Chapter Text
It was a bright sunny morning in downtown Manhattan, and Tony was hovering over Stark Tower in the Iron Man supervising the helicopter delivery of a shipping container of goods to the Tower’s primary landing pad.
It contained all of Jarvis’ high-end replacement appliances as well as the living floor and suites entertainment electronics. He didn’t really need to be out here for this, he knew, the pilots and cargo handlers were SHIELD-cleared, but he couldn’t really get started on the integrated internal data systems without the displays. He’d actually managed a few solid hours of sleep the night before and was feeling restless. His people in Seattle weren’t up yet either. He had a conference call scheduled for nine Pacific with Resilient, but it left him at loose ends until then. So he’d brought the armor out to watch the delivery in person.
All was progressing smoothly. It was even a little boring. Until the moment when he was practically tackled out of the sky.
“You sneaky jerk! Why didn’t you call me and tell me you finally bagged Cap?!” Carol Danvers laughed in his face as she looped and spiraled across the New York skyline with his armored form trapped in her grip. She was holding him face-to-face as they flew, which, shame that, because he couldn’t feel her amazing breasts rub up against him quite the same through the suit.
“Because I like my ribs intact?” he managed to say even as she playfully squeezed the suit harder, setting off more than a few pressure warnings around his chest with her strength.
“Wimp,” she snorted, still grinning hugely into his face. “So babe-you actually helped, did she? Got everything out in the open. Finally?”
While Rhodey had the selective emotional blindness of the utterly heterosexual, Carol was more like Tony; flexible in her tastes. She’d figured out his blatant hero-worship of Steve was actually cover for much more than that long ago and had been subtly urging him for years to just come out and tell him. She’d obviously never said anything about it to Steve however. Maybe because Tony knew she was in a pot-and-kettle situation with, well, someone similar of her own as well. And that was a touchy enough topic all on its own, so she’d been sympathetic enough to keep her silence without him even having to ask.
“Maybe she did,” Tony admitted, reluctantly, if only because he wasn’t looking forward to watching Carol crow over that. Because he knew she would. Loudly. Nor did she disappoint.
“Fuck yeah! I called it!” She did a fist-pump without letting go of him completely. He took advantage of the slackening of her grip, however, to twist out of her grasp and fly under his own power again. Oddly enough, when he looked around he saw they were drifting above Central Park not far from where he’d first found Antonia’s armor, the mid-morning sunlight glinting off the reservoir far below them.
“So have you got him naked yet? Details, give me details, man!” she said, making grabbing hands motions toward him and grinning at him so wide and bright and excited that Tony couldn’t help but grin back at her even as he shook his head.
“Hell no, woman. I know you still have that guest blog on that damn low-brow gossip site. I’m not feeding you page-hits.”
Her expression fell only a little, her eyes still glittering with excitement, her grin wide and wicked. “I wouldn’t use your names! Blargh! What kind of friend do you think I am?”
She grabbed at his armored shoulder and spun them around in mid-air with another laugh and he let her, even helping by spiraling them out wider, their wrists locked, through the warming morning air in a kind of sloppy aerial dance. Her long hair streamed out behind her like a banner, the red sash at her hips following like a flag. She looked beautiful and carefree and half her age for a moment in her vicarious delight and it made his heart ache because he knew she was too much like him; driven by responsibility and guilt.
But he snorted and laughed now, for her, still shaking his head in the helmet as they floated together through the air. “The gossiping kind? And nobody falls for those cover names. ‘Anton’ and ‘Esteban’? Seriously?”
“Pfft! I fudge things enough! Half the posters think Anton is Clint anyway.” She grinned back at him, unrepentant.
Tony reeled back, pressing one wide-spread gauntleted hand over his chest arc in mock distress. “Clint? Clint? Ugh! I’m hurt. Wounded. Scarred for life. Still no.”
“Hey! I told you about Jen!”
He rolled his eyes behind his helmet and made his tone as dismissive as possible. “Pity fucks don’t count.”
She briefly mimed outrage. “You catty bitch.” Then she reached out and rapped her knuckles on his helmet. “Open that up, damn it.” He popped the faceplate open with another roll of his eyes, the HUD flickering into hologram mode as he ruefully met her smiling gaze as she went on, “And it was not. It was a ‘we’re trapped and probably going to die and you’re hot and handy’ fuck. Which was amazing. So there.” She laughed, made a face and stuck her tongue out at him.
He laughed back, letting himself get caught up in her glee. Even if he really didn’t have much to share with her yet. She sobered a little then, staring at him intently.
“Are you good with this? Is it good, Tony, really?”
He sighed, mirth draining swiftly away. “It’s early, Carol. I don’t know yet. I’m… I’m still half expecting him to come to his senses and back out.”
She leveled a flat stare at him, folding her arms over her chest in a way that only emphasized her amazing breasts. “Oh that’s not happening. It’s Steve, Tony. You know he doesn’t say things like that – especially in front of teammates -- unless he means it.”
The words struck him hard. Because it was the truth. Steve didn’t drop personal issues on the team like that. Not unless he really was serious. Oh damn.
“Well, then,” he said grimly, some of the brightness fading from the morning sun. “I guess it’s all on me.”
