shield | open post.

[ 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.]

Edited 2021-06-29 20:06 (UTC)

[ 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 Dalí 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.

[Please just chill ok???]

[ Something short circuits in Steve's brain and he ends up staring down in slack-jawed awe at the downright pornographic sight before him. It would be a bold-faced lie to say he never fantasized about something like this, but even his most vivid and wildest dreams failed to capture how obscenely sexy Tony can be when he tries.

He leans into the touch when Tony presses against his thigh, and with the hand still caught in his hair, scrapes his fingers softly against Tony's scalp. Somehow he exhales a little easier for it. ]

Yeah, it's uh, it's notyourinexperiencethat'stheproblem, [ he admits in a barely comprehensible nervous burst. If he wasn't relatively confident that the serum would prevent it, Steve would be genuinely worried about overheating. At least he can now answer definitely for any curious scientists: super soldiers are not immune to the nervous sweats. ]

Edited (typo >:() 2021-07-31 00:40 (UTC)

I know, [and Tony's voice might be a grumble in a different situation, albeit a good-natured one. He doesn't give a shit about Steve's lack of experience, but that doesn't make Steve less self-conscious about it. But Steve drags his fingers through Tony's hair, and oh, Tony forgets what he'd been about to say. That soft, intimate touch is nearly as good as sex - he hasn't had much of that lately, either. Something to do with stubbornly holding himself apart from everyone else after coming back from space.

He sucks in another breath and looks up at Steve.] I've got enough experience for the both of us. It's okay, Steve. Just relax and focus on having a good time. [Tony's voice softens, and there's something almost pleading in his gaze. He wants Steve to enjoy this - if it never happens again, at least he'll have one good memory. Tenderly, he brushes his lips against the smooth skin of Steve's inner thigh for a split second before he sucks Steve's cock into his mouth again.]

Yeah. [ Steve nods, a little too sharp and frantic, but he can only spare so much brain power for fine motor skills right now. ] Yeah, okay. [ The treacherous, romantic part of Steve latches on to the brush of Tony's lips on his skin; with his eyes closed, he can almost fool himself into calling it a kiss. More than anything yet, it leaves him feeling raw and exposed, utterly at Tony's mercy.

But Tony takes pity on him. For Steve it seems nothing short of miraculous; he knows, of course, that Tony is experienced, and it can't be fun to go all the way back to square one, but Tony keeps treating him with a gentleness that cuts through Steve's barriers more effectively than any barbed words or punches they've ever exchanged.

He gasps as Tony sucks him down again, too far gone to cover the dopey expression he must be sporting as he stares down at Tony, who simultaneously looks softer and filthier than ever before. ]

God, Tony, you're so— you're— [ Steve bites down his bottom lip to hold back an embarrassing whine, and also because he was getting dangerously close to letting out his unfiltered truth. No faster way to kill the mood than to bring feelings into it, right? ]

[For all of Steve's self-deprecating thoughts, Tony finds his lack of experience exciting. It's not like getting blown really requires a lot of work on the recipient's behalf, after all; experience doesn't make much of a difference there. And maybe, just maybe, there's a little selfish glee at getting to be the one to leave his mark on Steve, to be the one that he'll remember years later as being the first. Sure, virginity is a construct and all that, and it's never made a difference to Tony before, but this is Steve, and Steve is different.

Tony works his throat a few times before relaxing his muscles and letting Steve slide down farther and farther. He doesn't quite make it to where his nose brushes Steve's pelvis, and it takes him a moment to remember how to breathe shallowly through his nose, but he's obscurely proud of himself anyway, even as his eyes water. God, he loves the feeling of this.]

[ There are hopeless romantics and then there is Steven G. Rogers, a grown man in peak physique with absolutely no justification for how little experience he has in this realm, except for the fact that he is incurably stubborn and wanted to hold out for the right time and the right partner. On paper, this doesn't check off either category, and yet it feels more right than Steve knew it could. Which is a very dangerous thought, since this isn't supposed to mean anything and for all that Steve is aware of Tony's experience, nothing in his history indicates any interest beyond casual encounters with the unique exception of Pepper.

