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Tony was fucked.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Tony Stark had a troublesome childhood. Howard and Maria's parenting left a lot to be desired and Tony wasn't lacking in the issues department. Some of those issues included a near-pathological need to be useful, a tendency to drink too much, and a really messed up relationship with Captain America.

Tony hated him. Had hated him his whole childhood. Cap was everything he wasn't and couldn't live up to. The super-soldier's creation was his father's greatest accomplishment and his loss, his greatest defeat – and all before Tony was even born. He knew he couldn't compete, he knew Captain America was the perfect son and he, Tony, would never live up to that.

So he hated him.

Then one day, right around the time Tony started to discover that a certain part of his body was particularly fond of extracurricular activities involving his hand and a bottle of lotion, he found an old Captain America comic book tucked away in his father's things. It was treasured and preserved, clearly held dear. And Tony was not. And he was angry.

Captain America was so perfect and unspoiled and beautiful that he wanted to spoil his image, ruin him, hurt him and hurt his father.

At least that was his reasoning the first time.

Instead of putting the ruined comic book back in his father's collection as he had planned, Tony found himself taking it with him, secreting it away in his room, only to take it out more and more frequently, until just thinking about it would get him hard. He jacked off to the comic book more times than he could count. Eventually the habit faded and the book was thrown out, but Tony still found his imagination providing Captain America-based fantasies more often than not, when he wrapped his hand around himself and let his mind supply whatever it wanted most.

And it all would have been fine.

He had his secret, everyone does, and if the guys he picked up in bars after he'd had one too many tended to be blonde and broad-shouldered it didn't really matter.

Except now it really fucking did matter.

Because Captain America was alive.

And they were supposed to be teammates.

So, yeah, Tony was fucked.

Thank god he was a master at hiding what he really felt, because when he walked into that conference room and saw the real thing standing in front of him, his dick jumped to attention like the goddamn traitor that it was. “Steve, Steve, Steve, this is Steve .” He kept repeating to himself while the 16 -year-old part of his brain kept screaming, "GOOD FUCKING GOD, THAT'S CAPTAIN AMERICA, PUSH HIM UP AGAINST THE WALL AND RIP HIS CLOTHES OFF LIKE WE'VE PRACTISED SO MANY TIMES.”  But Tony joked and sassed and swaggered around confidently despite the raging internal battle.

After the Chitauri, and the effect of Loki's magic dissipated, Steve relaxed much more around Tony. The downside to that was that Tony couldn't as easily hide his personal struggle behind posturing and insults. He spent the first few months they worked together oscillating wildly between cool distance, scathing sarcasm, following Steve around like a lovestruck puppy, and flat out avoiding him entirely by flying to other countries for extended periods of time.

Steve seemed to notice Tony's inability to settle on an approach towards him and, worst of all, appeared to find it amusing. The more flustered Tony got, the calmer Steve became until Tony was a fluttering moth dancing around Steve's steady light.

Tony was idly flicking through build re-design documents when JARVIS put a call from Steve through the emergency line. “Suit up, we’ve got an incident going down in the Bronx. Something about snake-monster-aliens. SHIELD is on the ground, but it’s not going well.”

Their calls to assemble were frequent these days, but most problems were dispatched fairly easily and the team started to feel more and more confident.

“10-4, Cap.” JARVIS saved his work as he stepped away from his desk and into the waiting Iron Man suit. As the pieces locked into place around him, he powered up the HUD and watched as JARVIS loaded up maps and video feeds from the affected area.

It looked like, “snake-monster-aliens,” wasn’t too far off. The things were scaly and tall, with long tails and no legs. They curled their tails under their bodies and moved in a slither. They had humanoid upper bodies, distinctly female-looking, with strong arms and sharp teeth set in wide mouths.

The Avengers burst out of the tower and descended on the four-block radius that SHIELD had managed to somewhat contain. Tony did a fly-over while the rest of the team started pushing back the frontlines and Steve liaised with the SHIELD agents in charge.

“Sir, the alien creatures seem to be relying on power drawn from their ship,” JARVIS supplied. Tony’s HUD showed him the large, egg-like vehicle parked on top of a factory building. He watched the information from the scans drift by and frowned.

“That type of ship can’t produce that much power. They must be siphoning it from the grid somehow. JARVIS scan the power grid for unusual draw.” After a few seconds a map popped up. “Bingo.”

The factory was lit up like a Christmas tree, drawing 700x more power than it should. Tony caught sight of an electrical access panel on the alley side of the building, and he swooped down to check it out. If he could disable the factory’s access to the power grid, the ship would have no source of power and the creatures would be severely weakened. The battle was focused on the main street, well away from the dark alleyway.

Steve’s voice cut in over the comm. “SHIELD has a containment plan. If we can push them back within two blocks of the theatre they have some heavy artillery options to move in.”

Luckily, Tony’s lack of control didn’t seem to extend to the battlefield. Once he was in the Iron Man suit, everything became straightforward and clear. Steve was just Cap - and his team commander - and though he did his best to be disobedient as much as possible, the struggle between him and his libido seemed to come to a temporary truce inside the armour.

“No worries, Cap, I got this one.” Tony pulled open the rusted, metal cover on the panel and flicked the faceplate up to better peer at the mess. He flexed his fingers and released the clips that separated the gauntlets from the rest of the suit, letting them fall to his feet with a heavy metallic clang. They were a bitch to get back on without the help of his robots, but these wires were all tangled and nested together and he needed to be as dexterous as possible.

Steve was doing some irritated huffing over the comm line, but Tony ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. He wiggled the mass of stiff, dusty wires out of the case and started pulling them gently apart to get a sense of what he was working with. The sounds of the battle still raging on sounded distant through his comm, his mind only allowing the tiny distraction of listening for a teammate getting hurt (or jumping off a goddamn building again).

He’d just snipped the first wire when a sudden, sharp shock to the back of his head rammed Tony's face hard into the wire box. He had just enough time to snap the faceplate back down, before he was spun around and shoved backwards into the brick wall.

In front of him stood one of the snake creatures, an arrow sticking almost comically, but with a frightening lack of impact, out of her neck. She grinned. Tony charged up the central repulsor, but with the power of an oncoming freight train she slammed her hand into the front of the suit.

Tony gasped as the internals of the suit shifted and cracked under her powerful blow. The casing around the arc reactor bent dangerously inwards and the sudden pressure on his chest had Tony sucking in short, sharp breaths. The monster braced her hand against the front of the suit and pressed Tony flat against the wall with ease.

“Iron Man?” Steve's voice sounded a million miles away over his comm and Tony couldn't find enough breath to respond. The thing continued to grin at him, leaning her face closer and closer to the glowing slits that hid Tony's eyes.

“You're fun,” she hissed out around her forked tongue.

Running on pure instinct, Tony reached up and grabbed her wrist with both hands, fighting against the terrifying pressure on his battery-powered heart, but his naked hands might as well have been flies buzzing around her marble-strong arm.

Suddenly the pressure ceased. Tony took one breath in relief, before she smacked him hard upside the head and grabbed both of his hands in one of hers. He struggled, but she just smiled. The panic of the reactor being threatened had sent waves of distress through Tony's gut and a shock of adrenaline pounding through his veins. He was dizzy with the lack of oxygen.

Steve was yelling into the comm, but Tony had no idea what he was saying. All he could see was the cold, blue eyes, the sharp teeth exposed in a wicked grin. She rose up until she was looking down into Tony's terrified face, as if she could see right through the expressionless metal panel and into the panicked eyes behind it.

“So weak.” She finally whispered and squeezed.

If she hadn't been holding him up, Tony would have gone straight to his knees. As it was he sunk back against the wall, arms pinned above his head, hands pressed together as if in prayer, trapped between long fingers. He felt the bones in his hands shift and snap within her unrelenting grip. Blood welled up between his palms and dripped to the asphalt below.

He was sure she would rip both his hands off any minute now, use the gaps left behind to tear the suit apart and him along with it. The pain hadn't quite hit him yet – the chemistry of shock screamed “RUN ” into every cell in his body, muting all other sensations.

But he couldn't run. And she wasn't going to let him go.

He tensed for the blow that was sure to come. Someone screamed something and it echoed, first from down the alley and then into his comm. Tony flicked his eyes up to the creature’s and sucked in a painful breath.

Something sliced through the air and collided with the far wall and in an instant all the pressure vanished from Tony's hands. He sunk to his knees and watched in shock as the scaly arm sank down with him, severed cleanly just below the elbow.

She staggered backwards in surprise and then her scream ripped through the alleyway, piercing through the deafening blood pumping in Tony's ears. A blur of dark blue and Captain America was on her in an instant. He ripped his shield out of the wall where it had embedded itself two inches into the bricks, a spray of mortar dust and reptile blood following it out.

Steve kicked out hard, sending the howling monster backwards into the opposite wall and with one flick of his wrist her screams were silenced. He left his shield where it was – a stark line between her lifeless, gaping face and the broken end of her elongated neck – and skidded to a halt in front of Tony.

“I'm fine,” Tony gasped out weakly, before Steve could speak. JARVIS' voice filled his ears, telling him that several fractures were likely. He couldn't be more specific without the sensors in the gloves, but Tony believed it. He couldn't bend his fingers, and was voting for passing out as soon as possible.

Steve gently reached out towards Tony's hands, his face an unreadable mixture of grief, anger and something else Tony couldn't identify, but pulled back when he flinched away.

“Iron Man's down, we need medical evac ASAP.” He looked down the alleyway, then back to Tony. “Face plate up, Tony,” he said softly.

As soon as JARVIS flipped the metal out of the way, Steve slid two cool fingers in against Tony's neck, taking his pulse. He must not have liked what he found there because his other hand came up to gently touch the side of Tony's face.

“You have to breathe slower, Tony, you're hyperventilating. Breathe with me.” Steve set an even rhythm and Tony focused on nothing else until the SHIELD medics arrived. As they breathed Steve worked on removing the mangled Iron Man suit, being careful not to jostle Tony's injured hands. By the time the medics arrived Tony was mostly free from the suit, and his breathing had slowed, but the shock had started to subside making the pain in his hands increase with every beat of his heart.

Gloriously, one of the first things they did when the evac arrived was stab something wonderful in his neck, before carefully wrapping his hands in a massive wad of gauze. The drugs hit Tony's system hard and fast, and before long he was flying along, swooping in and out of his body as they carted him off to medical, Steve's worried face drifting in and out of view.


In the end Tony needed two pins and a massive cast for his right hand and a smaller cast just over his fourth and pinky fingers on the left. As the drugs wore off they left a huge amount of pain and discomfort in their wake, along with an itch that could wake the dead.

Just a few days after the surgery to reset his shattered bones, Tony was back at the Tower with a bottle of industrial strength pain pills in his pocket and the command to “take it easy” for at least six weeks.

Fuck that.

It took about twenty minutes for Tony to figure out how to pour scotch with only three fingers, two hours to master the soldering iron, and a day and a half to give himself a blistering burn on his thigh when it turned out he hadn't mastered it after all.

When Bruce “Lab Safety Protocols” Banner found out Tony had been operating heavy machinery while on narcotics he was royally pissed. Tony was just grateful he hadn't yet noticed that said narcotics were being washed down with hard liquor, which he was pretty sure ran contrary to one of the brightly-coloured stickers decorating his prescription bottles.

No amount of guilting, bossing, or cajoling slowed Tony's attempts to use his workshop so Bruce brought out the big guns: he told Steve.

“Tony what are you doing?!” Steve burst into the workshop less than ten minutes after Bruce had thrown his hands up in frustration and stormed out.

Tony looked down at the welding torch he'd managed to wedge against his cast, and the strewn pieces of twisted metal that lay around him like fallen leaves. “I feel like this is some kind of trick question.”

Steve made a noise that was a combination of an angry growl and the noise a small bird makes when it gets stepped on by an elephant. He switched off the welder and plucked it out of Tony's – albeit tentative – grip. “Tony you're hurt, you're drugged and you're probably drunk,” (guess Bruce had noticed the codeine's chasers after all). “If you don't kill yourself with this you'll at least burn the tower down which won't be great for team morale. What made you think this was a good idea?”

“In all honesty, it was probably the aforementioned drugs and alcohol, but for good reason, Cap. I have a huge pile of things to do.” Tony shrugged and rocked up to his feet. “I'll give it to you on the fire, maybe that should wait.” He awkwardly grabbed a screwdriver from the workbench, examined the flat handle and then wedged it into his cast. He flashed Steve what was definitely a slightly inebriated smile and attempted to unscrew the control panel from the centre casing of the Iron Man suit, but he could only twist the casted hand so far and it was slow going.

Steve just sighed. “Tony, stop.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was firm and commanding and as he spoke he stepped forward and slid his fingers gently around Tony's forearm. Steve didn't touch him very often and the unexpected contact stopped Tony in his tracks. He sucked what he was sure was a very obvious breath through his teeth as Steve carefully extracted the screwdriver from his cast.

The plastic handle scraped against Tony's palm and he shivered as it both soothed and re-activated the constant itch that came with the casts. Steve frowned at him. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

“God no, it felt amazing.” Tony snatched the screwdriver back from Steve with some difficulty, and turned it around, sliding it back in and biting his lip in concentration as he wiggled the metal head back and forth across his irritated skin. He sighed and Steve smiled indulgently.

“If I let you take the screwdriver with you, will you go upstairs and get some rest?”

“The suit is totaled. I need to fix it, it's going to take ages and I want to be ready to go when these damn things come off.” Tony waved his casts at Steve.

“They're never going to come off if you don't take care of yourself,” Steve replied. “It's a chance to have a break, Tony. You need it. Take it.”

Tony just stared at Steve, while his left hand reached out of its own accord to pet one of the pieces of the suit affectionately with the few fingers he had available, the screwdriver still sticking haphazardly out of the cast on the right.

Steve considered him for a long moment. “Okay, make me a deal. You go upstairs and get four hours of real rest - no reading, no building, no drawing plans with JARVIS - and I’ll meet you back down here and help you work on the suit.”

Tony set the screwdriver down and pondered his options. Steve was unlikely to let this go and he wasn’t really in a place to be wrestling tools away from a super-soldier. But he was a super-soldier who had two, very lovely, very functional hands. Tony could be the brains and Steve, the brawn.

The only downside wasn’t really a downside at all: being around Steve was exquisite torture. Seeing him with his metaphorical sleeves rolled-up, elbow-deep in Tony’s armour was a thought that threatened teenage boy levels of embarrassment.

Then again, Tony could get very, very drunk first. Especially if he wouldn’t be the one driving the tools that make fire.

“Deal.” He twitched as if to shake Steve’s hand then sighed dejectedly at his casts, before turning to head for the stairs. He only made it a few steps before he turned back, plucked the screwdriver off the worktop with two precarious fingers, then turned away again.

“Oh, and Tony?” Steve called after him. “You have to be sober.”

Well, fuck.

Tony staggered upstairs and tipped into bed, shuffling around as he tried to get comfortable with two heavy casts, idly scratching his burning skin with the end of the screwdriver.

Sleep rarely came quickly to Tony, even after being awake for far too long, which was probably why he often just skipped it entirely. All that time, lying in the dark, doing nothing, what a waste.

He shifted again, onto his back, and wondered if Steve was still in the workshop. Steve amongst all his favourite things was a tantalizing thought. Unsurprisingly, freeform thoughts of Steve worked their way quickly around to memories of a few choice post-pubescent fantasies and it wasn’t long before Tony was hard as a rock and cursing.

It was just his luck that he would be spending all afternoon side-by-side with the object of his very intense lust and he couldn’t even rub one out to take the edge off. Fuck these fucking casts. If Steve hadn’t already done a very tidy job of decapitating that snake bitch, Tony would be putting all his energy into tracking her down and making her suffer.

As soon as these fuckers were cut off he was going to design something that could take care of this problem for him, just in case it happened again. Intriguing thought, actually, SI should buy a spin-off company and start designing sex toys. Maybe then Pepper would stop complaining that he was no longer “engaging with the company.”

He could certainly “engage” with a line of Captain America themed dildos.

Tony dozed off to thoughts of arc-reactor powered masterbators, still uncomfortably hard in the jeans he hadn’t bothered to pull off before collapsing into bed.


In the end he slept for seven and half hours, despite their agreement on four. Steve politely didn’t say, “nah, nah, I told you so,” when Tony eventually lurched into the workshop, dopey and disheveled, but he did smile into the book he was reading.

Steve set the book down as Tony started shuffling through the piles of Iron Man bits, and shucked his overshirt, leaving just a white, cotton t-shirt. A really, incredibly tight, white, cotton t-shirt. Tony resisted the urge to ask Steve if he used a vacuum sealer to get dressed in the morning. If he had pecs like that, he’d probably shop in the kids department too.

“So, what do you want from me?” Steve asked and Tony choked on the snappy comeback that shot halfway out of his mouth before he could stomp it down. He swallowed carefully and started laying out the plan for repair.

Tony kept himself sane - or possibly drove himself more insane - by asking Steve to bend over and get things off the floor as often as possible. Steve seemed to have somewhat picked up on the game, because an adorable little smile kept dancing across his lips. Tony hoped desperately that he didn’t realize it was so much worse than Tony getting a little eye candy to soothe his pain.

Steve was a surprisingly helpful lab buddy, his analytical mind picking up on the patterns of Tony’s work quickly. As he started anticipating Tony’s needs and placing his hands where they were needed before Tony asked, the conversation drifted onto other topics.

“So are you waiting until I’m better to yell at me for pulling that shit in the alley?” Tony aimed for teasing, but he could feel the edge of real concern coming through.

Steve’s hands paused in their work and his gaze flicked to the casts, tucked in Tony’s lap. “I think you learned your lesson on that one already.” There was something horribly mournful about Steve’s tone and Tony searched his face for clues as to its origin.

“I think we are all aware of how bad I am at extrapolating from negative consequences.”

“You wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t disobey orders. I just - “ Steve cut off, flushing slightly, and turned back to the bank of screws he was loosening.

“Just what?” Tony pressed.

“I wish you would tell me when you were going to do something unbelievably stupid like that so I could cover your back.” Steve’s voice lowered. “Finding you there. I came around the corner and she had you - I - it was horrible. I really thought she was going to kill you, Tony. That I wouldn’t get there in time. That I would have to watch.”

Tony’s usual urge to diffuse with humor was stamped down by Steve’s heartbreaking expression. “I’m sorry,” he told him, surprising himself with his honesty. “I don’t think about those things. Any concern for my well-being has always been centered around stock prices.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say because Steve looked up at him, horrified. “Do you really think that? Tony, you’ve got plenty of people who care about you.”

“Really? I mean really, honestly, Steve. I’ve never been good at cultivating relationships, I know that. It’s fine. It’s just - it’s why I’m not a very good team player. No one since my mother died, except Rhodey, has cared what happens to me. And Pepper, though I think sometimes Pepper - as much as she loves me - wonders if her life would be easier if I didn’t come back from one of our missions.”

Steve made a sudden movement and Tony’s gaze startled up from his blueprints. Steve had half risen off his stool, but sunk down again, reddening when Tony raised a questioning eyebrow. They were silent for an awkward moment then Steve spoke again, firm and controlled. “I care about you, Tony. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t like seeing you in pain. Please don’t think no one cares.”

Tony flushed and squirmed. “Umm, yeah, okay. Well, thanks? I guess.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “I’ll give you warning next time I’m going to be an idiot.”

The irony that Steve didn’t want to see him in pain when everything about the man was excruciating was not lost on Tony. And this was the kind of pain that was cruelly addictive. He didn’t even know how he’d go back to working alone, now that he’d spent a day down here with Steve.

“Oh wait.” Tony held out a hand and Steve stopped. “That’s the wrong screw, you have to do that other one first.”

“This one?” Steve asked, pointing in entirely the wrong direction.

Tony slipped off his stool to walk around the table. He shoved in next to Steve’s stool to lean over his lap and point one of the pathetic fingertips sticking out of his cast at the correct screw.

Suddenly each atom in Tony’s body realized simultaneously how close it was to Steve and began vibrating at its own special frequency.

Tony slid back until he was standing straight up, but that just brought his face dangerously close to Steve’s. He turned a bit and Steve was staring at him, completely ignoring the screw Tony had pointed out.

“Um,” Tony said, his traitorous eyes refusing to look anywhere but at Steve’s tempting mouth. He kept saying, “back up now, Tony, it’s getting awkward,” to himself, but he wouldn’t move, leaning further into Steve’s space instead.

It was Steve who finally closed the gap between them, moving slowly but surely until their lips pressed together. Tony’s atoms stopped vibrating and started setting off fireworks while his 16-year-old brain screamed, “FUCK YES!

Steve’s kiss was steady and even, not pushing for more, but not giving an inch either. Tony almost immediately felt dizzy and was starting to lose sensation in his knees, but Steve showed no signs of stopping. When Tony gasped out a little breath against Steve’s lips, he rose from his stool and pulled Tony in close, being careful not to jostle his damaged hands.

Steve deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against Tony’s, sharing a breath. Tony sucked Steve’s lower lip between his, cataloguing the minty sweetness that was purely Steve in case he never got a chance to taste it again.

When Steve’s hands dropped to grip Tony’s hips possessively he groaned and rutted up against his thigh. He finally started to feel some cracks in Steve’s perfect composure as his hands clenched and released on Tony’s hips. Tony pushed him, ramping up the kiss, grinding their bodies together and when Steve responded in kind, the spike of arousal that shot down Tony’s spine was almost painful.

“Can I suck you off?” Tony asked into Steve’s mouth. The hands on his hips clenched and he felt Steve’s erection twitch against his thigh, but Steve shook his head.

“You have two broken hands, Tony, I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

“Then please tell me you want to fuck me,” Tony panted out in a rush. “I’ve never been so horny in my life and while I’ve asked JARVIS to do a lot of humiliating things I don’t think he’ll forgive me if I make him design me something to fuck myself on so I can finally get off. I wasn’t prepared to be hands-less, Steve.” He ground up against his hip and added, “Steve, Steve, Steve,” since the word had felt so good in his mouth the first time.

Steve seemed to struggle for a moment, turning the kiss filthy as he fought with his self-control. Eventually, “Yes,” seemed to be all Steve could manage. He was wound tight - Tony could tell he was starting to fail at holding himself back, which was quite possibly the hottest thing he had ever experienced.

“Please,” he begged, not getting enough friction to be anything more than torture.

Steve made a choking sound and set his hands in motion. His left slid up under Tony’s shirt, gripping his side, just under his ribs, while the other deftly popped the button and lowered the zipper on Tony’s pants.

“God.” Tony’s head fell back, hands resting uselessly on Steve’s shoulders. “I never thought I’d find opposable thumbs so fucking hot.”

Steve chuckled and buried his face into Tony’s exposed neck. His hand slid down the back of Tony’s pants, pressing another hard, hot kiss to Tony’s lips. Pulling back abruptly, Steve stripped off his own shirt, worked his own belt and fly open and then seemed to get distracted by Tony, attacking his clothes with vigour. Jeans hit the floor, shirt pulled over Tony’s head and then carefully around his casts.

Steve made to seek out his mouth again, but Tony held up a hand, stopping Steve a few feet away to take in the view. The sleek, lean lines of muscle that disappeared into his open waistband were so tantalizing, Tony’s broken fingers twitched, yearning to touch.

Tony’s eyes flicked back up and Steve crowded up against him, slipping a finger into the elastic of Tony’s boxers. Their faces were so close, Tony’s field of vision was just blonde hair and blue eyes. The finger brushed against Tony’s painfully hard cock and he let out an involuntary gasp, then surged up again in a searing kiss.

For all that Tony felt frantic and frustrated, Steve was all smooth slide of palms, and deep kisses, no rush, no urgency. Instead of soothing him, the pace was winding Tony tighter and tighter. Steve scraped his nails excruciatingly slowly over Tony’s hip and he groaned. Tony’d had three decades of foreplay and Steve was still taking his time.

“Steve, I just - I - I can’t, ergghh,” Tony huffed out and Steve stilled, stepped back, worry creasing his brow.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was hoarse, hair askew, eyes wide, and lips kiss-wet. Holy shit, he was beautiful.

Tony knew he was pouting in a decidedly unsexy way, but it was so unfair. He fina-fucking-ly had a shot at Steve Rogers, his wet dream for the past god-knows-how-many years, and he couldn’t use his goddamn hands.

“I can’t touch you,” he whimpered pathetically, raising the cast-wrapped hands.

Steve smiled, then hooked his hand around Tony’s jaw, petting his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

Tony wasn’t sure why, but the words soothed him. He took a deep, shuddering breath then lurched forward, falling into Steve again, letting him take over. Steve explored Tony’s face, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids, before making his way down the column of Tony’s throat as he pushed Tony’s boxers to the floor, leaving him naked.

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” Steve said into Tony’s shoulder, hands wandering everywhere.

“I’ve wanted to do this for thirty years,” tumbled out of Tony’s mouth. “I used to jack off to your comic books.” Then his brain screeched to a halt, rewound, and replayed that sentence a few times.


Steve stilled, Tony couldn't see his face and he squirmed nervously. “That's actually kinda hot,” Steve said eventually, his cock twitching against Tony’s thigh.

Fuck, indeed.

Steve slipped a hand under Tony’s leg and tugged until Tony hopped up, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist. Super-soldier strength did them proud as Steve held him up easily, stepping around the table to press Tony’s back against the wall. He hissed and arched away from the cool stone which only ground him into Steve again.

Steve pulled away from Tony’s mouth long enough to slip his fingers between Tony’s lips. Tony sucked them eagerly, his eyes locked on Steve’s, showing him what he was missing out on by saying no to Tony earlier. Steve’s mouth fell open as he watched Tony work his fingers, biting his lip and twisting his fingers against Tony’s tongue.

He swallowed suddenly and pulled his fingers free, eyes dark and desperate. He surged forward sliding his tongue into Tony’s mouth, following the path his finger’s had taken and moaning when Tony sucked on his tongue.

Steve slid his spit-slicked hand under Tony’s thigh, still supporting him with only one hand and the pressure of the wall against his back. It had been a while since Tony had gotten laid and he had to remind himself not to hold his breath as Steve slipped a finger inside him.

They rocked together in silence, Tony finding his breath again while Steve let a bit more of his composure slip, dipping his head to mouth at Tony’s collarbone.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said against Tony’s skin. He slowly pressed another finger in. Tony rolled his hips into the sensation. His mind flailed around desperately, trying to figure out what Steve was talking about until he remembered the confession he’d just made.

“I thought you were too clean cut.” Tony groaned, fucking himself on Steve’s fingers, finding the perfect angle to spiral pleasure up through his core. “I wanted to get you all dirty.”

“What did you want to do with me?” Steve sounded like he was barely holding it together. He slipped in a third finger, letting Tony’s weight slide him down slowly. Tony felt stretched out and flushed, a hot sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. He tipped his head back against the cool wall and wished desperately he could do something with his hands besides wrapping them around Steve’s neck.

“I wanted to come all over you. Cover you. Muss you up. Prove you’re not perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” Steve muttered.

“Give me more, Steve, please,” Tony choked out, desperate. Steve pulled his hand away and pushed his pants the rest of the way off. He slicked up his hand with spit again, twisting it around the head of his cock to spread the precum around.

Tony jerked forward involuntarily when Steve shifted his weight and Tony’s dick rubbed tantalizingly over Steve’s, frankly fucking incredible, abs. Tony was distracted by the sensation and thoughts of ‘I can die happy now,”  so when Steve began to press up into him he clenched his whole body into Steve, up away from the wall. Steve slowed his movements, running his free hand along Tony’s lower back, until he breathed out and relaxed into it. Steve’s breathing stuttered and his bracing hand shifted a bit as he sunk fully into Tony’s heat.

They set an easy rhythm at first, Steve recovering some of the calm he’d started with. “Did you ever think your fantasy would come true?” he asked.

“Never.” Tony kicked his hips forward and moaned at the lightening bolt of pleasure it set off. “I’m still not even sure it’s really happening,” he admitted.

“God, Tony,” Steve cried out as Tony pushed the rhythm faster, grinding down on Steve’s cock, trusting the strength of the arm that held him up. Steve adjusted his grip then snaked his free hand in between their bodies to wrap around Tony’s desperate cock.

Tony’s eyes rolled back in his head as the double sensation overwhelmed him. A familiar pressure was building quickly. “Steve.” He bucked up into his hand and fell back down onto his cock. “Not much longer.”

Steve leaned forward until his mouth was against Tony’s ear. “I want you to come all over me, Tony. Get me all dirty. Show me what you want.”

His words were too much and Tony arched against the wall, his body clenching and releasing as he came hard all over Steve’s perfect chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted out, The angle of Steve’s cock wringing every last bit out of him with a few more thrusts.

Steve looked glorious, sweaty and tense, covered in Tony’s come, face twisted with pleasure. When he was sure he’d fucked Tony through his orgasm, he pressed forward urgently, wrapping both hands around his thighs and surging up into him with renewed vigour. Tony was in an orgasmic haze, barely aware of the sensation as Steve rolled his hips forward again and again. Tony tipped his head forward onto Steve’s shoulder, intrigued by the expanse of perfect, smooth skin in front of him. He ran his tongue all the way from the tip of Steve’s shoulder to the edge of his jaw, then bit into the thick flesh of Steve’s neck.

Steve’s hips stuttered forward, involuntary noises slipped out between clenched teeth as he finally found release, pulsing deep in Tony’s ass.

For a few minutes the room was silent save for their panting.

“Oh god, I'm hungry,” Tony finally croaked out. Steve chuckled into his neck and Tony gave him a plaster-covered pat on the shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

“Tony, I burn, like, 6000 calories a day. I'm always hungry.”

“Let’s go make pancakes.”

Steve stepped back, lowering Tony carefully to the floor. He raised an eyebrow at him and scooped Tony’s hands up with his own. “How are you going to cook in these?”

Tony eyed him up. “Let’s go watch you make pancakes.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve laughed.

Once they were decent again, Steve led the way up to his own floor. It had Tony feeling a bit nervous. Now it was up to him to decide when he should go, when all he really wanted to do was burrow into Steve’s space and never leave. He was like a satellite finally caught in orbit. Now that he knew what it was like to drift around Steve, how could he let go?

Maybe it was just that no one, including himself, had touched his dick for over a week, but the sex had been beyond incredible. The memory of it would be replacing all others in his spank bank for quite some time, probably forever.

But now he knew Steve’s taste, smell, the face he made when he came, what it was like to feel his hands all over, and he’d already had enough trouble functioning around the guy when all that was just a vague fantasy. Now he was pretty sure his brain would screech to a halt whenever he caught sight of Steve. Or the workshop. Or walls.

Oh well, that was a problem for Future Tony, and Future Tony would have a bottle of rather strong painkillers he wouldn’t be needing for a while now, after that orgasm.

Steve started pulling out ingredients while Tony hopped up on the edge of the counter. He poked the cardboard box Steve set down. “Captain America makes pancakes from mix? Isn’t that sacrilege or something?”

“Oh come on, if that isn’t the ‘American Way,’ I don’t know what is,” Steve quipped.

That got a laugh out of Tony. “Okay, fair”.

He fell silent as Steve bustled about pulling out bowls and plates. After a few minutes Steve stopped and eyed Tony up. “What’s wrong?”

Tony didn’t want to dive into the raging ocean of his insecurities so he hid his thoughts with another scowl. “I’m still pissed I couldn’t get a handful of you. Seems very wasteful. When there’s so much good to touch.” He let his eyes wander appreciatively down Steve’s form.

“You’ll have to be patient.” Steve winked at him. “A couple more weeks and you can touch whatever you want.”

“Really?” Tony blurted out.

Steve looked at him in surprise and then smiled. “Of course.”

Steve watched in obvious amusement while Tony experienced all the stages of a major crisis. He hadn’t really considered this as The Start of Something™. He’d been caught up in six feet of seriously sexy superhero and nothing else mattered.

He’d kind of assumed they would dance awkwardly around the issue, maybe he’d get a few more orgasms out of it, and then it would fade away. For Steve, anyway. He was pretty sure after this long his yearning for the other man would never fade.

But it sounded like Steve expected this to be an ongoing thing. Which was exciting. But also terrifying. And kinda confusing.

He wasn’t sure if Steve was suggesting he would be up for some semi-regular, post-battle decompression, or if he meant something frighteningly more. As an outlet for Tony’s ridiculous obsession there were certainly worse options than the occasional shared orgasm in his workshop, though he knew that when it came to an inevitable end - when Steve got bored, or found someone else - it would hurt a hundred times more than the last few months of pining had. While he stewed in renewed arousal, confusion, excitement and a fair dose of self-loathing, Steve stirred eggs and milk into the mix and started pouring out batter.

“You’re okay, Tony,” Steve whispered, after letting him ponder in silence for a bit. Steve set the spatula down and tucked himself between Tony’s knees, leaning in to kiss him soundly.

“Okay,” Tony responded, stupidly. Steve laughed, rubbed his hand up and down Tony’s thigh, then deftly changed the subject, drawing Tony into conversation about the repairs lined up for the suit. They ate their pancakes and Steve didn’t bring up their relationship again to Tony’s relief.

By the time they were done eating, it was getting late and they drifted down to the communal area to spend some team-bonding time. Tony felt like he had a neon sign over his head saying “STEVE AND TONY BANGED.” But no one mentioned anything and Steve seemed supremely relaxed and unaffected.

They formed their usual Avengers sprawl all over the living room and put on a movie, but before they were halfway in, Tony felt himself dozing off. Bruce gave him a gentle poke and he realized he’d missed the last ten minutes of the movie and was drooling all over his fellow scientist’s shoulder.

It was weird to be so exhausted after so much sleep that morning, but it seemed his body had some catching up to do. Eventually he gave in, excusing himself and wishing everyone a good night. As he stepped away from the couch he caught Steve’s eyes and they held each other’s gaze for a long moment, a small smile ghosting along Steve’s lips.

Clint shifted loudly on the cushions and Tony broke away, turning and walking out before he managed to embarrass himself.

It did cross his mind, however, as he was drifting off to sleep, that it would be nice if he could have kissed Steve goodnight.


Tony woke to a text that Steve had been called into a SHIELD mission to assist, but he should be back in a day or two. Steve had followed up the text with three more.

Please be careful.

No fire.

Seriously. No fire.

Tony realized he was just lying in bed smiling at his phone so he pushed himself upright and staggered off to the shower. It was tricky cleaning up with two casts wrapped in plastic bags, but luckily he’d had a manic genius moment with his showerhead a few months ago and JARVIS could pressure wash him pretty effectively, as awkward as it was.

Damp and verging on clean, he slipped into sweatpants with only minor difficulty and wandered down to the workshop. His desk was its usual mess of notes, tools and bits of things, but it was his mess so he noticed immediately that something extra was there. A large, manila envelope sat precariously on top of the debris, “Tony” scrawled across it in black sharpie.

He recognized Steve’s handwriting, his heart immediately pounding in his chest. Why would Steve leave an envelope on his desk? Was it some bizarre Dear John letter? “Dear Tony, Iast night was fun and all, but you can keep your dick to yourself from now on.” Tony’s panic-prone brain supplied the many horrors that could be contained within the thin package, until he could take it no longer and ripped the damn thing open.

He pulled out one sheet of thick sketchbook paper and sat down hard on his office chair. It was a large comic panel, drawn expertly in the style of the old Captain America comics, coloured here and there with pencils, and edged perfectly in black ink. It looked like a real excerpt, or it would, if not for the content.

The background suggested Tony’s workshop, a hint of tables and projects scattered around. Cap was in his uniform, but it was half-off and disheveled, the shield resting on the floor a few feet away. Tony followed the long line of Steve’s perfect back to the place where Tony’s legs wrapped around his waist. Comic Steve and Tony were pressed up against the wall, an echo of last night’s activities. Tony wore nothing but a zipper hoodie, wide open, in a red and gold pattern reminiscent of the armour, one shoulder slipped down to his elbow.

Tony’s hands were free in the comic and one dug its nails into the skin of Steve’s back while the other threaded through Steve’s hair, pulling his face into Tony’s throat. Tony’s head was thrown back, flushed and grinning, his eyes reflecting the light from the arc reactor.

In the corner Steve had scrawled a loopy, “SR,” and then added, “See you soon.”

Tony stared at the page, ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming, “LET’S DO THAT RIGHT NOW,” and focusing on the part that said, “this is how Steve sees us.”

This was how Steve saw them.

It was beautiful. It was everything Tony wanted and he finally started to believe that it might be what Steve wanted too. His heart thrilled at the sudden flood of possibilities.

Tony really was fucked.

And it was awesome.


Four weeks later...

Tony flinched as the cast saw whirred and cut into the fibreglass. He wondered for the nine thousandth time if he should have just admitted his complete lack of balls and asked Steve to come along. The desire to keep the appointment a secret and surprise him with functional hands was easy to indulge while he enjoyed an enthusiastic, wake-up blow job that morning. Now however, for someone who regularly put his hands in the path of dangerous machinery (and sometimes evil snake aliens), he felt oddly uncomfortable with the process.

Finally, the casts cracked and popped off and Tony breathed a sigh of relief. The nurse helped him work through some gentle stretches to release the horrific stiffness in his wrists while working some cream into his sadly abused skin. She warned him to avoid stressful uses of his hands for a few weeks more.

“No promises!” He gave her a salacious wink and sauntered out of the clinic.

Feeling fresh air on his freed hands was pleasant and painful at the same time, but the discomfort faded over the next few hours and by the time Steve returned from a meeting with SHIELD Tony felt much better. It would still be weeks before they were back to normal, but the doctors were confident there wasn’t any permanent damage.

Tony couldn’t wait to feel metal and wire and solder under his fingertips, but for now there was something he wanted to get his hands on more.

When he heard the door to the penthouse open, he tucked his hands behind his back and waited. Steve wandered into the living room, flicking through his phone distractedly, a scowl marring his perfect face.

“Did you see this report on space defence proposals?” Tony remained silent, waiting. Steve came to a halt in front of where Tony leaned against the back of the couch. He finally flicked his eyes away from his phone and broke into a smile when he saw Tony’s inviting expression. Steve leaned forward to press a light kiss to Tony’s lips. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Tony pressed in, deepening the kiss, then snaked his hands around Steve’s neck, sliding them up to tangle in his hair. His nerves were on fire from the overstimulation, but getting to feel acres of Steve was worth it and then some.

At his touch Steve jerked back, breaking the kiss and turning in surprise. The movement brought Tony’s palm around to his cheek and Steve burrowed into it, grinning now.

“When did you get these back?” He slid his hands up Tony’s forearms, cupping Tony’s hands in his and bringing them to his face to nuzzle them.

Tony laughed at the affection, sliding his fingertips over Steve’s stubble, his nose, his ears, memorizing the way he felt in case he ever lost his hands again. “Just this morning. They’re still pretty sore, but I can’t even tell you how good it feels to be free.”

Steve pressed forward again until Tony was caged against the back of the couch. His newly liberated hands splayed out over Steve’s chest, long lines flush against him. Steve drew a trail of kisses up Tony’s neck to his ear, nipped at his earlobe and whispered, “So, now that you have your hands back, what’s the first thing you want to do?”

Tony thought back to a worn envelope tucked into the bottom drawer of his desk, now with 7 beautifully-drawn pages tucked inside. He ran his fingertips down Steve’s stomach, making him shiver. “I can think of a few things.”