~*~
It had been a good call with Resilient, Tony thought even as he let out a heavy sigh, one hand braced against his forehead as he doodled idly on the design tablet he’d been using to take notes with during the discussion. Orders were rolling in for the car and Wyche was in a terrified kind of hog-heaven that Pepper was skillfully coaching him through. Macken had the nanofab project on-pace so he’d set Cababa and Pimacher working full-out on the idea he was hoping to pitch to Asgard soon. If he could swing an audience with Balder without Thor’s intervention, that was.
Usually he found that kind of speculative brain-storming stimulating, instead today it had left him feeling oddly drained. Somehow all that early-morning energy had vanished. Even after Carol challenged him to a race back to the tower – that the wench only won because she drew power from the sun itself – he was having a hell of a time getting any of it back.
Where was Steve? He’d been trying very hard not to just go looking for him. Trying to respect the lines Steve had drawn around the Avengers, his position as top cop answerable only to the President himself, and Tony’s still-precarious position with, well, pretty much everyone. But after that incident with Kang… the way Steve had looked at him, acted with him right in front of the team, how he’d spoken to Bucky and Thor about them. Well, he’d been hoping for some kind of resolution between them happening much sooner than this.
Granted, he probably couldn’t mess things up if Steve wasn’t around, though, given his track record, that was no guarantee either.
Tony glanced down at what he’d been idly doodling and all thought fled his mind in a surge of horror.
What the hell was this?
He flinched as his gaze skimmed power-load and structural notations. Scale and breadth. Armaments and yields.
Why in hell…?
It was a monster. A behemoth bearing little resemblance to anything he’d ever designed before. Far more fluid and organic, -- and yet still oddly familiar –, it was a nightmare of pure technological destruction.
The only saving grace was that, as it sat, it would never even move. Unless he… His fingers twitched the stylus. Toward one flaw he’d already seen a possible fix for on the tablet screen. Then he winced and closed his eyes firmly, sending the screen dark with a flick of his fingers instead.
No. That thing was something that belonged firmly inside the Pandora’s Box of only theoretical possibility with the fucking lid welded shut.
He surged to his feet feeling a flutter of something almost like panic in his throat. He forced himself to stop. To lean his hands on the workbench and just breathe a moment.
He lifted his head and looked around the temporary lab he was still half-inhabiting. The two benches were still shoved together in the center from when they’d been used as a platform to examine Bucky’s arm. The jumbled pile of shaped metal, half-fabricated boards and twisted wires of a forgotten project lay where Antonia has swept them to the ground to give her space to work on her old-style armor across the room. With a grimace he straightened all the way up, and swept one hand through his hair, deliberately ignoring the way it was shaking faintly.
There was that message of hers still to play as well— Tony shook his head. No, he was in no mood to listen to a lecture from Madam Self-Righteous right now.
He looked around again, gaze narrowing, heart pounding. This workspace was crap. It was a converted conference room, for fuck’s sake. No shielding. No blast resistance. Inadequate ventilation, security, power, everything. Okay. He needed to get his real garage re-secured and usable right away. No more living out of a figurative suitcase.
Tony Stark stalked away from the tablet he’d only powered off, already lost deep in plans for moving his personal base of operations back here to New York, all thoughts of doomsday robots firmly banished from his mind.
~*~
“Tony? Jarvis?” The names echoed down the hall from the direction of the elevator core. Tony’s head jerked up as he recognized Steve’s voice.
The smile hit his lips before he could hold it back. He let it linger, surprised at how good it felt.
“In the back suite, Steve,” he called, and at once heard the firm tread of boots approaching on the bare wood parquet of the main hallway. The carpet runner was still on backorder, he vaguely remembered Ann-Marie telling him earlier. He made himself keep working. Focusing his attention as best he could on the scans he was doing for leftover listening devices while trying to ignore the heady mix of relief and anticipation that was definitely making his nerves jitter a little.
It had been two days since he’d last seen Steve. Two long days that Commander Rogers had been busy with some critical goings-on at the Raft. At least that was according to a casual mention by Natasha during one of her periodic check ins about the progress of Bucky’s arm recovery. Which was going quite well without any need for electro-shock therapy at all apparently. Damn it.
He couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder and watching the entrance to the suite until Steve appeared in it though, the smile still lingering on his mouth. Steve’s expression seemed faintly strained until he found Tony with his gaze, then a small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth in return.
“Well, you look like you’re having fun,” Steve said, stopping in the doorway to lean a shoulder against the jamb after folding his arms loosely over that magnificent chest.
Tony glanced back down at the hastily patched-together bug-sniffing unit set on the chair across from him and shrugged. “I do like to get my hands dirty.” Only as he said the words did the double-entendre hit him, and he shot a wary look at Steve whose smile turned only very slightly wry.
“I know you do. It’s one of your strengths.” Tony let his hungry gaze run over Steve, willing to accept the mild reply at face value, for now, while noting the full Commander’s uniform he was wearing.
“Still on duty? I’m almost done here if your time is short,” he said as neutrally as he could, dropping his gaze back to the slap-dash instrument panel in front of him to try to mask his disappointment. Steve had finally shown up. Tony just had to hope he could be induced to stay for a while.
“Nope. Barring any sudden new world perils, I should have a clear night tonight,” Steve said with a sigh. He sounded a touch melancholy and Tony glanced back at him in concern.
“Everything okay?” he asked before he thought better of it and Steve met his gaze directly.
“It is now,” he said, which was vaguely flattering, yet still neatly avoided an answer. “Tony…”
“No, it’s okay, Steve. Really.” He quirked his mouth ruefully. “I’m just glad you came by. I’ve missed you.”
Tony cursed himself inwardly for sounding so pathetically needy and turned back to tinker with the bug-sweeper again; watched the indicators stay resolutely green. He was fairly sure he’d already found the last of Osborn’s bugs, SHIELD’s monitors and even some of his own old, obsolete security taps, but it was always worth being thorough.
“I missed you too, Tony,” Steve said softly and Tony looked up to find him still watching him, his gaze steady and intent.
Tony switched off the bug-sweeper by yanking the cord out of the wall and stood up. He wiped his hands on his pants absently before he remembered not to. He was wearing a pair of navy-blue slacks and a white tank top that was thin enough to let the light of the RT shine through it, but both were real clothing and not made of armor interface. For once.
He flung his arms out, gesturing around the room dramatically, unable to resist a small dig. “I’ve been right here.”
Steve started to frown and Tony plowed on adopting a lighter tone. “Actually, I’ve been busy as hell, cleaning out and getting the Tower ready for the team. On the good news side, my personal stock portfolio is up over 23%, New York isn’t showing imminent signs of falling out of the dimension, and it seems Pepper’s too busy re-structuring Resilient to harass me tonight. Less good, only half the Avengers levels are verified hostile surveillance-free, and, as you can see, the last of the new suite furnishings won’t get delivered until tomorrow.”
He gestured around at the empty rooms around them again with an apologetic frown as Steve’s expression began to relax into one of faint amusement. “But, I’m done bug-sweeping and upgrading security in the labs, the gyms, the meeting rooms and my garage, so the Avengers could be back in as early as this weekend.” His flip tone faded somewhat then, became warmer as he let his arms fall back to his sides. “It’s almost starting to feel like my Tower again. And now, to top it off,” he gave a flourish with one hand, “the man I most want to spend time with shows up on my doorstep. So things are going pretty okay for once.”
Steve was smiling at him openly now, his eyes twinkling as his gaze lingered on Tony’s. “That’s good to hear.”
“But it would be even better if you came over here and kissed me,” Tony said, lowering his tone deliberately and facing the doubts gnawing in his gut head-on.
Steve’s smile vanished abruptly, and his eyelids lowered, veiling his gaze. “Sure,” he said easily enough before he strode into the room. Tony’s breath caught as it seemed to be only an instant before Steve was standing in front of him. Then big hands were cupping his face, tilting his head slightly so warm, warm lips could slide over his. Gentle and knowing and… oh fuck, thorough.
Tony sucked in air, his own lips parting automatically, and Steve’s tongue swept inside his mouth with it, no hesitation at all. He put his hands on the front of Steve’s reinforced tunic and held on tight, trembling faintly, a groan rising in his throat. His slacks went tight in a flash and he was grateful, for the moment, that they weren’t pressed closer together or he might have gone off right there. He swayed forward, but Steve’s hands held him in place as he just kissed him until Tony finally relaxed into it.
After long, breathless, mind-melting moments, Steve pulled away, his gaze fixing on Tony’s mouth, a thumb stroking the line of his goatee gently.
“Better?” Steve asked, his voice a low rumble. Tony nodded, his own voice gone, mind spinning, body aching and hard. He licked his lips. They were wet. Soft. Open. Well-kissed. This was no fantasy, not imaginary. After the last few days alone, with no contact from Steve, doubt had definitely taken root. But that doubt was gone now, because that had been real and honest and pure Steve. Longing choked him briefly, thick and raw. He’d wanted so much, for so long… and finally. Finally. Steve’s hands dropped to his shoulders to steady him as he swayed again and Tony somehow managed to find his voice.
“What do you do?” he heard himself ask hoarsely, staring at Steve’s mouth as his body throbbed with need. Because he’d been very carefully trying to not think about this ever since that evening in his Seattle condo when Steve first confessed his problem, and, more often than not, failing miserably. Except when he was busy working, of course. Which was why he’d been working almost non-stop ever since.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked, puzzled, obviously not quite on the same page yet. Tony tried to rein in his impatience. Failed.
“About sex,” he said sharply, watching as Steve’s gaze clouded slightly. He let his hands fall away from Tony’s face, to his biceps, the crook of his elbow. Holding him loosely now, with only a shadow of the tender care of just moments ago. Though he didn’t pull away, not completely. That was good at least. “What will you do, Steve? Because, god damn it, I’m horny as hell and I want you.”
“Tony, I told you…” Steve began, and his voice was edging toward that one tone, the one with the chiding edge to it that made him crazy.
“No, no, I heard what you said. Last week,” he said in a rush before it could, gripping Steve’s shoulders, holding him in place before Steve could pull away. Though he didn’t seem to be trying. Standing gratifyingly still in Tony’s grasp. “But I need to know… what are your boundaries? Because me, honestly, I don’t have all that many when it comes to sex – unless it involves animals or children, of course, then I’m so not interested – and I’m… well, everyone knows I’m pretty innovative. So if you’ve heard of it I’ve probably tried it already. And I can show you. Just about anything. To try. If you want.”
The sudden flood of words made Steve blink a little, apparently taken aback. Tony ran back over the words he’d just spewed out and winced. Because it was babble. Eager babble, desperate babble; nothing smooth or suave about it at all. He forced himself to shift his grip, to flatten out his hands on Steve’s chest, to release his fisted grip on his shirt. He was breathing too fast too.
“I don’t know, Tony,” Steve said quietly after a few long moments where Tony struggled to remember how to breathe normally again. “It’s not something I spend all that much time thinking about.”
“Did Sharon?” And he wanted to bite his tongue out for saying her name even as Steve’s expression clouded in warning. But he persisted anyway. Because he had to. “Honest question, Steve. I’m not being puerile here, I’m just saying… there might have been things to work on… things that could have made it better for you two despite your… issue.”
Steve frowned at him for a moment. Then squeezed his shoulders once, gently, before drawing back, removing himself carefully from Tony’s grip. Tony fisted his hands at his sides desperately. “Are you offering to be some kind of… of sex councilor for Sharon and me?” Steve shook his head in something like disbelief. “Only you, Tony. Alright, just this once. No, we had other issues too – mostly centered on the fact that she’s been used against me far too many times for her peace of mind. She’s a highly trained and competent agent in her own right… but she was taken hostage on our last group mission. They left Henry behind and took only her. Just to strike at me personally. And it was the last straw for her. We… she still cares about me, but she says she just can’t… be with me anymore. And I have to respect her decision. None of that has to do with sex.”
There was a hint of bewildered pain in Steve’s voice beneath the carefully calm recitation. And Tony ached for him even as guilt ate at his own gut for the fact that most of him was rejoicing to have it confirmed by Steve himself that Sharon had been the one to step back. Because he knew he’d never have had this chance with Steve if she hadn’t.
“Okay, I get it,” Tony said, averting his gaze as he paced in a loose circle around the chairs holding his bug-scanning equipment. “But you have to acknowledge that your… issue… probably had at least something to do with it.”
“It wasn’t about the sex, Tony,” Steve said firmly. Tony paused his restless pacing and looked back at him narrowly.
“Not only, but yeah, I’m sure that was more of it than you’d like to admit. You’re a hard, stubborn man, Steve Rogers. No one knows that better than me.”
Steve met his glare with a kind of sad resignation. “Sex isn’t always the driving issue, Tony.”
“Most of the time it is,” Tony said sharply. Then he laughed wryly. “Sorry, that’s my late-century upbringing showing again. I know things were different back in the day. Hell, I guess I should just be grateful you even want to kiss me.”
“Tony,” Steve said, sighing, his expression pained, resigned. “It’s not that. I find you… very attractive.”
“You do?” he said, far more pleased to hear those words from Steve than he probably should have been. Not right then anyway. “Tell me more.”
Steve smiled wryly but it was fond too. “You know perfectly well you’re a very handsome man, Tony, don’t fish for compliments on your looks.”
He grinned back deliberately even as his pulse throbbed wildly in his throat. “But I’m not looking for any old compliments – I want to hear how you find me hot. Not the same thing at all.”
Steve raised his brows. “Honestly, Tony,” he said, giving him an exasperated look.
Tony sobered at once, pausing behind the chair that held his bug-sweeper and gripping the back with both hands. Tony knew Steve had been raised in a far different time and place. Knew that sexual relationships were probably the one place Steve still had the hardest time integrating more modern attitudes; they were the things he’d had the least practice with after all. The man wasn’t a monk after all, but not by much. “Yes, honestly, Steve. Until last week I had no idea you’d ever consider a relationship with a man… much with less me. I kind of do need to hear you find me at least a little physically appealing. It does make a difference.”
Steve’s expression went fixed, a small frown between his brows. He shifted uncomfortably, but at least he didn’t look away. “That’s not very seemly.”
Tony didn’t relent, even as the faintly old fashioned phrasing he used pretty much confirmed his suspicions. Because this was important. If they were to have any chance of making it he needed proof Steve wasn’t forcing anything. He knew himself too well and a celibate relationship – no matter how much he truly cared for the other person – just wouldn’t work for long. “I know. But try. For my sake.” And Steve frowned, shifted again, his hands falling to his sides. Tony watched him closely, looking for revulsion, for regret, but found only a kind of vague embarrassment.
“All right then. I like your hands,” Steve said finally, hesitantly at first, then, more firmly with his usual courage. It didn’t stop him from flushing very slightly as he spoke though, even as he stared at Tony’s hands where he still held on to the chair-back for dear life. “You’re a rich man with working-man’s hands; they’re nicked and scarred and burned. They’re eloquent too. You’re always moving them when you talk. You gesture and touch things. Anything. Everything. You use them all the time, and I’ve always liked that about you, your hands, Tony.” He licked his lips, let his gaze flick up finally to catch Tony’s.
Tony stared back at him, breath fast, blood throbbing harder in his throat. Glad he was behind the chair at the moment because his cock was stretching out his slacks in a pretty revealing way. “I am very good with my hands.”
“Yes, you are,” Steve said, holding his gaze, awareness sizzling between them.
“Anything else?” he asked as a whisper.
“Your mouth,” Steve said, this time with far less hesitation, his gaze darkening slightly as he shifted his weight, his hips. Closer, Tony noticed, his pulse jumping. “You’re a very good kisser too. Though,” he paused and Tony licked his lips, deliberately self-conscious, until he saw the way Steve’s gaze fixed on the motion and then more heat washed through him, “the beard is distracting.”
“Distracting bad?” Tony asked breathlessly.
“No. Just… new.” Steve looked up into his eyes again and Tony sucked in a sharp breath at the heat he thought he saw.
“Steve…”
“Come here, Tony,” Steve ordered softly and Tony’s gaze flickered over him. Found a distinct bulge in the front of his uniform pants. Felt a rush of satisfaction mixed with heady relief even as he pried his hands off the chair and walked over to Steve on legs nearly made rubber by lust.
God how he wanted this man. Always. Forever. He stopped in front of him, hands at his sides, chin tilted, gaze fixed on Steve’s. “I’m here,” he said unnecessarily.
Steve raised a hand and cupped Tony’s cheek, running his thumb across his lower lip, rolling it down slightly until Tony swallowed hard, soft inner lip closing around Steve’s thumb in reflex, tasting the salt of his flesh on the tip of his tongue, in his mouth, his breath coming fast and quick around it.
“All those years ago, when you first started training with me in the gym, you put yourself in my hands… it seems the least I can do is put myself in yours here. In the bedroom,” Steve said softly, his words earnest despite the strong blush now staining his cheeks and oh god he was even more gorgeous to Tony that way, determined to be fair despite his obvious discomfort and embarrassment over discussing such an intimate thing as sex. “Show me how to make you happy here, Tony.”
No, not just sex, Tony realized suddenly. Desire.
Because that was desire hooding those blue, blue eyes. Making the pulse under his ear visible. Putting that flush on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose. Honest desire.
Tony groaned, his own pulse rocketing wildly, his heart soaring, lungs shorting him breath. “Oh god, Steve, you’re killing me.” He reached up and covered Steve’s hand with his own, pressing it closer to his face, his eyes fluttering briefly closed at the warmth, the press of Steve’s flesh.
“But I don’t want to hurt you – I am enhanced, and, well, you asked before, so I guess that’s my boundary, Tony. I’ll do anything except cause you deliberate pain. So I really hope you aren’t into that.” He laughed slightly, then sobered again. “Show me,” he repeated, the words soft. Urgent.
Tony didn’t laugh, but he wanted to. From sheer relief. He felt almost giddy with it. “Sex is like anything physically active— sometimes there can be pain. But I don’t go looking for it deliberately in bed, okay?”
“Okay. That’s good,” Steve said, shifting closer, his gaze going hooded as their bodies met and he felt the press of Tony’s cock blatantly hard against his thigh. “Are these real clothes?”
“Today? Yeah,” Tony said, smiling ruefully against Steve’s palm as Steve ducked his head closer until his lips were pushing his own hand aside and taking Tony’s smile in directly.
“Too bad,” Steve said against his mouth.
Thought vanished in favor of the feel of lips firm against his own, spreading his mouth wider, a warm, soft tongue teasing its way inside. Tony whimpered, wrapped his arms around Steve tightly, scraping his hands up the broad back and the smooth glide of the uniform that rode half way up Steve’s neck.
And all he could think was, good god, the man can kiss, and then it was all breathlessness and pulsing blood and Steve’s mouth. Hot and sure and delicious. He didn’t even know what his own hands were doing anymore – Tony Stark, seducer extraordinaire – blind with desire, heady with relief that Steve was willing. Eager. Was even leading, coaxing, caressing him. He had no idea how long it went on, only that he actually gasped when Steve finally broke the kiss. He kept their heads bent together as they both worked for breath, Steve’s cheek smooth against his own, hand curled around the back of Tony’s neck.
He could feel the growing urgency of his own body, and of Steve’s. There was a small, helpless roll of muscle against muscle, over and over as they rocked together. Firm. Slow. He slid one leg further between Steve’s thighs, heard the muffled sound Steve made at the press of hardness along gratifying hardness and rolled his mouth against Steve’s neck, barred from skin by the high line of his uniform collar. The sound he made then was frustrated, low, raw.
“Shhh,” Steve said to him, even as his voice grew ragged, the wash of his breath searing against Tony’s bare, exposed throat. “Easy, easy.” Tony couldn’t tell who that was directed at; himself or Tony.
Tony could only shudder against him when Steve drew one of his hands to his mouth and tenderly breathed on then kissed the center of his palm, and oh god it should have been corny, cheesy, just an old-fashioned romantic gesture, but all he could do was continue to rock himself against Steve, lower lip caught in his teeth, a low, needy whine coming from his throat, and struggle not to come on the spot.
“Do you have a new bed in your suite yet?” Steve was asking him, and Tony was nodding, breath coming in panting gasps, still lost in the haze, the ache of want. And then he was lifted up, swung up into Steve’s arms in something perilously close to a damned bridal carry, but cradled high against that incredible, broad chest, secure in steady arms.
“Shit! I can walk!” Tony said, clutching at Steve’s shoulders, his neck, his whole body shuddering and curving closer despite the reflexive protest.
“I want to hold you,” Steve said then, his heavy gaze shutting down any further useless protests before he strode out of the room, carrying Tony and the suit in his bones with ridiculous ease out into the hall. Tony shuddered at his tone. Low. Hard. Faintly possessive. The sound of his long strides echoed in the hall, nearly drowned out by the rasp of his own breathing. And fuck, he’d never been into being a sub much since…well, not in years. But for Steve… anything. Anything. And it was a dangerous mindset, he knew, was nearly dizzy with it, but that didn’t make it any less true.
“Don’t let me,” Tony breathed into Steve’s neck as he shouldered their way into Tony’s private suite. Kicked the door closed behind them. Tony ran his lips, the edge of teeth along the line of Steve’s neck, beneath his ear. “Don’t let me scare you away.”
“Shh,” Steve said, soothing him again. “You won’t.”
He put one knee on the bed and followed Tony down as he laid him back on the mattress, crouching over him as he had so many times during their sparring sessions but not pinning him this time. He had one hand under Tony’s back, fingers spread wide, the other braced beyond his shoulder, letting Tony’s arms around his neck keep them close, their mouths rubbing in a damp, ragged half-kiss as their bodies shifted against each other.
His pants were already a wet mess, Tony could feel, slick with pre-come, the front darkening in a smear near the end of his own cock. He was glad he hadn’t bothered with underwear; but he seldom did anymore because of the Iron Man interface. It just tended to get in the way. Steve’s uniform had an integrated protective cup – though only sharp impact force hardened the material around the groin – that wouldn’t show moisture on the outside, but he had to be in similar straits. Because the close-fitting pants did nothing to hide the long, hard length of him when Tony lowered his gaze to it.
“Jesus, you’re big,” he said appreciatively, skimming both hands down to his hips as Steve gave a breathless chuckle above him.
“Not really, it’s just the uniform.” Tony’s hands drifted inward. He ran a knuckle up the length of him through the protective material, slowly, deliberately and Steve shuddered, cock jumping in its confinement, his eyes widening in what might have been surprise.
“I’m going to have to do some thorough manual investigation here, just for science, you see,” Tony said, his voice low, a thrill of triumph running through him.
Steve’s lips curved, his eyes lighting with amusement even as his hips shifted forward encouragingly. Into the stroke of Tony’s knuckle. “If it’s for science.”
Tony nodded. Inexpressibly relieved that he was willing to play along. To try. Even if it just ultimately left him frustrated. Something Tony had several very specific things in mind to try in order to avoid that outcome. Tony bit his lip and turned his hand around and cupped it boldly over Steve’s length, letting the tip fall into the hollow of his palm. Squeezed gently. Testing. Learning. He was hot. So hot and hard, even through his uniform pants. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut above him. His lips parted and he rocked his hips, rubbing himself deeper into Tony’s hand. His eyes opened, darker now. And Tony wasn’t sure how he kept talking, how he was even breathing half-way normally, but he heard himself say, “I’m a scientist. And an engineer. Would you rather I called it materials testing?”
“If you want,” Steve said, his voice hoarse, his eyes closing further as Tony shifted his grip, smoothing down the length of Steve’s shaft and back up again as best he could through fabric. Firm. Hard. Constant. “Your hand… that feels, that feels really good, Tony.”
“You like my hands,” Tony crooned, stroking again. Faster now, but interrupting it with long and slow. He could feel the looser slip of flesh near the tip as he ground the heel of his hand down harder on each upstroke; Steve was uncut. Of course. “And I like to use my hands; I’m good with them, aren’t I?” Tony’s mouth watered as Steve made a low, deep answering sound in his throat.
“Watch what I do with them, Steve,” he said, shifted his free hand up to Steve’s belt and worked it open before tabbing the seal to release the fly with his thumb even as he began to rub him faster. “See how I touch you.” He heard Steve gasp his name as his cock strained at the thin supportive underwear he wore beneath, the eager length arching into Tony’s palm. He curled his fingers around it. Made sure to do it deliberately, forcing his grip as far into the loose fabric surrounding it as he could. Fingers closing one by one squeezed, tight, tighter, and he was wishing he’d slid his hand inside to flesh first, too late, but as he did, as his knuckles whitened, Steve groaned and shuddered. Deep and hard and desperate. Tony slid his other hand into the gap of his pants in response to that sound, spreading them open and down with quick, greedy jerks to get at the shifting drag of Steve’s sac beneath slick cloth. He curled his fingers around them carefully, gauging the continued steady roll of Steve’s hips as acceptance as he cradled them, rolling them for a moment before a fingertip slipped back to stroke gently at the skin behind. Not quite to the hole, but near enough he felt the quiver of surprise. The involuntary flex.
“Feel good? Do you like my hands on you?” he asked, low and soft.
There was no reply. Only a panted groan. He looked up then and his own cock pulsed almost painfully at the needy, wondering look in Steve’s eyes.
He was watching Tony intently, blue eyes hazy with desire gleaming through lowered lids lined with dark golden lashes, his gaze flicking down to stare at Tony’s hands moving on him then back up again, skimming over Tony’s mouth, the RT behind the thin tank, the jerk of belly below, the wet, straining mess of crotch. Then at the lighter blue of his own uniform pants covering the thigh braced between the darker blue lengths of Tony’s covered thighs, at the line of his wrist where it vanished into the opening of his pants, spreading the fly wide. It was a raunchy, filthy image even in his own mind; the two of them almost fully dressed, with both of Tony’s hands deep in Steve’s pants, moving, moving and Tony wished he could capture it, somehow, but the systems weren’t in place yet. He could almost feel the heat of Steve’s gaze deepening. Watched him wet his lips with a swipe of his tongue, then open them again to pant louder, cheeks flushing pink.
“Put your thigh over me,” Tony whispered, watched Steve’s eyes flicker as he nodded, the hand that had moved down to cradle his lower back flexing up, pulling him toward him, their hips, their thighs meshing closer. Tony shuddered, barely kept himself from surging up, from coming, but somehow managed it, panting hard. He shifted his grip on Steve’s balls, curling his fingers beneath even as his other hand stroked him harder. Faster. “C’mon, lean on me, gimme pressure; you know I can take it,” Tony demanded harshly and Steve did just that, in a rush, looming lower over him even as he dragged him upwards, into and against the urgent rock of his hips. Pressing him closer, forcing Tony’s hand hard against his cock as his gaze fixed on the sight, slick-hot beneath silky fabric, those incredible, strong hips moving in long, desperate strokes against him.
Tony crooked his fingers on his other hand and pressed up, hard, rubbing into the nub he could feel deep beneath the ridged skin and Steve arched above him in surprise. “Tony!” he said, gasping, raw, eyes closed now.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Tony said breathlessly, gleefully, relieved and gratified that Steve was receptive to prostate stimulation. Probably needed it, from the way he was gasping over him. “From my hands, from me touching you, you’re, you’re…oh god, god Steve!” And he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he came on a groan, hips jerking beneath Steve’s thigh, spreading, bracing, arching up in long rolling waves of bliss as he shot endlessly into his already ruined slacks. His head lolled back even as his hands clenched, flexed, continued to stroke Steve through it, to rub, pressing up, fast and hard, and then Steve was groaning out his name like a litany as his hips jerked and jerked, fast, helpless, while wet heat spread into Tony’s hand through fabric gone glossy and slick.
Steve’s arm quivered. He let it collapse, falling to the bed beside Tony, pulling him toward him as he did. Tony’s elbow bent awkwardly, jamming into his side, and so Steve just lifted him up and draped him over his chest, lungs working hard beneath raising and lowering the ribs he lay over as Tony let his own head loll down against Steve’s broad shoulder, face burrowed against his neck.
“Jesus,” Tony managed weakly, swallowing, eyes closed. His own arm lay across Steve, hand curled over his far shoulder. The fabric of his uniform was slick beneath his face and he realized that they were both still fully dressed, for fuck’s sake. “So I guess you like dirty-talk too, huh?”
Steve’s chest jerked in a reluctant chuckle, his voice a little slurred, but thankfully more amused than annoyed. “Tony, please.” His arm came up around Tony’s back, curled him closer, abating the scold.
“No shame here, because, surprise, I have none. Neither should you. Ever. Oh god that was amazing. I can’t wait to fuck you.”
“Tony!” There was surprise and shock in that interjection, but nothing extreme. More reflex. And probably mostly for the f-bomb. He hoped.
Ignoring it for now, Tony rolled his head, pressed his mouth to the bottom of Steve’s jaw. Felt the heavy, still-slowing throb of Steve’s pulse beneath his lips along with the flush of heat from a blush. “Scary? It’s not. It’ll feel good. Very good. Much better than what I just did I promise you.”
There was silence for a little while then as their breathing settled, their bodies relaxed. Steve’s hand stroked against his back the while. Slow and gentle. Then he took a deeper breath and Tony tried to mentally brace himself even though most of his brains were little more than post-coital Jell-O.
“I thought… that was what you wanted me to do to you,” Steve said, his tone husky, curious.
Tony smiled into Steve’s throat and bit back any hint of begging, because fuck yes he wanted that. Badly. But he could be patient too, when he had to be, when the reward was big enough. “I do. Eventually. Very much. But there are no rules here, no set roles, nothing’s forbidden – unless it doesn’t feel good.”
Silence again. Slower breaths. More easing. For both of them. Tony felt limp and sated and content; especially with Steve a warm, solid presence beneath him, his arm around him holding him close.
“That did feel good… it’s been...” Steve cleared his throat slightly. “Thank you, Tony.”
“’m pleasure,” he mumbled against his throat. “Goin’ t’ sleep.” And then everything faded away.
~*~
He woke suddenly in the middle of the night to the nasty painful tug of pubic hair stuck to fabric by dried semen. Annoyed, he pushed himself upright on Steve’s chest, and by the half-masked light of the RT beneath his tank saw that the shoulder and elbow he’d been lying on was covered by part of the Iron Man interface – it happened automatically when his circulation became compromised – and banished it as he fumbled at his pants. Steve moved on the bed beside him, eyes gleaming at him from beneath half-open lids in the RT’s light.
“What is it, Tony?” he said, sounding far too alert for the hour it had to be. The rest of the room was quite dark, this suite fitted with a layer of blackout curtains just like every bedroom in the Tower. “Why are you armoring up?”
“’m not,” Tony muttered sourly as he struggled with the zipper. It seemed open. Why couldn’t he get his pants off? “Arm tried to go to sleep. Armor got it. Hair’s stuck. Damn zipper.” It took him an embarrassingly long moment of fumbling to realize that he couldn’t get his pants off because his belt was still fastened.
Steve’s hands brushed his away. Undid his belt and the slide beneath it. Then, as Tony came fully awake at last, his hands curved under the loosened fabric and circled Tony’s waist, thumbs skimming along the bare skin and muscle of his lower abdomen. Tony let out a soft sound and he leaned closer. “We should go clean up,” he said against Tony’s cheek. Then Tony turned his head and took his mouth with a groan.
It seemed to be the last bit of encouragement Steve needed. He pressed Tony back down onto the bed, mouth working against his, warm and wet, his hands raking down urgently into the slacks and stripping them down Tony’s thighs until they caught on his knees. Tony arched beneath him, drew up a foot and clawed them the rest of the way down his legs with his foot until he could kick them off over his bare feet and out somewhere into the darkness.
Tony twisted his mouth away from Steve’s frantically. “Get that damn uniform off, Rogers, off,” he demanded, hands flexing on broad shoulder, muscled waist and Steve let out a hitching laugh above him and leaned back, moving out of his grasp to sit up beside Tony.
Tony had no idea when he’d shed the uniform’s combat belt – had he even been wearing it when he arrived? – but now Steve tugged the uniform shirt with the white star and bars off over his head in one smooth motion, the heavy muscles of his bare chest beneath rippling in the faint light.
“Jesus, Jesus,” Tony whispered as he watched, almost a real prayer for once, and slid his own hand down his belly, to his groin, where he gripped his rapidly-filling cock. Steve shot him a heated look and then froze a moment, watching Tony’s hand move on his own cock intently. He licked his lips, his face flushing. Frowned.
“That’s… Tony…”
“Pants. Off. C’mon, soldier,” Tony said impatiently, hitching up his legs, spreading them slightly to get a better stroke in, all the way from root to tip, his balls already clenching beneath. And yes, showing off too, with a flick of his thumb over the tip. Hard and wet and so damn ready to go again. Steve sucked in a breath and turned away sharply, bending forward to rip at the buckles and straps of his boots – he still had on his fucking boots! – until he could kick them free.
Steve stood in a rush, hands working at the open fly, spreading it, stripping the uniform pants down his thighs, knees, calves. Bending down to tug it loose when it caught on his ankles, getting the socks too and tossing it all aside. He turned, straightened, still wearing the close-fitting underwear, stained and stretched in the front, barely keeping the bulge of his hardened cock in check as he reached to strip those away too. Tony surged up then, letting his own cock go, and put his hands on the waistband in his place. Looked up the long, hard line of Steve’s body into heavy, faintly dazed eyes.
All lingering doubt about Steve’s sincerity faded. Vanished. Because that was definitely need in Steve’s eyes. Raw, urgent need. Naked desire. For him.
He’d never seen anything more glorious in his life.
“No,” Tony said with a wicked grin, tugging down on the last barrier of fabric gently, slowly. “Let me.”
~*~
Tony sat in Reed’s lab drinking ink-dark coffee that tasted vaguely of burnt plastic and copper. Reed must have made it instead of Ben because it was utter shit, he mused in order to distract himself from thinking about Steve. And Steve last night. Both times. Then this morning. And oh god no. No. No getting hard now. Not with Reed sitting opposite him, and, for once, not fiddling with some potentially world-destroying gadget or running multi-level calculations on three different computers but instead simply staring down at his own hands. They were completely alone. He’d been trying to avoid this conversation, but Reed had initially called him over to discuss the dimensional fraying problem and now, well, here they were.
“Antonia’s dimension isn’t even comparable to the worst I’ve seen,” Reed was telling him somberly. “Hers is one of the more positive outcome ones I’ve reviewed, actually.”
“Antonia is having sex with your counterpart you know,” Tony had to say, a lump in his throat. At least Sue was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t automatically mean she wasn’t present, of course, but Tony didn’t bother to access his internal suit interface to do a check for her.
“I am already aware of that fact. The situation is an advantageous one for that universe,” Reed said, lifting his gaze at last to fix Tony with a firm look absent any embarrassment at all for the awkwardness of the topic. Tony had never been certain if Reed was aware of his bisexuality. Not that it would matter to Reed, most likely, but one never quite knew until it came out. No pun intended at all. “You are well aware that individuals of our extreme levels of intellectual capacity often have difficulties maintaining sufficient connection with the average human experience.”
“Holding on to our moral compasses, you mean,” Tony said with an ache in his gut. Oh yes. He knew.
“Yes,” Reed said, his gaze hooded, his usually mobile face still. “In that dimension, Susan Storm is not able to provide the same level of… stability for the Reed Richards there, which, as you know, is an undesirable situation for many reasons. Antonia Stark has attempted to fill that role as stabilizing factor, at least in part, and perhaps not wholly consciously, despite what may be,” and here Reed’s gaze fixed on him directly, “her actual romantic inclinations.”
“Well, damn, should have been nicer to her I guess” Tony said softly, scrubbing his free hand over his face while trying to ignore the way the mug in his other hand was shaking faintly. Reed had monitored Antonia’s crossing. Of course he had.
“It is reassuring that she has taken those steps as probability is high it removes a future inter-dimensional crisis from the table. Which at this point, for the overall health of the multiverse, is a very good thing indeed, Tony, because in addition to this latest series of localized dimensional breeches and the consequent thinning of the interstices defining our dimension, the Future Foundation is attempting to deal with an incursion of… four hostile alternate universe versions of me who are bent on gathering certain esoteric resources in order to return to their own dimensions. The resources—”
Tony surged to his feet, the half-drunk cup of coffee dropping to the ground between them, splashing liquid across the metal decking under their feet. Holes opened immediately in the plating to allow the vile stuff to drain away and a small robot darted out to polish the surface afterwards, whisking away the unbroken mug and in seconds it was if nothing had ever spilled between them. “How long now?”
He at least had the grace to look guilty as he glanced up at him, Tony noted. “At this point my calculations are trending…”
“Reed, don’t make me do the math when you’ve already done it.”
Reed leaned his chin against steepled fingers, his expression bleak. “If nothing is done to halt the decay; seven days. A week.”