(That the same could be said of Steve's own preoccupation with Peggy somehow evades consideration.)

Dangerous as it is, Steve still fails to shut off the romantic in him that desperately wants this to be more; to mean something. It doesn't help that Tony has somehow managed to make a fine art out of dick-sucking, both in sheer skill and in his own apparent enjoyment. This kind of single-minded focus from Tony Stark is typically reserved for cutting edge inventions, and it feels both thrilling and terrifying to have that attention turned on him. As much as he wishes he could draw it out, bask in Tony's attention and hoard it selfishly like some prized possession, it isn't long before his own experience combined with Tony's skill have Steve fast approaching his peak. ]

I'm, I think I'm— I can't much longer, [ he gasps out, barely recognizing his own wrecked voice. His fingers move independently, a steady caress against Tony's skull that keeps him grounded when he feels like he could explode out of his own body. ] Fuck, Tony, you're so good, you're amazing.

[If Tony could speak right now, Steve might expect him to make a flippant remark about how of course he's amazing, maybe a crack about stroking his ego. But there's a part of Tony under the cocky facade that craves validation (especially from someone like Steve), and that part of him absolutely has a fucking praise kink. The garbled noise muffled by Steve's cock is supposed to be something like a wordless croon, somewhere between encouragement and pleasure.

Tony tries to push himself just that little bit extra, uses his hand on Steve's ass for balance, and finally slides down all the way - there's one jerky movement that might be a suppressed gag, but besides that, he doesn't show any outward signs of difficulty. He thinks about what it would be like to do the same thing riding Steve, take him in bit by bit till he bottoms out - every last fucking inch of him filling him up, just like Steve's filling his throat right now. Dimly, Tony's aware of the way his muscles start to tense, how his spine wants to arch. He knows what it means, but it can't mean that right now, and so he pushes it aside. Instead, he focuses on swallowing around Steve's cock, on milking him with his throat and wringing that last little bit of pleasure out of him, and he looks up at him with desperate, lust-dark eyes.]

[ If he were less far gone, maybe Steve would have some reaction to how well he has seemingly learned to read Tony, but in the moment he doesn't have the luxury of reflection. The wordless cues he's effortlessly picking up on are all pointing him toward the same conclusion, so he doubles down on complimenting Tony. ]

You are, you have no idea, Tony, you're incredible. [ The words spill out with surprising ease for someone so practiced at hiding his feelings. But the way Tony is looking up at him, the knee-buckling sounds he makes... all of Steve's strength couldn't make him immune to those eyes. ] You're so hot like this. You're always— but Jesus, look at you...

[ Despite Steve's admirable self control he can't help his hips from twitching, crying out as Tony works his throat muscles in the most maddening way. With what seems like his last remaining brain cell, he makes to pull away, breathless warnings tumbling from his lips: ] Oh fu- I'm gonna come, I'm gonna— I can't, oh God, Tony!

[Tony barely registers the first hot spurt hitting the back of his throat because at that moment, his own climax hits him, and only instinct and an inability to do anything else keep him in place on Steve.

Tony isn't in the habit of ranking his orgasms - honestly, he'd hit too many to count by the end of his teens - but this easily overcomes every other one he's had. He actually whites out briefly while Steve's cock is still pulsing deep in his throat. He clutches blindly at Steve's ass with his good hand, fingers digging into the muscle.

His orgasm ebbs, and Tony gradually comes back to his senses, or as much as he can with his brain flooded with endorphins. He lets Steve's dick slide slowly out of his mouth, feeling the sudden emptiness of his throat and thinking about how it would feel if it were his ass pleasantly stretched out and then left achingly empty. God, he just came, he can still feel his heart pounding in his chest, and all he can think about is Steve fucking him.

Tony succumbs to gravity and muscles that can no longer hold him up and flops back against the mats with a thud. When he finally speaks, his voice is scratchy and rough.]

What the fuck?

[ It is entirely possible that Tony's firm grip on Steve's ass was all that kept him upright, because as soon as Tony releases him, he collapses like a sack of bricks. He must make an undignified picture, face flushed and chest heaving, legs akimbo with his spent dick hanging out of his sweats, but he makes no effort to adjust, staring back at Tony in some mixture of awe and confusion. ]

Did you just...?

