[ Tony Stark seizing an opportunity to make a dirty joke is about as novel as the sun rising in the east, so Steve knows to keep looking down as he starts wrapping his other hand, periodically sparing a quick glance up but never making eye contact.
This is very shaky ground they're on, but since Steve is incapable of backing down first, he replies in kind. ] Yeah, I hope you weren't counting on having hot dogs, either.
[Here's the problem: Tony can't back down any more than Steve can, and especially not from a battle of innuendo. Minus the dirty jokes, it's the story of their life together. One of them challenges the other, neither one can back down first, and things just keep escalating until the inevitable explosive finish.
And it's never the good kind of explosive finish, either.]
Maybe I'll just have a big ol' banana split instead. If you haven't eaten all the bananas.
That's dessert, not dinner. [ As someone who takes full advantage his enhanced metabolism, Steve is perhaps the last person who gets to be an authority on what constitutes a healthy meal. But if Tony gets to poke fun at his appetite, then this too is fair game. ] And real bananas went extinct while I was under. What you call a banana, I call a depressing reminder of a banana.
[ As tempting as it is to leave it at that, Steve knows that Tony wouldn't let his tactical retreat go unnoticed. ] Have you tried the cucumber? I was a little worried about the firmness but they're still pretty juicy.
Maybe that's why we invented banana splits. To make them less depressing. [It's not like Tony has any idea when the dessert was invented, and also, more importantly, he doesn't care.] I sure like bananas a lot better when they're dripping with chocolate sauce.
[And somehow he actually manages to keep a straight face while saying that.]
Oh, yeah? I bet you like a thick, juicy pickle. One that squirts when you bite into it.
[It's really hard to keep his face expressionless right now, but Tony's determined to hold out in this hell of his own making.]
[ Steve gapes back for a few seconds before shaking his head into his hands, the cloth wraps scratching softly against his face. The word squirts should be off limits, he thinks. ]
You know I came here to exercise, right? Stop stoking my appetite. [ That he manages to say this with a straight face comes as a surprise even to Steve himself. He never would have guessed that years of practice being the stoic Captain America would pay off quite like this. It doesn't hurt that people always assume he's clenching his jaw (and that's a fair assumption a lot of the time) even when he's actually biting the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. ]
[Tony's never been one to heed limitations; if Steve even tried, that would only just egg Tony on, and everyone knows Tony should never, ever be encouraged. Ever.]
I've seen your appetite, and it doesn't need to be stro- sorry, stoked. [He allows himself a wholly innocent and bland smile. Just a slip of the tongue, that's all!] Serum enhanced and all.
But I could definitely go for a nice firm peach once I'm done here. Just sink my teeth right in and eat it up.
[ Just like he got the eggplant reference, Steve knows what the peach emoji is meant to invoke too. But right now he really wishes he was even a fraction as out of touch as others assume. Ignorance really is bliss.
It reminds him of Tony checking out his newly defrosted ass over comms, something he was forced to file away for later consideration at the time. Doesn't seem fair that heat should rise to Steve's cheeks when, if anyone should be embarrassed, it's Tony. But then, Tony knows how to shake embarrassment right off. Steve hasn't quite perfected that skill yet— certainly not among present company. ]
Just make sure you use protection. Er, napkins. [ Steve's smirk makes clear that was no innocent mix-up. ] I'd hate for you to make a sticky mess of yourself.
[Tony leans in close to Steve, like he's about to tell him some big secret. His voice drops to something quieter, something that might be considered a seductive purr.]
Sometimes, Cap, making a sticky mess is part of the fun.
[He glances up at Steve through his eyelashes. It's hard for him to pull off coquettish at his age, but goddamnit, he's giving it the old college try.]
[ A swift, swooping sensation carves through Steve's gut then plunges below the belt, demanding attention to an area of his body that Steve was hoping to ignore completely. His heart rate picks up to a level usually reserved for all out war and sweat prickles at the base of his neck. Despite being no stranger to the adrenaline rush, this thrill brings none of the usual focus Steve counts on in battle; this is the shaky, precarious thrill of standing on a crumbling ledge with no guarantee of surviving the fall.
