspicuously silent, staring Tony down with those cold, calculating, freakishly blue eyes. They were the eyes of a businessman, of a killer, of a soldier, of the boy next door, somehow all at once, but none of those interpretations were completely incorrect when it came to Steve Rogers. Under that hard gaze, Tony felt like he was a breath away from getting his neck snapped, with no more effort than breaking a twig, but also like Steve could just as easily loose that tightly controlled violence on someone else, maybe even on someone Tony pointed to— and wasn’t that the most terrifying feeling in the world, the idea of being the man who could tell Captain Steve Rogers “kill”, and all he’d say in return was “who”.

And then the moment was gone, and Tony was back to holding as steady as he could, lest Steve sense weakness.

“I’ll need to talk to my lieutenants first, get the word to the right people in the right order, and we need to work a lot of stuff out— but yeah, it looks like I’m going along with your crazy plan.” He smiled, hard and full of teeth. “Don’t make me regret this, Stark.”

Tony smiled back, delirious with relief, eyes wild and manic. “I’ll make us kings of this town, Rogers; you just sit back and enjoy the ride.”