[ It feels like an insane thing to ask, and yet, here they are. For all of Steve's inexperience, he knows that most men can't come without so much as a helping hand, especially not at Tony's age. Steve surprises himself with how desperately he wants to be the reason for it, however improbable. He thought that coming would break the fever but he only feels more wound up, blood already rushing back south as he tries and fails not to imagine how Tony would look if Steve fucked him into that mat, wondering if he could come on Steve's cock like that too. ]

[Somehow - and Tony's not really sure how - he manages to crawl over to Steve, although crawling might be a generous term for an action that's really more wriggling like a worm once he's rolled over onto his stomach. But he wants to be close to Steve in the worst way, like sex has reopened the floodgates of physical intimacy. He makes it far enough to rest his chin on Steve's abs and throw his arm over his stomach, and as he tucks his body against Steve's legs, Tony decides that's good enough for now.]

Yeah, I did. [Tony lifts his head just enough to give Steve a confused look. He can still feel the burn of arousal in the pit of his stomach, and at his age, he's strictly a one and done kind of guy.] Haven't managed that since fuck knows when.

[He squirms a little higher, this time managing to make it all the way to Steve's chest before he lowers his head again. Tony can hear Steve's heartbeat, feel his chest rise and fall, and it's deeply comforting in a way he doesn't quite understand.]

Give me a sec. [To let his brain spin back up, he means, because there's something he's missing here and he can't put it together when his brain is half-addled from a mind-blowing orgasm, although he's not sure he really wants to push his brain out of the warm haze it's in. It's a lot like the mental equivalent of being wrapped in a soft blanket, usually the sort of thing that can only be accomplished with drugs (and Tony's many years past the point where he's willing to give up that much control over his body), and it's nice to just stop. Even more so with Steve right there under him.]

[ While his data set is largely comprised of one-on-one sessions, if there is one thing that Steve knows about his sex drive, it is that he is not a one and done kind of guy. He also knows that he is a walking scientific marvel and there was never hope of Tony keeping up with his stamina, so he doesn't harbor any expectation for more. But then Tony throws him for yet another loop and moves back in for the post-climax cuddle that Steve had unconsciously written off as strictly off limits.

He really has to stop assuming how little— or how much, it seems— he can get away with when it comes to Tony. Case in point: if Tony feels comfortable enough to rest his head on Steve's chest, then Steve can't be taking too many liberties by lowering his chin to rest lightly against Tony's head. That's just quid pro quo. And if Tony feels a pair of lips against the crown of his head, and if those lips linger just a little too long to be passed off as just a little brush, at least they've established that no one is really keeping score. ] Take your time. I'm in no hurry. [ And then, with a light tug on Tony's sleeve: ] But aren't you hot in that?

[ Between Steve's body heat and the fact that Tony just did most of the work of getting them off, it can't possibly be comfortable under all those layers. And yeah, maybe Steve wants to see as much of Tony as Tony gets to see of him. Sue him. ]

Edited 2021-08-08 02:18 (UTC)

[While Steve thinks of Tony as distant (and, admittedly, for good reason), the problem is that once he feels comfortable around someone, it's impossible to get him to stop touching. There aren't a whole lot of people who get to witness his clingy side, but it's there, and Steve has just found himself added to that number. He can kiss his personal space goodbye.

Tony makes a face when Steve kisses his hair - not because of the kiss, but because his hair is damp with sweat and probably about to dry into those damn wisps he's spent half his life trying to subdue with hair product. The kiss, well, if his heart skips a beat, that can definitely be attributed to pre-existing conditions, right?]

