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Keep Your Gloves On

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The début was finally winding down, to Steve's relief. The president had left a few hours before, taking most of the reporters with him. It had been fun at first, like playing at being a motion picture star. Then exhaustion set in. Like everything in this new world he'd woken up to, it had been just a hair off, enough to make him wonder if he'd fallen asleep and would wake up just in time to lead another hopeless charge to victory.

His eyes skimmed over the party, silently cataloging everything that was different. The clothing was cut wrong, the conversation was just the rude shade of personal, the food tasted bland and the portions were tiny, even though he'd been assured that it was haute cuisine. It was like he'd blinked and the world had turned into extremes, with the easy middle vanishing away into the darkness. There wasn't even anyone to help him get used to it. Fury seemed happy to toss him into the deep end, and his teammates had their own lives to worry about. Bucky and Gail... Bucky had his own troubles and Gail couldn't even speak to him. Asking them to help would just be a burden.

His eyes paused while scanning the room. Stark—"please, please, call me Tony; it's incredibly disconcerting to hear a six foot bombshell call me 'Mr. Stark'"—was draped over one of the tables sent a rush of already well-known annoyance through him. Tony might have been even stranger than everything else in this time, but at least Steve wasn't the only one who thought so. Besides that, Stark—Tony—was his teammate, and in Steve's world that made him a sort of family. Maybe the type of family you only spoke to on holidays, but it was all he had left.

Steve pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against and made his way across the wide open ballroom. A few lingering reporters tried to wave him down, but he'd gotten the knack of ignoring them. They only cared enough to try once before giving up. Most of them had already gotten their stories.

There was a wide open space around Tony's table. It was obvious that everyone had seen the show before and didn't need to see it again. He grabbed Tony's shoulder and gave it a good shake.

"I am awake, you know," Tony slurred, not bothering to raise his head to look at Steve. "Is the girl gone?"

Girl? "No one here but you and me."

"Wonderful." Tony straightened and made to stretch. He gave up when it threatened to tip him out of his chair. "I was afraid I'd have to play dead all night. She must have smelled fresher meat." Fever-bright blue eyes looked up into Steve's assessingly, the pupils blown wide with alcohol, as if the stench weren't enough to tell Steve that he was sozzled. "You know how reporters can be. You give them a story, they want a biography. Give them a biography and they want your head on a platter with garnish."

Tony was a devilishly handsome man, with his van dyke and dark hair, the sort of handsome mothers warned their daughters about. His carefree grins didn't do anything to ease the image of a man thoroughly enjoying his own debauchery. It wasn't the first time Steve had thought so, but that had been when he'd just woken up and could have been attributed to his confusion. Under the bright lights of the ballroom, it was impossible to deny.

Enough. He had a drunk to deal with, and thoughts like that weren't getting Tony poured into a bed any faster.

Unexpectedly firm muscle met his grip when he squeezed Tony's shoulder. "Let's get you to a bed. Do you have a way to get home?"

"Most certainly I do." A long fingered hand waved through the air, tracing a complicated figure-eight. He swayed with the motion, and only Steve's grip kept him in his seat. "Or would, had some deuce not confiscated the keys to my helicopter. If you'll just help me to the pad, I'm certain I can arrange something."

If he wouldn't let someone drive home in Tony's state, he sure as hell wasn't going to let him fly. "I've got an extra bunk." Fury had actually offered to give him a suite, but Steve had insisted on just a regular room. He was going to get his own apartment, so there was no reason to settle in some place nice.

Steve tried to help Tony up, but help turned into carry when Tony's legs gave out under him about half way. They staggered together, Tony's hand scrambling for purchase against Steve's costume while Steve struggled to keep him from landing on his sodden ass. Tilt and lurch, they ended up with Steve's arms around Tony's hips and Tony's nose pressed into his chest.

"Oh, hello, you," Tony chirruped, actually nuzzling him. Steve's breath caught as warm, solid arms slid around his waist. "You're awfully firm, aren't you? It's like groping a statue. A very well-made statue, I might add."

"I'm not a gal, Tony. Save it for them." A quick lift and a well-placed arm had Tony in something close to a walking position. He looked down to make sure they weren't going to get tangled again when he noticed something odd. "Where are your shoes?"

"I'm sorry, the exceptionally tight leather confused me." Tony followed Steve's gaze down, then wiggled his toes in their thin, dark socks. "Do you have a foot fetish, by any chance? I'm very accommodating when it comes to having my feet rubbed by muscular men in bondage gear."

Punching a teammate wasn't going to do anyone any good, especially when Tony was too falling-over drunk to control his mouth. Steve braced himself and started walking. The shoes would probably be found later, or Tony could buy a new pair. He was rich enough for it. "No, I don't. Come on. Bed." Steve didn't even have to look to see Tony's mind working over that one. "Don't. Even."

"What would I do?" Tony flashed him a bright smile, shining white teeth against tan skin. "You're the one holding me upright, if you notice. I can't even let go long enough to get a decent grip on you."

The glitter of the ballroom faded into the lower lighting of the halls. The halls were completely empty of the personnel Steve would usually expect to see on a military base. Not that the Triskelion was a regular base. Probably everyone was still at the party, or asleep. Navigating it was easy, since he'd seen the plans scattered around Fury's office a few times. Even a maze could make sense once you thought about it enough.

"You know," Tony mused, temple resting against Steve's shoulder, "I don't recall seeing lines under all that leather. Are you au natural or is there something built in?"

"Why do you keep making passes at me?" Steve finally demanded, frustration reaching the boiling point. He let Tony go, but instead of dropping like he'd expected, Tony only staggered a few steps before he caught his balance again.

"You mean you really don't know?" For the first time since picking up his liquor-soaked self at the table, Tony seemed serious. He straightened, swaying very slightly. "How fascinating. You do realize you're every child-geek's wet dream, don't you? In all that leather, with the muscles and the jaw..." Tony's fingers flicked through the air, indicating everything from Steve's face to his boots. "You really don't get it?"

"What am I supposed to get?"

Blue eyes rolled upwards in exasperation. Then he lunged forward, pressing Steve's back against the wall as his mouth cut a sloppy line across Steve's lips. Tony's breath still reeked of alcohol—he had to clutch at Steve just to keep upright.

Disgust warred with long-suppressed interest in Steve's head. He couldn't silence the voice that kept reminding him of Gail, the girl he'd almost married. Nearly married men didn't go around kissing their teammates. Hell, nearly married men didn't go around kissing other men, whoever they were.

But he wasn't engaged anymore, and Gail wasn't a girl—she was the woman who'd moved on and wouldn't even talk to him. And it'd been a long time, even out of the ice.

Tony's beard scratched his chin. "C'mon," he muttered without quite breaking the kiss, teeth slashing a quick line of pain across Steve's lower lip. "I can see it when you look at me, you know, those hot, quick glances before you shove them to the back of the closet." His smile widened, pressing against Steve's lips. "It'll be our little secret. They don't ask and I won't tell. Promise."

"You're drunk." It said something, Steve thought, that he couldn't think of a better argument. "Let's get you to sleep and you can feel like doing something real stupid in the morning."

Laughter bubbled up in Tony—Steve could feel it against his lips, a subtle bounce in Tony's breathing—but all that came out was an amused sigh. "If you're going to wait for me to sober up, you've got around five years. Carpe diem, Steve. Or nox, if you prefer."

This time when Tony kissed him, Steve pushed back, meeting the probing tongue with his own. His breath still smelled like whiskey, but his body was solid where it pressed against him. Black cloth that probably cost a working man's yearly wage wrinkled under Steve's hands as he twisted them around, pinning Tony to the wall where he'd been moments before.

"Oooh, feisty, aren't you?" Teeth clicked somewhere in the middle of the kiss. One of Tony's hands slid down Steve's back, grabbing a handful of his ass. "Like a statue, I swear," Tony muttered around Steve's lower lip.

The man never seemed to shut up. "Not here," Steve said, or tried to say, but Tony's mouth was on his again and the words got lost between them. He pulled away, breathing hard. "Not here," he repeated, leaning back away from the wall. "My room."

"This seems as good a place as any." Insistent hands tugged at him, but Steve held firm until Tony finally gave in. "Fine, fine, your place. It had best be close, or I shan't hold myself responsible for what I do."

Steve wrapped an arm around Tony's waist and started walking—again. "It's close." It actually was. Two halls down and a left, the only occupied room in the section. Getting there took forever. Every few steps, Tony grabbed some new part of him or had to be kissed, and they'd lose five minutes before managing to move forward again.

"Simple, yet classic barrack design. Needs a rug," was Tony's verdict as soon as they managed to actually get the door closed. Before Steve could say anything—what could he possibly need a rug for?—Tony's hands and mouth were on him again. For a drunk, he managed to make a backwards b-line for the larger than standard cot with a surprising lack of stumbling until the end. By then, they were close enough that Steve just shoved him down onto it and followed, pinning him by his hips.

Tony's hands slid against Steve's skull, slipping against the smooth leather of his cowl. When Steve moved to pull his back, Tony's hand snapped around his wrist.

"Don't," he muttered, his mouth nuzzling a hot line over Steve's jaw. "Leave it on. God, you really don't know how hot you are in that thing, do you? Captain America, man of the century..." Tony's hips rose upward, rubbing hard against Steve's, but Steve's earlier thoughts had been right: he didn't ever shut up. "Garbed all in the flag, a symbol of democracy— fuck yes," he groaned, head dropping back against the mattress.

Leather gloves weren't made to undo tiny buttons. Tony wouldn't stop grinding against him, filth falling from his lips in between gasps . It was disgusting, which didn't explain the thrill that went through him with every vile sentence. Steve kissed him just to shut him up, and even then he could feel words vibrating in Tony's throat. At least he was helping, those long fingers plucking at Steve's belt insistently, the motion smooth with what Steve had to suspect was practice. It only took a few seconds before cool air blew over his dick as Tony cupped him.

"Au natural, I knew it," he grinned, as pleased as if Steve had done it just for him. "Please tell me you have lube somewhere. Vaseline, baby oil, soap—" Tony's voice took on a cadence, like he could go on for hours. He probably could. "Shampoo, gun oil, leather oil—"

"Nightstand." Giving up, he left the shirt half-buttoned and yanked it off over Tony's head before fumbling for the cummerbund. That came off easily enough, with a twist and a pull, but a few threads of the trouser buttons under it popped loose before Tony was naked. He wrapped his hand around Tony's cock, careful not to be too rough. The leather muffled things, but he could still feel the weight and faint warmth. Alcoholic's dick wasn't going to be a problem.

Girlishly long lashes fluttered as Tony groaned, giving Steve another second of peace. It vanished as Tony twisted under him. He yanked open the single-drawer nightstand and pulled out the little bottle. It had been there when Steve got the room, and he hadn't dared to ask why. "Always prepared, what a boy scout."

The cap popping off sounded far too loud without any babbling to fill the room. Tony shifted back, knees bending as he put a generous dollop on his own hand. "Keep your gloves on. I'll take care of this." Perfect white teeth flashed in a grin, and Steve was again reminded of the tempting devil. "You just watch."

He couldn't have looked away if he'd tried, propping himself up as Tony's legs spread wide under him. Tony slicked himself up, first one finger, then a second working deep inside his body. For the first time since they'd started, no words escaped Tony's lips, just soft gasps and once a groan. If what Tony was doing to his body was pornographic, his expression was outright obscene. Tense focus formed a line between his brows, his teeth chewing his lower lip. Blue eyes peeked out from behind his lashes—Tony didn't even have the decency to close them.

Then again, Steve didn't have the decency not to look.

"Okay." It was the first word from Tony's mouth in minutes as he stretched himself wide open. His fingers slipped out, leaving his hole shining and loose. Muscular legs wrapped around the red and white stripes on Steve's waist, pulling him down. "That should do it, and you'd better do me or I'm done." A fresh palmful of lube spread over Steve's dick, cool and slippery. Between them they'd barely touched it, but he was still so hard that the cool smear made him throb. Tony's hand stayed wrapped around him, guiding him in.

Once, Steve had done this before, when he'd been young and hadn't had Gail yet. It had been some guy he'd met once, something quick and dirty that left him feeling like he needed to scrub the inside of his skin. Sliding into Tony's body was nothing like that. Still filthy, but not offensive, like dirt was just a part of Tony Stark and nothing Steve did could make it worse. Nails scraped down his shoulders, stuttering over the leather every time Steve rocked his hips and forced his way deeper. Tony's head tipped back, mouth hung open and only a few strangled half-words making their way free until Steve finally came to rest flush against him.

Steve bit his lip, fighting the instinct to just thrust into the heat that gripped him. "You okay?"

Tony nodded, wetting his lips and hooking his legs higher up. He was folded up in a way that couldn't have been comfortable, but he didn't even seem to care. "Good." A frantic hand patted Steve's bicep. "Move."

So that was how you shut Tony Stark up. Steve did as he was told, easing out and sliding back in. The buckle on his belt jingled, knocking into Tony's hip with every careful roll. Even wordless, the sounds Tony made were distracting: quiet intakes of breath and long, shuddering moans when Steve managed to nail him just right. Blue leather darkened to navy where it slid against Tony's sweaty skin. His dick caught on the smooth leather of Steve's stomach, rough and jerky without anything to slick the way. Steve cupped it in his hand, the red leather standing out against Tony's flushed skin.

Long, slow thrusts sped up, slapping skin against skin. Tony was nearly helpless under him, writhing to try and meet him halfway. Gasps turned into high, breathy whines into demanding moans. The heat between them built higher and higher until Tony arched , eyes going wide as he came. Long white streaks of come splattered over Steve's gloves and chest, staining his brand new costume.

He hadn't thought it could be more—tighter, hotter, better—but Tony's muscles clamped down on him and it was. They spasmed, dragging against Steve's cock as Tony shuddered under him. Steve's hips snapped into him twice, fighting the pull around him before he lost control. He groaned, his vision blurring out to black as he spilled himself.

Cool air brushed over Steve's skin as Tony tugged his top up and splayed his hands along his lower back. "Good God," he sighed, still breathless. "If enhanced stamina means sex like that— you don't happen to have the recovery time of a sixteen year old, do you? If so, I might be forced to kidnap you."

Steve slipped out of him and dropped down on the bed. He had to peel his mask off. Sweat glued it to his forehead. His whole uniform needed to come off and they both needed to wash up, but that would take more energy than he really had right then. "Sorry, just a normal man."

"Damn." Tony's head dropped down against the mattress. His blue eyes were half-closed with exhaustion, but he managed a cat got the cream smile. "I'll just have to take advantage of you when you're available, then."

"Assuming a lot there, aren't you?" Steve eyed his boots, wondering if it would be worth the trouble to undo the laces. In the end, he sighed and sat up to take care of it. He couldn't sleep dressed like he was, and the boots would have to be the first thing to go.

Tony made a comfortable noise. His eyes slid steadily more closed, the blue just a thin sliver visible under his lids. "Am I? You seemed pretty happy back there, soldier."

The horrible part was, Steve didn't really know. He kicked his boots off, letting them drop down to the floor without bothering to see where they'd land. Steve's back stayed to the bed as he stood, damp leather sucking at his skin as he stripped off his uniform. "You seemed more like a one-night sort of guy to me."

Tony's chuckle was so quiet, Steve almost didn't hear it. "On the rare occasion," Tony admitted. "But what I primarily am, you see, is a collector."

"And you want to collect me?" Steve folded his clothes to clean later and waited for a response. When the silence stretched on, he turned around, shirt still only half-folded. Tony was completely limp, watching him with a bemused expression.

"Somehow, I don't think you're the sort of collector's item that would stand up well to being put on display." Tony's eyes slid the rest of the way closed. "You need to be put to use."

It was a strange way to put things, but Steve couldn't disagree with the principle. "You got that right, Mister."

"I'm always right." Tony patted the bed in what he probably thought was an enticing way. The rucked-up blankets rustled as Tony's feet wriggled under them. "Come along now. You can tell me if I snore. I typically don't stay long enough to find out."

Steve shook his head and put his uniform on the bedside table before joining him. He wasn't going to let himself be collected, but it would be nice not to be completely alone.