And yet, he refuses to back down. Even if he were capable of back-pedaling, it would never occur to Steve to try. Tony Stark is so rarely predictable but in this moment Steve is absolutely sure that Tony won't blink first. In the brief seconds he holds eye contact, he can recognize a glint of determination in Tony's eyes. And Steve is too worn down by the past few weeks to do the responsible thing this time. He selfishly wants to see this through as far as Tony will let it go.
So he doesn't back away, shaking his head as he changes the subject. He stands his ground and stares Tony right back down. ]
Yeah? [ His voice comes out in a croak that he tries to cover with a cough to clear his throat. ] You never struck me as the type of guy to clean up after himself.
[ In any other context, it might be a scolding, but criticism is the further thing from Steve's mind now. ]
[Tony huffs a breathless laugh. He can feel arousal building just under his skin, that old familiar sensation that always leads him into making reckless choices - some distinctly more reckless than others. Tony's life has been calm (at least on the romance front) for too damn long; it turns out that all those stories of the apocalypse making people fuck like bunnies to repopulate the earth are less accurate than one might think. But, then again, he hasn't been in the mood till now. (He doesn't want to think about why that might be.)]
Oh, you know how it is. Your hands get all sticky from eating a peach, you can't turn the faucet on 'cause you'll get it all messy, so the only thing left to do is lick your fingers clean.
[Tony lifts his good hand to his face and meets Steve's eyes as he draws his tongue languorously up the side of his index finger, then closes his lips around it to suck in a demonstration that is definitely skirting the line of obscene. There's something obstinate in him that just wants to keep pushing and pushing until Steve cracks, and never mind that he knows damn well that it's about as safe as poking a bear with a stick.]
I said clean up after yourself, not clean up your self. [ Steve is surprised he's retained the ability to form sentences, but his breathlessness betrays him, the air punched right out of his lungs as his eyes followed Tony's tongue.
His resolve is crumbling and Tony looks like he's ready to take a sledgehammer to what's left. But it isn't in Steve to make anything easy— if Tony wants him to break, he'll have to put his back into it.
Jesus, even his internal dialogue is stuck on innuendo. ]
[Tony pulls his finger free from his mouth with a wet-sounding pop, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smirk.]
Why, Steve, is there somewhere else you wanted me to lick?
[Tony knows that he sounds like something straight out of a bad porno - that he's probably seen this parody flick (although as much as he hates to admit it, porn Tony is always younger and in better shape than he is) - but that doesn't stop him from gently touching Steve's lower lip with the tip of his index finger. He's not sure how he's ignored his infamous libido for this long (must be age), but now that it's reared its ugly head again, Tony's pulling out all the goddamn stops.]
[ The obscene pop earns a sharp inhale from Steve, but he doesn't get a chance to react beyond that. Tony promptly bulldozes through the last of his resolve.
He gives a classic start, as if jumping inside of his own skin, when the pad of Tony's finger first grazes his lip. And then he shivers, which sounds moderately better than "trembles" but is no more dignified for that fact. Arousal always turns his sensitivity up even higher than his super soldier baseline, but he really can't remember having matched this intensity before.
At some point he must have clenched his eyes closed, but when he opens them and sees Tony still standing right there, something shining behind his eyes that Steve never thought he'd see again, and he's flushed and solid and alive... It's not really a conscious choice— he merely changes states, from inertia to kinetic force, grasping Tony's wrist and pulling him in close, leaning in so his breath is hot against Tony's ear when he says: ] You have to make a mess first.
[Tony can't even pretend that the noise that escapes from him isn't a whimper, but in his defense, most people would probably whimper when confronted with Steve Rogers moving with a predator's fluid grace, that casual display of strength, a low voice and breath brushing his skin just so. And, yeah, maybe whimpering ruins the image of seduction he's trying to project, but Tony no longer cares. All he can think about is the heat of Steve's body close to his and how he can get even closer to it - how much he wants that solid bulk pinning him against his mattress. There are a thousand obscene ideas in his mind fighting for attention, and it's impossible to choose just one.
It's even harder to sink to his knees in front of Steve - a combination of old age and arousal - but Tony does, with a challenge in his eyes and a wicked smirk.]
[ Making a super soldier's vision swim usually necessitates something big, like Steve standing in the danger zone when Thor decides to throw a tank like an Australian surfer would toss a boomerang, or Captain America deciding in all his tactical brilliance to make himself the singular focus of an obnoxiously persistent genocidal Titan. But today it takes no more than however many milliseconds Steve's visual cortex needs to process the sight of Tony Stark dropping to his knees. (His nerves are so sharply tuned that he actually feels a sympathetic twinge in his knees watching Tony move, but Steve's attention is too thoroughly engaged to pay that any mind.)
The spinning kaleidoscope of Tony Starks in his eyes finally consolidates into one breathtaking image: Tony looking up at him with an expression like a dare, wearing the kind of smirk that used to drive Steve crazy, back when he wasn't allowed to touch. It feels beyond surreal that he is allowed now, that he could reach out and Tony wouldn't flinch or back away, might even lean in... ]
What are you— How are you still thinking about reps? [ Maybe his brain hasn't entirely caught up, or maybe he could try for decades and still trail behind Tony, whose futurist tendencies can be as infuriating in some contexts as they are thrilling in this one. It's as exciting as it is frightening, trying to keep up with Tony like this, but at least what Steve lacks in genius-level intellect he makes up for in physicality. His dick, for instance, is already miles ahead of them both, the thick line of him now stretching obscenely against his heather gray sweatpants. ]
[Not many people can follow Tony's train of thought - it's more or less impossible without actually being Tony Stark, which is a fate Tony wouldn't wish on anyone - so he's not really that surprised when Steve doesn't get what he means. Except that he asks about reps, of all fucking things, and Tony's entire seductive pose breaks as he mouths reps and cracks up, burying his face in the soft grey cotton covering Steve's thigh as his shoulders shake with silent laughter.
Once he's done laughing, he starts to pull back but realizes, hello, that is definitely a dick more or less in his face and it's very happy to see him and god, it's almost enough to make his mouth water with sheer want. Tony would like to say that he hasn't spent much time wondering about Steve's dick, but this may or may not be something dating back to adolescent fantasies and a Captain America poster in his dorm room and going all the way up to reading the Project Rebirth files and trying to glean any hints on that front, and he thinks his imagination may have, in fact, fallen short of the mark. Tony can't resist the urge to mouth the outline of Steve's cock through his sweatpants. He can barely believe he's actually doing this, that this is really the hard curve of Steve's erection under his lips, and he feels an answering surge of arousal in the pit of his stomach.]
Jerking off, [Tony replies when he manages to peel himself away.] Or- whatever. How long does it take you to come?
[Because he's clearly determined to beat whatever record Steve might have.]
[ If anyone else heard the undignified noise that croaks from Steve's throat when Tony laughs into his thigh, he would never be taken seriously as Captain America again. His voice sounds like pure distilled desperation, and maybe it's exactly that, his buried feelings compounding over years into a steady drip of concentrated desire.
To give credit where due, some blame may also lie with the fact that Steve was already hard enough to pound nails before the vibrations from Tony's laughter pulsed through him like electric currents. And Tony, being utterly ruthless, doesn't give Steve a chance to recover; Steve juts his hips forward helplessly, chasing Tony's wicked mouth, driven further into madness as Tony's breath filters through his sweats in hot little gasps. ]
I don't— I haven't— [ Despite his best efforts, Steve can't answer the question. The sinking feeling in his gut feels out of place, if only because he thought that losing hope required holding out hope in the first place, and Steve's expectations re: Tony have been very carefully managed. Of course Tony wants to know his personal best; he's a scientist after the data. That spark in his eyes has more to do with the thrill of a challenge than with Steve personally.
Is it a bummer? Sure. But coping with disappointment one of Steve's oldest skills. He can handle this. ]
How about we just start our own data set? [ It's hard to make those words sound sexy, but Steve does his best to mask his underlying disappointment that this is just about notches on a bedpost for Tony. ]
[Something seems off for a moment, not quite the tone of Steve's voice, but something Tony feels. It brings back that moment in Siberia when Steve drove his shield right into the arc reactor, a perfectly calculated physical action that had caused more emotional damage than Steve could ever know. He has the distinct feeling he's done something wrong, but he doesn't know what, and Steve's not forthcoming with the answer.
It chills the fire in his veins a little, makes that heady chemical cocktail blurring things like logic and common sense recede. Goddamnit, Tony thinks as the youthful vigor that had seized him slips away, leaving him with his usual sense of being too fucking old for everything, and he's annoyed with himself more than Steve.
But he's also nothing if not committed, and it doesn't hurt that he's rock hard for the first time in longer than he wants to think about. He wants Steve, and Steve is definitely consenting, and that should be enough, right?]
Ooh, talk dirty to me, Steve, [Tony jokes. He hooks his good hand into the waistband of Steve's sweatpants, tugs them down a little awkwardly. The underwear is next, and dear god, Tony thinks he might actually die from heart failure.]
Fuck, [and his voice is a reverent whisper as he looks up at Steve with shining eyes.] God, Steve, you're fucking gorgeous. [Tony's gaze drinks in the cut of Steve's hipbones, the dusting of hair on his stomach that leads down to darker curls, those well-muscled thighs that could definitely crack walnuts, the curve of his cock. It makes him feel patently inferior, but he doesn't care. If this is the only time he gets to do this, then he's damn well going to savor every second of it.]
[ Steve Rogers can still count on one hand the number of times he has felt wanted. It's not the same as feeling attractive, or knowing that there are eyes following him, or even encountering thirst tweets that make him worry for the general state of humanity. All of that amounts to superficial lust, but the honest, unmasked desire in Tony's expression is something else altogether.
This is going to hurt. One way or another, Steve knows he won't get through unscathed. But somehow knowing that he could have had Tony and passed seems an even worse fate than having him once and being haunted by the memory.
The way Tony is looking up at him now makes it easy to pretend that it's more than a one-off. Embarrassment burns in his cheeks as he shakes his head. ]
Gorgeous, [ he echoes dumbly, doubtfully. But his cock angles eagerly up toward Tony, betraying exactly how susceptible he is to the slightest hint of sweet-talk. ]
Absolutely, [Tony promises, without any trace of his usual sarcasm. Instead, he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of Steve's hip. He wishes they could be in bed together, that he could have the time to map out every inch of Steve's body with fingers and lips and tongue.] You have the kind of dick people write poetry about.
[Probably people don't write poetry about dicks, but if they did, Steve's would be the ideal candidate, at least in Tony's somewhat biased opinion. He's not an artist - not in the same sense as Steve - but he has a good sense of aesthetic judgment. Just look at his suits, after all.
As much as Tony wants to keep lavishing Steve with praise, he's well aware of a certain underlying urgency - and, frankly, he also wants to wrap his lips around Steve's cock. He wants to see the look on his face, hear the sounds he makes. With that in mind, he skips the teasing he would normally start with and sucks the head of Steve's erection into his mouth, relishing the slight bitterness on his tongue, the thick weight of him.]
[ It's not that Steve doesn't expect earnestness from Tony, but he is still getting used to it coming in a form other than Tony earnestly telling him off. The swing in extremes would give even Stephen Strange and his various phasing forms whiplash. That he has managed to stay upright is miraculous enough; expecting coherence is pushing it. ]
Oh, God— oh my, oh fuck, Tony! [ If he could spare the brain power, Steve would die from embarrassment at the pathetic unfiltered cries he is making, but Tony has declared a monopoly on his focus. Unthinking, he reaches for Tony and is reminded by his still-wrapped hand that they both came here today to work out. How on earth did it escalate to this?
His incredulous thought that this is really happening spills out in a whisper as Steve's self-control hangs by a thread. He ends up burying the hand in Tony's hair, digging his fingers through short, sweat-damp curls. ]
FRIDAY— the gym, lock it down, [ he gasps out. Steve is still not sure what privileges he still has when it comes to FRIDAY, the compound, even Tony himself. But if anyone could design an AI that would understand why its creator is presently unable to issue verbal commands, that programmer is Tony Stark. ]
[Tony prefers the incoherent, unfiltered noises. Hearing Steve say his name like that goes straight to his cock in a jolt of arousal - how many times has he imagined it? Too many to count, if you include all those times he got bored in meetings and thought about Steve bending him over the table (or vice-versa). True, he's been a little short on those fantasies for a few years now, but they never stopped entirely - which probably proves that there's something more than lust behind them.
There's a distant acknowledgement from FRIDAY - maybe Tony never actually got around to changing any privileges out of foolish optimism, and it's not like he's been here for five years anyway - and Tony makes an encouraging noise as he takes more of Steve into his mouth, hollows his cheeks and sucks. Steve's fingers in his hair send little tingly sparks through his body, and a groan catches in Tony's throat. He wraps his good arm around Steve's waist to balance himself, takes as much of him in as he can as he bobs his head, getting into a smooth rhythm. It's just like riding a bike, really, except that Tony likes giving blowjobs way more than riding bikes.]
[ It's funny how Steve can stand on the ruins of the Avengers compound and stare down an alien army from outer space and not once think to question his reality, but this moment, here and now, feels more surreal than any melting clock Dalà ever painted. If it weren't for the fact that he can feel Tony's mouth on him, he might try to pinch himself. Instead his hips jut forward, like he's trying to sink even deeper into Tony's mouth, and while that isn't entirely inaccurate, it was involuntary and possibly jarring from the receiving end. ]
Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to... [ He trails off, unable to articulate that he didn't mean to shove himself further down Tony's throat, he just couldn't help himself. In the end he just shakes his head and drops a few more embarrassed apologies while all the color in his face rises to his cheeks. ] Are you— did I hurt you?
[Tony falls into the rhythm easily, and he's almost to the point where his mind blurs with pleasure, where his brain stops going a mile a minute and focuses solely on the present, when Steve speaks. (He barely even registers the way Steve thrusts into his mouth; he coughs at the further intrusion, then adjusts just as quickly, opening a little wider without even thinking about it.)
Steve's entire body language shifts in the blink of an eye, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's nervous and awkward. Tony stops, lets Steve's dick slide from his lips obscenely while Steve finishes stammering. He's totally unruffled by it, but Steve's so awkward that it practically radiates off of him. Tony just rests his forehead against the warm skin of Steve's thigh for a moment - for someone who's freaking out right now, his physicality is surprisingly comforting.]
Just calm down, [Tony insists during a break in the apologies.] Steve. Seriously. Fucking relax for five minutes while I suck you off, okay? This isn't the first time I've swallowed a dick. I'm fine.
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You know, I thought I noticed a lack of sausage when I was making breakfast this morning. I suppose you've made serious inroads on the eggplant, too.
[At least he's not making any jokes about tossed salads?
(Yet.)]
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This is very shaky ground they're on, but since Steve is incapable of backing down first, he replies in kind. ] Yeah, I hope you weren't counting on having hot dogs, either.
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[Here's the problem: Tony can't back down any more than Steve can, and especially not from a battle of innuendo. Minus the dirty jokes, it's the story of their life together. One of them challenges the other, neither one can back down first, and things just keep escalating until the inevitable explosive finish.
And it's never the good kind of explosive finish, either.]
Maybe I'll just have a big ol' banana split instead. If you haven't eaten all the bananas.
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[ As tempting as it is to leave it at that, Steve knows that Tony wouldn't let his tactical retreat go unnoticed. ] Have you tried the cucumber? I was a little worried about the firmness but they're still pretty juicy.
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[And somehow he actually manages to keep a straight face while saying that.]
Oh, yeah? I bet you like a thick, juicy pickle. One that squirts when you bite into it.
[It's really hard to keep his face expressionless right now, but Tony's determined to hold out in this hell of his own making.]
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You know I came here to exercise, right? Stop stoking my appetite. [ That he manages to say this with a straight face comes as a surprise even to Steve himself. He never would have guessed that years of practice being the stoic Captain America would pay off quite like this. It doesn't hurt that people always assume he's clenching his jaw (and that's a fair assumption a lot of the time) even when he's actually biting the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. ]
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I've seen your appetite, and it doesn't need to be stro- sorry, stoked. [He allows himself a wholly innocent and bland smile. Just a slip of the tongue, that's all!] Serum enhanced and all.
But I could definitely go for a nice firm peach once I'm done here. Just sink my teeth right in and eat it up.
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It reminds him of Tony checking out his newly defrosted ass over comms, something he was forced to file away for later consideration at the time. Doesn't seem fair that heat should rise to Steve's cheeks when, if anyone should be embarrassed, it's Tony. But then, Tony knows how to shake embarrassment right off. Steve hasn't quite perfected that skill yet— certainly not among present company. ]
Just make sure you use protection. Er, napkins. [ Steve's smirk makes clear that was no innocent mix-up. ] I'd hate for you to make a sticky mess of yourself.
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[Tony leans in close to Steve, like he's about to tell him some big secret. His voice drops to something quieter, something that might be considered a seductive purr.]
Sometimes, Cap, making a sticky mess is part of the fun.
[He glances up at Steve through his eyelashes. It's hard for him to pull off coquettish at his age, but goddamnit, he's giving it the old college try.]
Especially when it's time to get clean.
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And yet, he refuses to back down. Even if he were capable of back-pedaling, it would never occur to Steve to try. Tony Stark is so rarely predictable but in this moment Steve is absolutely sure that Tony won't blink first. In the brief seconds he holds eye contact, he can recognize a glint of determination in Tony's eyes. And Steve is too worn down by the past few weeks to do the responsible thing this time. He selfishly wants to see this through as far as Tony will let it go.
So he doesn't back away, shaking his head as he changes the subject. He stands his ground and stares Tony right back down. ]
Yeah? [ His voice comes out in a croak that he tries to cover with a cough to clear his throat. ] You never struck me as the type of guy to clean up after himself.
[ In any other context, it might be a scolding, but criticism is the further thing from Steve's mind now. ]
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Oh, you know how it is. Your hands get all sticky from eating a peach, you can't turn the faucet on 'cause you'll get it all messy, so the only thing left to do is lick your fingers clean.
[Tony lifts his good hand to his face and meets Steve's eyes as he draws his tongue languorously up the side of his index finger, then closes his lips around it to suck in a demonstration that is definitely skirting the line of obscene. There's something obstinate in him that just wants to keep pushing and pushing until Steve cracks, and never mind that he knows damn well that it's about as safe as poking a bear with a stick.]
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His resolve is crumbling and Tony looks like he's ready to take a sledgehammer to what's left. But it isn't in Steve to make anything easy— if Tony wants him to break, he'll have to put his back into it.
Jesus, even his internal dialogue is stuck on innuendo. ]
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Why, Steve, is there somewhere else you wanted me to lick?
[Tony knows that he sounds like something straight out of a bad porno - that he's probably seen this parody flick (although as much as he hates to admit it, porn Tony is always younger and in better shape than he is) - but that doesn't stop him from gently touching Steve's lower lip with the tip of his index finger. He's not sure how he's ignored his infamous libido for this long (must be age), but now that it's reared its ugly head again, Tony's pulling out all the goddamn stops.]
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He gives a classic start, as if jumping inside of his own skin, when the pad of Tony's finger first grazes his lip. And then he shivers, which sounds moderately better than "trembles" but is no more dignified for that fact. Arousal always turns his sensitivity up even higher than his super soldier baseline, but he really can't remember having matched this intensity before.
At some point he must have clenched his eyes closed, but when he opens them and sees Tony still standing right there, something shining behind his eyes that Steve never thought he'd see again, and he's flushed and solid and alive... It's not really a conscious choice— he merely changes states, from inertia to kinetic force, grasping Tony's wrist and pulling him in close, leaning in so his breath is hot against Tony's ear when he says: ] You have to make a mess first.
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It's even harder to sink to his knees in front of Steve - a combination of old age and arousal - but Tony does, with a challenge in his eyes and a wicked smirk.]
What's your personal best?
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The spinning kaleidoscope of Tony Starks in his eyes finally consolidates into one breathtaking image: Tony looking up at him with an expression like a dare, wearing the kind of smirk that used to drive Steve crazy, back when he wasn't allowed to touch. It feels beyond surreal that he is allowed now, that he could reach out and Tony wouldn't flinch or back away, might even lean in... ]
What are you— How are you still thinking about reps? [ Maybe his brain hasn't entirely caught up, or maybe he could try for decades and still trail behind Tony, whose futurist tendencies can be as infuriating in some contexts as they are thrilling in this one. It's as exciting as it is frightening, trying to keep up with Tony like this, but at least what Steve lacks in genius-level intellect he makes up for in physicality. His dick, for instance, is already miles ahead of them both, the thick line of him now stretching obscenely against his heather gray sweatpants. ]
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Once he's done laughing, he starts to pull back but realizes, hello, that is definitely a dick more or less in his face and it's very happy to see him and god, it's almost enough to make his mouth water with sheer want. Tony would like to say that he hasn't spent much time wondering about Steve's dick, but this may or may not be something dating back to adolescent fantasies and a Captain America poster in his dorm room and going all the way up to reading the Project Rebirth files and trying to glean any hints on that front, and he thinks his imagination may have, in fact, fallen short of the mark. Tony can't resist the urge to mouth the outline of Steve's cock through his sweatpants. He can barely believe he's actually doing this, that this is really the hard curve of Steve's erection under his lips, and he feels an answering surge of arousal in the pit of his stomach.]
Jerking off, [Tony replies when he manages to peel himself away.] Or- whatever. How long does it take you to come?
[Because he's clearly determined to beat whatever record Steve might have.]
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To give credit where due, some blame may also lie with the fact that Steve was already hard enough to pound nails before the vibrations from Tony's laughter pulsed through him like electric currents. And Tony, being utterly ruthless, doesn't give Steve a chance to recover; Steve juts his hips forward helplessly, chasing Tony's wicked mouth, driven further into madness as Tony's breath filters through his sweats in hot little gasps. ]
I don't— I haven't— [ Despite his best efforts, Steve can't answer the question. The sinking feeling in his gut feels out of place, if only because he thought that losing hope required holding out hope in the first place, and Steve's expectations re: Tony have been very carefully managed. Of course Tony wants to know his personal best; he's a scientist after the data. That spark in his eyes has more to do with the thrill of a challenge than with Steve personally.
Is it a bummer? Sure. But coping with disappointment one of Steve's oldest skills. He can handle this. ]
How about we just start our own data set? [ It's hard to make those words sound sexy, but Steve does his best to mask his underlying disappointment that this is just about notches on a bedpost for Tony. ]
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It chills the fire in his veins a little, makes that heady chemical cocktail blurring things like logic and common sense recede. Goddamnit, Tony thinks as the youthful vigor that had seized him slips away, leaving him with his usual sense of being too fucking old for everything, and he's annoyed with himself more than Steve.
But he's also nothing if not committed, and it doesn't hurt that he's rock hard for the first time in longer than he wants to think about. He wants Steve, and Steve is definitely consenting, and that should be enough, right?]
Ooh, talk dirty to me, Steve, [Tony jokes. He hooks his good hand into the waistband of Steve's sweatpants, tugs them down a little awkwardly. The underwear is next, and dear god, Tony thinks he might actually die from heart failure.]
Fuck, [and his voice is a reverent whisper as he looks up at Steve with shining eyes.] God, Steve, you're fucking gorgeous. [Tony's gaze drinks in the cut of Steve's hipbones, the dusting of hair on his stomach that leads down to darker curls, those well-muscled thighs that could definitely crack walnuts, the curve of his cock. It makes him feel patently inferior, but he doesn't care. If this is the only time he gets to do this, then he's damn well going to savor every second of it.]
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This is going to hurt. One way or another, Steve knows he won't get through unscathed. But somehow knowing that he could have had Tony and passed seems an even worse fate than having him once and being haunted by the memory.
The way Tony is looking up at him now makes it easy to pretend that it's more than a one-off. Embarrassment burns in his cheeks as he shakes his head. ]
Gorgeous, [ he echoes dumbly, doubtfully. But his cock angles eagerly up toward Tony, betraying exactly how susceptible he is to the slightest hint of sweet-talk. ]
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[Probably people don't write poetry about dicks, but if they did, Steve's would be the ideal candidate, at least in Tony's somewhat biased opinion. He's not an artist - not in the same sense as Steve - but he has a good sense of aesthetic judgment. Just look at his suits, after all.
As much as Tony wants to keep lavishing Steve with praise, he's well aware of a certain underlying urgency - and, frankly, he also wants to wrap his lips around Steve's cock. He wants to see the look on his face, hear the sounds he makes. With that in mind, he skips the teasing he would normally start with and sucks the head of Steve's erection into his mouth, relishing the slight bitterness on his tongue, the thick weight of him.]
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Oh, God— oh my, oh fuck, Tony! [ If he could spare the brain power, Steve would die from embarrassment at the pathetic unfiltered cries he is making, but Tony has declared a monopoly on his focus. Unthinking, he reaches for Tony and is reminded by his still-wrapped hand that they both came here today to work out. How on earth did it escalate to this?
His incredulous thought that this is really happening spills out in a whisper as Steve's self-control hangs by a thread. He ends up burying the hand in Tony's hair, digging his fingers through short, sweat-damp curls. ]
FRIDAY— the gym, lock it down, [ he gasps out. Steve is still not sure what privileges he still has when it comes to FRIDAY, the compound, even Tony himself. But if anyone could design an AI that would understand why its creator is presently unable to issue verbal commands, that programmer is Tony Stark. ]
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There's a distant acknowledgement from FRIDAY - maybe Tony never actually got around to changing any privileges out of foolish optimism, and it's not like he's been here for five years anyway - and Tony makes an encouraging noise as he takes more of Steve into his mouth, hollows his cheeks and sucks. Steve's fingers in his hair send little tingly sparks through his body, and a groan catches in Tony's throat. He wraps his good arm around Steve's waist to balance himself, takes as much of him in as he can as he bobs his head, getting into a smooth rhythm. It's just like riding a bike, really, except that Tony likes giving blowjobs way more than riding bikes.]
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Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to... [ He trails off, unable to articulate that he didn't mean to shove himself further down Tony's throat, he just couldn't help himself. In the end he just shakes his head and drops a few more embarrassed apologies while all the color in his face rises to his cheeks. ] Are you— did I hurt you?
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Steve's entire body language shifts in the blink of an eye, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's nervous and awkward. Tony stops, lets Steve's dick slide from his lips obscenely while Steve finishes stammering. He's totally unruffled by it, but Steve's so awkward that it practically radiates off of him. Tony just rests his forehead against the warm skin of Steve's thigh for a moment - for someone who's freaking out right now, his physicality is surprisingly comforting.]
Just calm down, [Tony insists during a break in the apologies.] Steve. Seriously. Fucking relax for five minutes while I suck you off, okay? This isn't the first time I've swallowed a dick. I'm fine.
[Please just chill ok???]
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