Mmm, [Tony agrees noncommittally. It feels ridiculous to be self-conscious in front of Steve (at least when it comes to his scars, because there are so many other things to be self-conscious about when compared to a man who is basically a living marble statue), but he doesn't want Steve to look at him with pity in his eyes. He's reminded of just after Afghanistan, when he'd still been half-broken in so many ways (as if he isn't now), and he hadn't been able to stomach the thought of anyone besides Pepper seeing the wreck of his chest. Yeah, Tony's still vain, even with a little more fat around his hips and a dusting of grey hair and a lot more scars. But he knows how people see him, and he desperately needs to live up to that image. He doesn't want anyone to see him as weak, even when it's someone who knows what it's like to actually be weak. Maybe especially then.

On the other hand, he also very much wants to be naked with Steve. It's terrible conflicting logic, but Tony can't help it.

After a moment, he shifts his weight and rolls more on top of Steve, yanking his good arm out of the sleeve with a bit of a struggle, then rolls back to the other side and uses his good arm to pull it the rest of the way around and-]

Little help here?

[He gives an ungainly flap of his arm, and the free fabric at the bottom of the jacket swishes.]

My pleasure, [ Steve answers cheekily, still high off the confidence boost from making Tony orgasm out of thin air. (Thin air and magic, but that parade will get rained on eventually; no reason to let the inevitable sour the present.)

Does helping Tony require Steve wrapping an arm around his waist? Perhaps not, but there's also nothing that says he can't make an excuse to reach under Tony's jacket and slowly trace the length of his spine up to his shoulder before he gradually starts to push the sleeve off from the inside out.

Steve's newfound confidence seems to find its limit as it dawns that since they've stopped moving, Tony is left all but sitting in Steve's lap, where Steve's dick lives, and where it's making a valiant recovery effort, which even in Steve's book would be some freakishly quick turnaround. His cheeks flush, his expression takes on an apologetic quality, and a keen observer might guess that he's just a few seconds from making another series of superfluous apologies. ]

So I see.

[Or feel, rather, because his pants - which are kind of unpleasantly wet - are the same thin fabric as his windbreaker, and since it's pretty much impossible to ignore Steve's dick, Tony doesn't. Instead, he tips his head back to grin cheekily up at Steve. As long as Steve's looking at his face, he's not looking at the scars running up the length of Tony's arm, the way Tony's fingers form a stiff claw most of the time. (He's actually here to do exercises for physical therapy, but clearly that isn't happening.)

Tony casually swings one leg over Steve's hips, lets his good hand settle in the small of his back.]

I hate to break it to you, but I don't keep lube in my gym bag. And if you try to argue that spit is lube, I'm going to ask if you've ever looked at your dick before, Secretariat.

[ Steve tilts his head to one side, visibly confused. ]

I keep Vaseline in mine, actually, but what does your secretary fetish have to do with lube?

[ If only Tony had gone with Seabiscuit, Steve might have caught the reference and avoided what is sure to be an embarrassing explanation. But right now he's in the calm before that storm, so to speak, and the only thing on his mind is the the scent of Tony's sweat-drenched hair mixed with expensive hair products, which is a more comforting smell than he would have ever guessed. ]

["Secretary fe-" Tony mouths, wrinkling his face up, and then-]

Secretariat was a horse. A Triple Crown-winning stallion, to be more precise. And, y'know, it's been years since the last time I was in the saddle, but I think I still remember a thing or two.

[Tony rocks his hips, as if to demonstrate, and of course he grinds against Steve's dick, because what else is he going to do in this situation? It's absurd, bordering on unbelievable.]

Though let me just say that I'm not entirely opposed to relocating this conversation.

[On one hand, he's a little terrified that everything will pop like a soap bubble if either of them have the opportunity to reconsider. On the other, he really wants the kind of intimacy best approached in a bedroom, where you can get away with sprawling in an undignified, debauched heap without anyone wondering why the door's been locked for hours.]

[ Steve chokes out an embarrassing moan, first triggered at the mental image of Tony "in the saddle" then made worse (louder) when Tony grinds down on him. ]

Fuck, Tony, you can't just— [ But Steve can't actually bring himself to discourage anything that Tony is doing, or might want to do, so he just trails off, trying to catch his breath and maintain some control.

After some deep inhale-exhale exercises, his brain finally catches up enough to begin considering the strategy side. As one does. ] Okay, yeah, I'm— I'm not opposed either. But how would we relocate without being seen?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject