Steve stared up at the huge, foreboding metal doors in front of him.
The burnished alloy gleamed—in a faintly dull and sinister way, Steve thought, swallowing—under the banked hallway lights, and the entrance seemed to loom over him like the very gates of hell. Steve pulled at the fabric of his suit, nervously. He felt ridiculous wearing the full Captain America regalia in this situation; it felt showy and uncomfortable against his body, like a costume, in a way it hadn’t in more than seventy years.
He could feel a pool of sweat start to gather at small of his back where the Kevlar-and-Lycra didn’t quite touch his skin underneath.
Steve still couldn’t quite believe that he was in this predicament: standing fretfully outside Tony’s workshop, trying to work up the nerve to enter or knock or something, so that he could go inside and uh—pay up. Take his... punishment. For losing the bet.
Steve groaned, inwardly.
How was it even possible that Tony had been able to keep a lid on his filthy mouth longer than every other Avenger on the team? And, more pressingly, how was it that he, Steve, always somehow seemed to end up taking the brunt of Tony's mortifying jokes?
Steve sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and forced himself stop his nervous pacing. He turned and edged painfully over to the doors again, feeling hot and jumpy and miserable and—
God, why was he even getting so worked up? Get a grip, he told himself. The whole thing was a joke, anyway, it wasn’t like Tony actually expected him to… to do what he’d said. Just the thought of it made a rush of heat run up Steve’s neck… though, appallingly, not in an entirely unpleasant way. Not that he’d ever admit that to Tony.
Anyway, it didn’t matter—Tony was just going to make him stand there in his suit, like a clown, feeling fifty shades of uncomfortable while Tony mocked and belittled Steve’s manhood for a while, then he’d lose interest and go back to his latest project. That’s why he’d told Steve to come to the workshop, obviously, instead of somewhere more, uh, more suited to—
“Good evening, Captain,” JARVIS’s measured voice suddenly came from right above his head, “May I assist you with something?” Steve jumped about a foot in the air and maybe yelped a little.
“Uh, no—no thanks,” he replied, after wildly (and embarrassingly) twisting around in a defensive half-crouch, flustered and on edge. He quickly straightened up and decided to pretend JARVIS hadn’t noticed.
“I was just—um…” Steve trailed off awkwardly, before trying again, “Actually—is Tony in there?” He gestured towards the closed workshop doors and hoped against hope, with every fiber of his being, that the answer would be no, sorry, come back later; but—
“Yes, Sir is just inside,” JARVIS chirped helpfully, “Would you like me to alert him to your presence?”
Steve closed his eyes and huffed out an aggrieved breath. It came out sounding uncomfortably close to a full-on groan of despair. Of course Tony would be in there—he’d told Steve when and where to meet him, hadn’t he? I expect you in my workshop at 10PM, had been his exact words, accompanied by that infuriating leer of his, and wear the suit.
Steve gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders. He was Captain America, dammit, and this situation was embarrassing enough without him cowering in front of Tony’s doors like some kind of cowhearted milksop. Tony was probably recording the whole thing for his depraved future amusement—and that thought was enough to finally propel Steve forward.
“No need—he’s expecting me,” he told JARVIS, and then Steve resolutely pushed open the doors and stepped doggedly into the workshop before he could think the better of it.
Once inside, he immediately turned and locked the doors behind him. The last thing he needed was for an unwitting visitor to wonder in and bear witness to what was surely soon going to be a memorable low point in Steve’s life. The soft clunk of the deadbolt sliding into place sounded ominous and final. Like the lid slamming on a coffin, Steve thought, wincing.
“JARVIS, make sure this door stays locked,” he told the ceiling, “and block all the windows.”
JARVIS beeped an affirmation back to him. Steve started to turn and step into the workshop proper; but then he had a thought—“And don't record anything that happens in this room until I leave it,” he added, for good measure.
A suspiciously long pause, then, “Yes, Captain. All my recording functions are now disabled,” JARVIS reported meekly, if a bit peevishly.
Steve sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself, and walked into Tony’s lair.
No matter how many times he came in here, the sheer scope and calamity of the space always took Steve aback, just a little. He was starting to get used to living in the future—though he still thought of it as the future, no matter how many times he was reminded that it was the now, now—but Tony’s workshop was something else altogether.
Tangled wires and blinking lights and small piles of shiny metal objects littered the floor and workbenches, sometimes grouped around larger metal-and-wire-and-shiny-lights structures that looked inside-out and exposed, even to Steve’s untrained eyes, or sometimes just strewn around in a haphazard fashion that probably made sense only to Tony. Hovering above all the piles of mechanical messes were the ghostly floating projections—flashing diagrams and figures and scrolling numbers that made Steve’s head hurt just to look at, let alone to try to understand.
And at the center of all of it was Tony Stark himself, lounging back on his huge, high-backed swivel chair: a king on his throne.
Tony had that familiar, arrogant smirk on his face and his eyes were fixed on Steve, looking equal parts smug, wickedly gleeful and… alluringly proprietary. Steve gulped and pulled at his suit again, feeling horribly on display. Then he immediately wished he hadn’t, as he saw Tony’s grin widen, shark-like, at his obvious discomfort.
“Well, Cap,” Tony said, leering, “congratulations. I honestly didn't think you'd make it this far.”
Then Tony’s eyes slid down Steve’s frame, all slow and lingering, taking in the red-white-and-blue costume in all its glory. Steve felt another hot rush of blood go up his neck and over his ears, knew he was turning as bright as the stripes running across his abdomen. At the same time, he felt a traitorous heat spreading… elsewhere, in his body, too, under the piercing focus of Tony’s gorgeous brown eyes. Steve doggedly chose to ignore it.
Get a grip, he told himself again, cursing his fair skin not for the first time.
“I said I'd come, and I'm here,” Steve managed to get out in a mostly normal tone. He crossed his arms in front of him, widening his stance half-unconsciously—posturing automatically in the face of… the perceived threat. Tony’s eyes crinkled more in amusement as he took in the image, and Steve quickly uncrossed his arms again, tried to find somewhere else to put hands. He wished fervently that the suit had pockets like a normal pair of pants.
Tony didn’t say anything, which was worryingly uncharacteristic. He just continued to smile at Steve, all gleaming and keen—like a knife.
Steve cleared his throat to make one hundred percent sure that his voice would come out at an appropriately even and manly pitch before speaking. “Well?” he said finally, after fidgeting under a few interminable seconds of weighty silence. “Go ahead—get on with it. I’m ready.”
He straightened his spine and waited with resignation for the barrage of insults and innuendos that Tony surely had at the ready, pre-formulated to flay Steve’s self-esteem to the core in the most entertaining way possible (for Tony, anyway). Steve would take it like the soldier he was.
Tony’s eyebrows immediately went up and his forehead furrowed in mock-bafflement. “What do you mean, ‘get on with it’? You get on with it. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
Then, amazingly, appallingly, Tony sprawled back further in his gigantic chair and spread his legs apart, lewd and haughty at the same time.
“What—?” Steve squeaked, and he found himself backing up a step involuntarily before he could stop himself.
He cleared his throat and tried again, “You mean—?” Steve felt even more blood rush up to his face and he knew, he just knew, that he had now achieved shades of red previously unknown to man.
“Of course,” Tony replied, blithely smooth and maliciously gleeful. “A bet’s a bet, Cap—and you lost, fair and square. So pay up.” Tony waggled his eyebrows and gestured down at his own crotch meaningfully, smirking.
“Um—,” Steve said suavely. He was still flustered and… now hot, too, all of sudden. Why did Tony keep it so warm it here? Steve pulled at the high collar line of his suit.
Tony wasn't really expecting him to… was he? This whole thing was supposed to be a stunt—right? He’d come here to listen to Tony take a few justifiably-earned jabs at Steve’s honor, laugh at him and maybe document the whole embarrassing thing in some way—hence the suit, he’d figured—before being sent away to lick his wounds in private, thoroughly repentant of ever presuming to bet against Tony’s iron (heh) will when the man put his mind to something.
But now, with Tony all spread out in front of him—all knowing leer and gravelly voice and devastating eyes, damn him—Steve wasn't so sure anymore.
“I'm glad you wore the costume,” Tony was saying, and there was a sly, dangerous gleam in his eyes that made Steve’s stomach do a nervous, jumpy loop, even before Tony let loose with the big guns: “It's not every day a guy gets sucked off by Captain America.” He grinned, all teeth. “This is going to be one for the jerk-off fantasy files.”
Steve swallowed. His vision seemed to get a little blurry around the edges for a second. The heat in his body was definitely starting to focus at a disconcertingly, ah, central point…
“Um, Tony, I—”
Tony rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “I knew it. So much for truth, justice, and the American way, huh?” he said, all put-upon and long-suffering. “I knew you were going to back out.”
Steve sputtered, indignant, his embarrassment (and… whatever else it was) forgotten for a second. “What—the American way—? What does that have to do with—anything?!” he choked out, sounding self-righteous and ridiculous before he could stop himself. Get a grip, Cap.
Steve tried again after a second, more calmly, “Come on, Tony, you can’t honestly be expecting me to… ah,” he stopped. He couldn’t actually bring himself to say it out loud. But at the same time, Steve felt another rush of blood go through him at the thought—this time most definitely going in the opposite direction from his face.
Dear god, what was wrong with him? He threw up prayers to whoever might be listening that Tony wouldn’t notice, thankful for the first time this evening that he was wearing the suit after all. The pants were padded and constricting enough that they hid… whatever was going on down there. Steve was pretty sure.
“You’re supposed to be the vaunted defender of justice and honor and people not going back on their word like scared little wusses, Steve, really,” Tony was saying, all sad and reproachful. “But whatever. I wasn't really expecting anything more,” he paused to throw an intensely disappointed look at Steve, “I knew you didn’t have the balls to follow through.”
Steve felt himself start to bristle again but Tony just barreled on, raising his voice over Steve’s impotent sputtering.
“It's okay, I'll let you out of the bet.” Here an all-too-pleased gleam of malicious enjoyment came into Tony’s eyes. “All you have to do is stand there and say, ‘I, Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, am a big chicken bet-reneger who can't put my money where my mouth is.’” He stopped and leered expansively, before adding, “Or maybe it should be, ‘my mouth where the money is.’” And at that, Tony thrust up his hips and grabbed at his own crotch, crudely, grinning.
Steve felt himself blush furiously some more. He reflexively crossed his arms across his chest again.
Tony laughed and sprawled back in his seat, all loose and languid—shamelessly delighted at Steve’s reaction.
“Seriously, Cap, you are way too much fun,” he snickered. “You can’t even blame me—it’d be a crime to pass up a chance to get you all riled up. You’re never prettier than when you’re all pouty and self-righteous.” His irritating grin only grew as Steve felt himself automatically puff up with indignation, despite himself.
So, finally, they’d arrived at the make-fun-of-Steve portion of the evening. At least they were on familiar footing now—he should be relieved, right? Funny how that wasn’t the first, uh… emotion that seemed to be coursing through his body just now.
“Anyway, just admit that to me, and then go outside and admit it to the rest of the team, and I'll let you out of the bet—no harm, no foul,” Tony was saying, smug and superior and so infuriating. The man could get under Steve's skin like none other—
“I'm not the kind who reneges on a bet,” Steve heard himself say valiantly.
Then he froze, appalled at what had just come out of his mouth.
“I mean—,” Steve immediately tried retracting, frantically, but too late—Tony's eyes had narrowed. There was a gleefully speculative and eager look on his face now: like a cat who’d just discovered that the mouse he’d been playing with hadn’t quite given up yet, that there was a little more fun to be squeezed out of him—
"Oh really?" Tony said, stretching out the word in a way calculated to grate on Steve’s last nerve. "Well, well, then. Far be it for me to doubt the much-lauded honor of Captain America. Go ahead, big guy, prove me wrong." With that, Tony sprawled back and spread his legs again, eyes glinting with barely-suppressed, evil humor. "Come over here and suck my cock like you promised."
Steve narrowed own his eyes; he could read the dare on Tony’s face, clear as day. Well, two could play this game.
“Fine,” he growled, “I will.”
With that, Steve stalked determinedly towards the chair and was inordinately pleased to see Tony’s eyes widen, just the tiniest fraction, at his advance. Ah hah, he’d thought so.
Tony had lost his smirk altogether by the time Steve stood in front of him, close enough that his legs almost touched the seat front between Tony’s spread knees. Steve squared his shoulders, making himself as big as possible, and milked the moment for all it was worth. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the armrests, looming his bulk over Tony and trapping him in the seat. He saw Tony’s throat jump as he swallowed, hard, staring up at Steve with wide brown eyes, and Steve couldn’t help smirking just a little bit.
In retrospect, getting so cocky so quickly might have been a miscalculation on his part.
He’d obviously given too much away because Tony’s eyes suddenly narrowed again and that speculative, daring look was back on his face in an instant.
“So, that’s how to want to play it, huh?” Tony asked, smirking again. “Let’s be honest, though—if you think I’m going to blink before you, then you’ve got another think coming, old man.”
With that, Tony braced one of his feet on the ground and pushed the wheeled chair back a few inches, momentarily throwing Steve off balance, and at the same time he hooked his other foot behind Steve’s knee, jerking him forward and—before he knew it, Steve found himself on his knees on the floor between Tony’s spread legs, blinking up at the man, mildly shocked.
Tony looked down at him, one eyebrow raised. “Well?” he quipped, all arrogant and expectant. Your move, he didn’t say, but Steve could read it clear enough in Tony’s self-satisfied expression: You’re going to lose your nerve before me, and we both know it.
Steve grit his teeth in irritation. But, at the same time, he couldn't quite stop his eyes from darting reflexively down to Tony’s crotch, which was less than a foot away from his face now.
He could see a distinct bulge forming under the soft gray wool at the front of Tony’s pants. Dear god in heaven.
Steve looked quickly back up at Tony’s face, half shocked, and half… something else. Tony’s gaze met his directly, entirely unrepentantly: Tony Stark was not the kind of man to apologize for his sexuality. Or have an ounce of self-respecting decency or shame, apparently. But Steve already knew that… and, if he’s being honest with himself, he knew that Tony’s lack of shame was, in large part, the main source of the guy’s aggravating allure. Damn it all to hell.
Steve wet his lips unconsciously, and he saw how it made Tony’s eyes dart down to his mouth and—darken, just a little.
Tony’s overall expression was still mostly smug and superior though, like he was still fully expecting Steve to freak out and run away at any second.
Steve felt a rush of heady adrenaline pump through him; he recognized the all-too-familiar thrill of agitation and pigheaded determination take ahold of him all at once. Now that the gauntlet was undeniably thrown, there was no way Steve could back out. It just wasn’t in him.
This was all Tony’s fault, anyway. He had no one to blame but himself if he ended up getting more than he’d bargained for.
With steely, reckless resolve, Steve slid his damp palms down to rest on Tony’s spread thighs, keeping his eyes locked on Tony’s face. Tony was about to learn that Steve Rogers was no pushover, thank you very much.
Brown eyes widened a little at the touch, clearly surprised, but Tony managed to keep his resolute stare from wavering. Though, Steve couldn’t help but notice that Tony’s hands were clenched now, white-knuckled, on the armrests of his chair. Not as nonchalant as all that, huh? Steve smirked, inwardly.
“Here I go.” Steve narrowed his eyes in challenge, and moved his hands up to the fastenings of Tony’s pants. He felt the muscles of Tony’s thighs go taut with shock, heard the sharp inhale.
Steve paused for an interminable second, holding his breath and waiting for Tony to yelp and push him away and call his bluff like he was supposed to.
Steve swallowed. He waited for another second, then announced, “Okay, I’m going to do it now.” The words came out kind of strained around the edges.
“Okay,” Tony replied, still not stopping Steve, though his voice sounded equally choked. “I’m ready.”
“Okay,” Steve parroted, idiotically. Then he swallowed again and started to undo Tony’s pants with numb fingers. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience.
When still no resistance was forthcoming—despite Steve’s frequent pauses and much fumbling—by the time Steve had Tony’s pants open, he had no choice but to reach into the guy’s underpants and start to… pull out Tony’s rock-hard cock.
Tony gasped pretty loudly when Steve’s fingers touched his skin. Steve felt his own dick throb sympathetically inside his pants. Then Tony’s hand came down—god, finally—to grab Steve’s wrist, stopping him mid-motion. Steve brought his eyes up to meet Tony’s, feeling a rush of—relief? insane disappointment?—flood through him. He froze, waiting, not breathing, his hand still wrapped around Tony’s pulsing cock.
They stared at each other, both crazy-eyed, for a long second.
“So,” Tony said at last, clearly trying for valiantly casual but his voice coming out unnaturally high. “You’re really doing this, huh?”
“Um.” Steve gulped. “Yes. I guess I am.” Tony’s cock twitched in Steve’s hand.
They stared at each other some more, then Tony let go of Steve’s wrist and gripped the armrest again, looking like he was having an out-of-body experience of his own.
Steve looked back at Tony’s dick, still in Steve’s sweaty grip and only inches from his face—dark and hard and leaking a little at the tip. He squeezed it a little, experimentally.
“Oh my god,” Tony said loudly. Steve darted his eyes up again to catch Tony’s expression, which looked mortified and frantic and desperate—like the look of someone who was kind of sickly astonished at the level of his own audacity, but somehow couldn’t for love or money snap himself back into the realms of the sane.
Steve intimately understood the feeling.
He knew, finally, at this late moment, with the painful, piercing clarity of retrospect, that he should have backed out of this long ago, should have tucked tail and run as soon as he laid eyes on that dangerous look on Tony’s face, honor be damned. But now—now it was far too late. This was one hell of a snafu they found themselves in, he reflected kind of detachedly—hoisted on their own petards?
Steve suddenly wasn’t sure which of them, exactly, was at the brunt of this particular cosmic joke. Pride goeth before the fall, he thought wildly, past the loud rushing in his ears, and—
Steve wet his lips one more time, then gamely bent his mouth down to Tony’s cock.
“Oh my god, BLINK—I blink!” Tony yelled, and pushed Steve’s face and hands off of his lap and pulled himself back, rolling the chair backward to insert a few feet of space between himself and where Steve was still kneeling on the floor in front of him.
Steve gaped, hands dropping to his own thighs and squeezing there, unconsciously. He felt—oddly bereft.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Tony was shouting while simultaneously trying to tuck himself back into his pants frantically, having the nerve to sound all affronted, as if Steve had been the one to—
“Hey,” Steve interjected, irked and kind of embarrassed now, “you’re the one who said you wanted a blowjob.” He felt himself reddening again as his voice faltered around the word.
“What the fuck, Steve, it was a goddamn joke!” Tony yelled back, looking flushed and flustered and kind of in pain, clearly having trouble fitting his still-hard dick back into the confines of his slacks. “You were supposed to say ‘uncle’ and run away! I didn’t actually expect you to get on your knees and perform oral sex, like some kind of—of,” and here his voice stuttered a little bit before regrouping and raging on, “What is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be the responsible one, the one that keeps me in check!” He seemed to run out of breath there and he stopped, glaring at Steve for all he was worth.
Tony’s expression was so completely at odds with his flushed face and his raging hard-on, which was still sticking out of his pants at an awkward angle, and Steve—he couldn’t help it, he… snickered a little, wildly.
Tony’s eyes went wide with righteous indignation.
“Okay, okay,” Steve said, placating, since Tony looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. “But come on, I was just owning up to my end of deal—”
“Oh, shut up,” Tony cut in, fuming, “You know you took it way too far, being a total asshole about it—”
“I took it too far, what about you? You’re the one who set the whole thing up, and you—”
“Seriously, Cap, we are all in a fucking lot of trouble if I’m the one we’re relying on to draw the lines of appropriate behavior! Jesus, come on, you can’t honestly have thought I’d expect you to suck my cock, not when I was demanding it as payment, practically forcing you to—”
Tony abruptly stopped yelling, and Steve worked at making his eyes focus again.
His vision had gone unaccountably blurry around the edges as his mind seemed to latch onto a few choice words to the end of Tony’s rant: suck and cock and force…
“Jesus,” Tony said, then, and his tone was completely different. “You like that idea.”
He sounded kind of stunned and amazed now, and his eyes were fixed at Steve’s crotch where even the thick, padded fabric of the suit could no longer hide the enormity of Steve’s erection.
Steve looked down at himself and fought the urge to cover his lap.
“Um,” he squeaked, intelligently. Tony’s gaze snapped back up, zeroing in on Steve’s appalled face.
“You do,” Tony breathed. “You like the idea of me making you suck me off.” His eyes flicked quickly back and forth between Steve’s lap and his face, his expression warming with amusement and renewed arousal. “You’re getting hot as fuck at the thought of me forcing you to get on your knees and open that perfect, pouty mouth to take my cock down your throat.”
Steve’s vision hazed over again as he felt all blood leave his head and rush down to his crotch in a torrential flow. God, what was wrong with him.
“Tony,” he started, but before he could get any further—
“Take it out,” Tony said, his voice gravelly and undeniable. Steve felt his dick pulse almost painfully under the unforgiving fabric of his pants. He opened his mouth again, but Tony lifted a hand, imperious, to silence him before Steve could get a word out.
“I said, take out your cock,” Tony ordered, his eyes going focused, all dark pupils and heat. “I want to see how hard it is. I want to see if it’s starting to leak already, getting all wet and slippery for me...”
Steve may have whimpered.
He felt himself reach down and start undoing the fastenings at the crotch of the suit, half unconsciously, before he could fully wrap his mind around what he was doing. Then he heard a short, stifled sound of want coming from Tony, and he kind of didn’t care anymore.
The pants had a flap that could be opened up without having to unzip everything else, so that Steve could reach in and take himself out to answer nature’s call when the need arose. He’d never tried finagling his fully erect cock out of the opening before though, and he wondered for a hysterical second if the design would even allow it.
Then he remembered who exactly had designed this latest suit, and Steve felt a new rush of heat go through him as he looked up at the man himself.
Tony waited until Steve met his eyes, then he lowered his gaze slowly, lingeringly over Steve’s form, taking in the full picture in front of him. Steve felt a new rush of heat spread through him as he thought of the image he was presenting Tony: on his knees on the cold marble floor, half-panting and eyes wide with want, still fully dressed in the Captain America suit with just his cock jutting out and exposed in front of him, all red and hard and leaking.
“Jesus, you are so fucking sexy,” Tony breathed, meeting Steve’s eyes again and grinning, all teeth, his pupils blown black with desire. “Come over here suck me off.”
Steve tried to stifle another moan as his cock throbbed in response to the command in that voice. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Tony’s chair was too close to bother standing up to walk over, so Steve just launched himself towards him, not quite crawling exactly, but kind of shuffling forward on his knees—like a slut, his mind whispered—and Steve felt himself grow even harder at the thought. Apparently Tony liked the image too; Steve saw his cock twitch in response where Tony hadn’t quite been able to stuff himself all the way back into his pants.
Then he was close enough to touch and Steve reached out and pulled Tony’s pants open with one impatient yank, not even bothering with the buttons and zipper. He heard Tony’s hitching gasp as the undoubtedly fabulously expensive fabric ripped loudly along the seams. Steve couldn’t bring himself to care—he had to have Tony’s cock in his mouth right now—
And then it was, all heavy and throbbing against his tongue as Steve stretched his lips around it, pushed his mouth down and sucked it in, drooling and licking and slurping for all he was worth. God, it was incredible, Tony was so—Tony was,
“Fuck, yes, suck me, suck me like the filthy slut you are,” Tony was garbling from somewhere above him, his hands sliding over Steve’s neck and raking through his hair and grabbing at the armored shoulders of the suit, everywhere and all at once. “Yes, take it all in—god, your mouth is so hot, it’s perfect, it’s—ah, it’s engineered for perfection, fuck, you’re a cocksucking machine, yes…”
Steve’s hands gripped at Tony’s thighs, holding them apart as he worked Tony’s cock with just his lips and tongue, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking, all loud and filthy, feeling the mixed wet of sex and spit leak out of his mouth and smear messily all over his chin. Steve lifted his gaze and Tony was staring right back at him, eyes riveted and pupils blown even as he kept talking, watching his cock disappear into Steve’s stretched-open mouth, listening to the wet, vulgar, suckling noises Steve was making against his dick.
Steve heard himself moan around Tony’s cock, felt the vibration of it tremble around this throat and against Tony’s sensitive skin, felt the shudders in Tony’s thighs and in his voice—that incessant, sexy, unbelievable voice—that enveloped Steve in a cocoon of sex; all rich and dark and dirty.
God, this was so astonishingly, mind-blowingly hot, like nothing he’d ever done before. Steve bent his neck and took Tony as deep as he could, felt his eyes watering, went down until he felt the head of Tony’s cock nudge against his throat, making him choke, just a little—
“Yes, that’s so good, you’re so good,” Tony was crooning, “You take my dick so well, like you were born for it; like your mouth was designed just to fit around my cock,” both his hands were fluttering over Steve’s head, “Jesus, Steve, you’re amazing, keep doing that, just—just like that.” Tony’s fingers were carding through his hair now but not quite pressing down, and Steve felt the tension in the muscles of Tony’s thighs, where he was obviously straining hard to suppress the urge to fuck up into Steve’s mouth, to push against the back of Steve’s throat.
It was amazing, but Steve wanted—he needed—
Steve lifted his mouth away to suck in some air, leaving a string of spit trailing from Tony’s cock back to his own lips, gossamer and filthy, connecting them. He looked up through his wet, clumped-together lashes, and, “Tony, please—,” he heard himself whine, beg—
Tony’s pupils were blown wide and dark; his gaze was darting, frantic, between Steve’s lips and his eyes. “Fuck,” he said, and Steve felt Tony’s hands clench hard at his shoulders; he could feel Tony’s white-knuckled grip even through the suit.
“Fuck, yes, I know—I know what you need,” Tony gasped, and he pulled in a long, stuttering breath—
Then, suddenly, mercurially, Tony’s whole demeanor transformed: he pushed his shoulders back to sprawl against the chair even as he shunted his hips forward, thrusting his cock right at Steve’s face. He moved one of his hands up to the back of Steve’s neck, grabbed him there in a brutal grip, fingers digging into Steve’s skin—
“I know it, but I don’t give a fuck—you’re here to do what I want,” Tony growled, and shoved Steve’s head back down onto his angry, red cock, hitting the back of Steve’s throat with a rough thrust and still pushing, making him take it… and Steve groaned, his whole body practically shaking with yes and want, his eyes watering and his hands clenching at Tony’s thighs with nearly bruising force.
“Yes,” Tony hissed, “take it, take my cock down your throat, you’re my whore tonight—you’re, ah, fuck—you’re bought and paid for, there’s nothing…” He gasped, hands tightening on Steve’s head now, pulling at his hair, making even more tears come to Steve’s eyes, “Nothing you can to say no to,” and Steve felt his own cock jerking, throbbing in time with the harsh thrusts in his mouth and the cadence of Tony’s voice. God, that voice. He felt his cock leaking, dribbling precome down the length of himself, quivering and hard to the point of actual pain.
Steve didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on before in his life—
“You’re my slut,” Tony was gasping from above him. “You—you exist to suck my cock, to stretch your pretty lips around me and take what I give, whether you want it or not—fuck, yes.”
Steve heard himself moan again, all high and whiney and broken-sounding as Tony went on, “Yes, I’m—I’m gonna blow my load in your mouth, right—God—right down your throat, I’m gonna make you swallow it all until you choke on my jizz, you’ll—you’ll taste me on anything else you put in your mouth, ever.” Tony’s voice was starting to sound strained to the point of breaking and his balls were tight; Steve knew he was close and his own body shuddered in sympathy, wanting, wanting.
He unclenched his fingers from Tony’s thighs and started to move his hands down to his own desperate, twitching dick, and—
“No,” Tony snarled, and Steve lifted wide, frenzied eyes to Tony’s face just as Tony grabbed his wrists, restraining him, gripping hard enough to leave bruises if it were anyone else.
Steve heard himself whine in frustration, his lips still stretched obscenely around Tony’s throbbing cock, he felt more spit-and-precome dribble out the corner of his mouth, felt his own hips thrust frantically into empty air. God, he was so close, he just needed—just a little more…
“No, don’t you dare—you come on my cock, or you don’t come at all,” Tony growled, and—
God… that, that was it, Steve saw stars, he felt time stutter as he came, untouched, harder than he could ever remember coming before, his whole body shaking as it went on and on.
He felt Tony’s hands let go of his wrists and yank at his hair urgently, and Steve let his lips go slack as he pulled back a few inches, still in the hazy grip of pleasure. He thought he heard Tony groan, brokenly, “Jesus, Steve,”—and then he felt the first hot stripe of Tony’s spunk hit his face, right across his cheek and lips and he moaned again, opening his mouth for it, greedy for more, for Tony.
“God, yes, Steve, you’re so—so good, so good for me…,” Tony was stuttering, crooning again now, his voice shaky and blurred with pleasure as he jerked himself through his own finish. “Amazing, you’re amazing,” he groaned, and Steve held himself still and took it, took the come that spurted out of Tony’s gorgeous dick to stripe across his face, he took the words that rumbled out of Tony’s chest and fell on Steve’s skin like caresses, his voice all low and pleasure-drunk and devastating.
Steve held himself still and took it for as long as he could, until he was sure Tony was done, that he’d been painted with every drop of Tony’s pleasure. It felt so filthily, degradingly, liberatingly amazing, exquisite, and Steve loved every second of it.
Then, finally, when Tony was gasping and empty and couldn’t give him any more… Steve let go; he collapsed face-first into Tony’s welcoming lap, arms wrapping around behind Tony’s back and his face landing on Tony’s warm thigh, every last ounce of energy drained out of him.
Steve felt Tony slump back in his chair, equally boneless. He felt Tony’s fingers ghosting through his hair as he murmured, “Steve, Jesus Christ, did you prove me wrong. I will fucking never underestimate you again; I’m man enough to admit it.”
Steve grinned into Tony’s thigh and rubbed his face into the expensive wool under his cheek, smearing spunk and spit into the soft fabric and probably ruining the pants forever. Somehow, he didn’t think Tony was going to complain.
“Well, what did you expect—I was defending truth, justice, and the American way, after all,” Steve said.
The last thing he was aware of, before passing out, was the low rumble of Tony’s laugh rolling over him.