[Nope, sorry, Tony notices that completely adorable blush. He tries to push himself up to kiss the corner of Steve's lips, but forgets himself and uses his bad arm, which crumples under the weight. Tony swears under his breath and rubs his arm ruefully.]
Despite what the tabloids might say, most people aren't real into the suit. Which means, actually, that you have better taste than most. [Tony flashes a crooked smile at Steve.] Let's just say that the nanites offer some flexibility as far as, ah, temporary modifications go. And once I figure out the subdermal nanites, then, yeah, you can just have an iron dick. I mean, not all by itself, it'd still be attached to my body, although I could absolutely make one separate-
[ Tony told him not to make a big deal of it, so as much as Steve wants to do something, anything, to ease the discomfort, he knows the best course of action is to ignore it. Pretend nothing happened. The thing is, Steve could tell what Tony was going for, and he's not pleased about missing out on that kiss. He decides to right that wrong immediately, and when he brings his hand around Tony's neck and pulls him in until their lips touch, it has the added benefit of putting an end to Tony's rambling. ]
[Tony had actually been going for a more casual kiss - he's not sure when they arrived at a state of casual kissing, but it probably has something to do with waking up in bed together - but he's not going to complain about something more intimate, or about Steve putting a stop to his pre-caffeine rambling. It's nice, being together like this. A lot nicer than the interactions that end in one of them storming away from the other, and Tony's still kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop there. Things won't stay like this for long, he's sure of it - and god, it's going to hurt when he's inevitably proven right. More than it did before, even more than when Steve bruised his ribs in Siberia.
And yet, he can't bring himself to stop kissing Steve.]
[ At this point, loss is Steve's old, familiar friend. In this analogy, he doesn't particularly like that friend, but the recognition is always there. The expectation, too. Steve has never once in his life gotten to keep something good, and he doesn't expect any different here.
What he's learned is to savor every moment, because eventually, only memories remain. And if he can't keep this, he at least wants to limit how much regret those memories carry. So he isn't thinking about hedging his bets so that Tony doesn't get an inkling of how he really feels. He's only thinking about all the things he'll regret never doing if he doesn't take the chance now.
And so, as nerve-wracking as it should be, it is actually alarmingly easy to kiss Tony. It's even easier to keep kissing him. Steve puts his lung capacity to the test, the way he chases Tony's lips after every kiss, not letting him slip away even for a few seconds.
When they break apart, it's just barely: Steve winds up with his forehead pressed against Tony's and they're still close enough to feel each other's breath. ]
It's not about the iron dick. [ Steve figures that's safe to say because Tony is so blind to genuine compliments that he'd never follow the statement to its logical conclusion: the implication that it's about Tony, actually, and not so much the suit. ]
[Tony wraps his bad arm around Steve's shoulders and brings the good one up to cup Steve's cheek, the touch so light it's like he's holding a baby bird. He's not afraid of breaking Steve - the guy jumps out of planes regularly - so much as he's afraid of the fragile connection between them. The kisses aren't so much sexual as they are sensual, but they're still as intimate (arguably more intimate) as they would be if Steve were buried inside him right now. Emotional intimacy is something Tony's never been good at. He's great at faking it, but genuine emotional connections, in true Stark tradition, are hard for him. There's a reason why he wears a suit of armor, after all.]
You sure? 'Cause I can make it as big as you want. [Tony huffs a soft laugh against Steve's lips. That might be a terrifying prospect for a virgin, actually, but Tony is Tony, and can't help but feel a little inadequate next to Steve when it comes to size. (Never mind that he's perfectly adequate compared to someone who's not sporting a third leg.)
He reaches up and runs his fingers through Steve's hair, just enjoying the feeling. Tony's a tactile guy - more, he's a tactile guy who's been deeply touch-starved for years, and since he has a perfectly good reason to put his hands all over Steve, he's gonna take it.]
Or if there are any other kinks I can accommodate, within reason...
Mmm. That feels nice. [ Steve leans his head into the touch, his eyes falling shut momentarily as he savors the feeling. Tony is all around him: the arm around his shoulders, the fingers in his hair, the breath in his lungs. It's a heady sensation, one he could easily lose himself in. ]
I don't want you to accommodate me. You should get to enjoy yourself too. [ A beat passes as Steve turns over a newly occurred thought. ] What are your kinks?
Oh, yeah, getting fucked is a real chore, [Tony drawls sarcastically.] I don't know how I could possibly manage a repeat performance, but I suppose I can bring myself to suffer through it for your sake.
[And he probably shouldn't joke about an area where he knows Steve's likely to be self-conscious, but Tony hopes it's clear enough that he'd enjoyed himself last night. Steve should be familiar enough with his sarcasm by now, anyway.
But then Steve's throwing the question right back at him, and Tony blinks. For a guy who can afford to indulge literally any fetish, he's surprisingly vanilla, and he (rather unsurprisingly) gets off more on pleasing his partners than specific kinks.]
Mm. You might've noticed I have a bit of an oral fixation. Light bondage is good, voyeurism and exhibitionism, obviously sex toys, body worship, edging - and speaking of edging, that multiple orgasm thing you do is amazing and I really want to see how many times I can make you come. [Tony worries his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully.] I've been known to enjoy the odd bit of sexting, too. Cross-dressing, on occasion. I'm a consummate dabbler.
[ Steve rolls his eyes at Tony's sarcasm, but he doesn't say anything. Then Tony begins rattling off a list that sends Steve's imagination into overdrive, and he can only assume that he looks like a deer caught in headlights right about now. ]
Huh. [ Yeah, that's all he's got, at least for a couple of minutes while he processes everything. ] Okay, no objections. Although I don't think it's edging, technically, if you're making me come.
[Steve's just lucky that Tony's tastes run to the reasonably vanilla; Tony doesn't know how far into the Internet Steve has delved, but he's personally done a few things that would shock a guy from the 1940s. (Probably.) And, yeah, he's assuming that's how Steve knows what edging is, because it seems unlikely a hundred-year-old virgin would be familiar with the term otherwise. At least it means he won't have to explain everything, although Tony can't say he'd mind a few demonstrations.]
Although with your hair trigger, I don't think there's much of a difference. [And maybe the idea of edging specifically appeals to Tony because he wants to "help" Steve last longer.]
[ Steve pieced together a working definition of "edging" from context clues, with his imagination filling in some gaps, because he can never resist trying to keep up with Tony Stark, lost cause though it may be. ]
Hair trigger is a bit of an exaggeration, [ Steve says defensively, because it's not like he came prematurely or anything. In fact, he tried very hard to make sure that didn't happen. ] You're the one who came without so much as a hand on your dick.
[Okay, yes, that's a valid point, and Tony has to think about that. He also definitely shouldn't have been able to come more than once, or to get it up as quickly as he did after the first orgasm. In fact, he's had more of a sex drive lately than he has in a long time; he's at the age where he doesn't need to jerk off regularly anymore, except he has been - which, considering his hand, is inconvenient.
He tips his head up to study Steve and narrows his eyes thoughtfully for a moment.]
Hold that thought.
[Gradually, begrudgingly, Tony unwraps his limbs from around Steve's body and pads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He rummages through the contents of the cabinets and drawers without any thought for Steve's privacy - though it doesn't take him too long to find a pair of scissors. He opens them, grits his teeth, and drags the blade across the palm of his good hand.]
[ Steve isn't thinking about it too hard, a combination of his inexperience and ego making him blind to the fact that it shouldn't even be possible. He'd like to believe it was all him, that he made it possible.
But of course, the scientist in Tony can't leave an unanswered question alone. Steve watches him retreat into the bathroom with his brow furrowed. Then a piercing pain carves into his palm and he hisses, loudly enough that Tony likely heard it. What the hell was that? ]
[Tony did not, in fact, hear it, because he was too busy concentrating on not making any noise himself. He expects to hear something louder - although, if he were thinking clearly right now, he would remember that Steve is a fucking stoic and therefore this is a terrible idea. He's not, which means he just jabs the point into the wound harder, managing to bite through his lip in the process of trying to be quiet.]
[ Unaware of what is happening behind the bathroom door, Steve has also committed himself to not making any noise, so when he feels another sharp pang in his palm, quickly following by an inexplicably raw feeling in his lower lip, he bits back a yelp and turns it into a grunt. A pretty loud grunt, but just a grunt nevertheless. ]
[Well, fuck, that's one hypothesis proven wrong. Tony isn't sure how he's going to look Steve in the face to explain this one, especially since his face is covered with tears.]
Goddamnit. Will you fucking get in here and help me clean this shit up?
[Tony pitches his voice so Steve can hear it, though he sounds a little strained. It's probably, you know, the gaping wound in his hand.]
-it's not literal shit, [he elaborates after a moment of thought.]
[ Steve feels like someone got a hold of his voodoo doll, which, given the life he leads, is not entirely implausible. It can wait, though, because he can hear the urgency in Tony's voice and he's jumping out of bed even before the reassurance that follows. ]
I assumed as much, but thanks for clari— Jesus, Tony, what happened here? [ He's still taking in the bloody scene; it doesn't click right away that he's looking at a mirror image of what he just felt. ]
[Tony shows bloody teeth in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The smile's a little manic - blame the pain endorphins hitting his brain - but also very much one of his masking smiles, an expression that isn't quite genuine. In this case, it's an instinctive reaction to fall back on, something to reassure Steve that he's all right.
(He is very much not all right, judging from the blood dripping from his hand onto the sink.)]
Just gonna run some cold water over thi- [Tony reaches to the faucet and turns it on while he speaks, and the water hits the wound and turns his voice into an undignified yelp-] ohhhhjesusfuck-
[ Steve hisses again when the pain stabs through his palm, but he pushes it away, balls his hand into a fist at his side and puts it out of his mind. Helping Tony with the bleeding is more urgent than whatever is happening with him; there will be time to figure that out later. ]
I know it's not my forte, but this doesn't look very scientific. [ With the hand that isn't acting up, Steve reaches for Tony's wrist and turns it gently, giving himself a better glimpse at the gash in Tony's palm. ] This might need stitches.
[Tony sounds remarkably cavalier about the wound itself, once the pain ebbs to a more manageable throb. The cold water slows the bleeding and, as a plus, numbs the wound a little.]
I've had worse papercuts.
[Maybe he's exaggerating a little, but Tony feels like that's necessary in front of a guy who jumps out of planes regularly. He has to redeem his masculinity somehow.]
Stitches, [ Steve repeats, undeterred. He releases Tony's hand to dig around in a drawer and returns with a suture kit, which he props open next to the sink. ] See? We don't even need a doctor. This'll be quick.
You absolutely don't have anaesthetic in there, do you?
[Of course he doesn't, because it's Steve. The man probably just grits his teeth and stitches his own wounds. Hell, he probably uses actual catgut for sutures.
Fine, whatever. Tony figures he did this to himself (literally).]
First you've had worse paper cuts, now you need anesthetic? [ Steve raises a brow in Tony's direction before returning to the task of prepping his materials. He does regret not having anesthetic, even though he had no reason to anticipate needing it when he got this kit for himself. He'll have to stock it in case of future emergencies. You never know when a man of unparalleled genius will cut his hand open in your bathroom.
He leaves the water running over the wound— it's doing a fine job of flushing the blood away— as he finally goes in with the needle. As soon as he punctures Tony's skin, the pain in his palm returns with a sharpness and he pulls back, dropping the needle into the sink. ] Shit!
Uh. Yeah, something like that. [ It doesn't sound very convincing, but Steve still doesn't understand what's happening and doubts he could explain it. He doesn't want to worry Tony with this, especially when there's only one of them actively bleeding here.
Steve picks up the needle, sanitizes it under stream of rubbing alcohol, and goes in again. The pain returns as soon as he starts suturing but he grits his teeth and tries to put it out of his mind. ]
[It's not convincing at all, and Tony's starting to wonder if his original hypothesis was right and Steve was just too fucking stoic to make a sound. He can tell that there's something off while Steve stitches him up, and halfway through, Tony reaches out to put a hand on his arm.]
You can feel it, can't you?
[Orrrrr maybe he's just crazy. Could be that one.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Despite what the tabloids might say, most people aren't real into the suit. Which means, actually, that you have better taste than most. [Tony flashes a crooked smile at Steve.] Let's just say that the nanites offer some flexibility as far as, ah, temporary modifications go. And once I figure out the subdermal nanites, then, yeah, you can just have an iron dick. I mean, not all by itself, it'd still be attached to my body, although I could absolutely make one separate-
[please make him stop talking]
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And yet, he can't bring himself to stop kissing Steve.]
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What he's learned is to savor every moment, because eventually, only memories remain. And if he can't keep this, he at least wants to limit how much regret those memories carry. So he isn't thinking about hedging his bets so that Tony doesn't get an inkling of how he really feels. He's only thinking about all the things he'll regret never doing if he doesn't take the chance now.
And so, as nerve-wracking as it should be, it is actually alarmingly easy to kiss Tony. It's even easier to keep kissing him. Steve puts his lung capacity to the test, the way he chases Tony's lips after every kiss, not letting him slip away even for a few seconds.
When they break apart, it's just barely: Steve winds up with his forehead pressed against Tony's and they're still close enough to feel each other's breath. ]
It's not about the iron dick. [ Steve figures that's safe to say because Tony is so blind to genuine compliments that he'd never follow the statement to its logical conclusion: the implication that it's about Tony, actually, and not so much the suit. ]
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You sure? 'Cause I can make it as big as you want. [Tony huffs a soft laugh against Steve's lips. That might be a terrifying prospect for a virgin, actually, but Tony is Tony, and can't help but feel a little inadequate next to Steve when it comes to size. (Never mind that he's perfectly adequate compared to someone who's not sporting a third leg.)
He reaches up and runs his fingers through Steve's hair, just enjoying the feeling. Tony's a tactile guy - more, he's a tactile guy who's been deeply touch-starved for years, and since he has a perfectly good reason to put his hands all over Steve, he's gonna take it.]
Or if there are any other kinks I can accommodate, within reason...
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I don't want you to accommodate me. You should get to enjoy yourself too. [ A beat passes as Steve turns over a newly occurred thought. ] What are your kinks?
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[And he probably shouldn't joke about an area where he knows Steve's likely to be self-conscious, but Tony hopes it's clear enough that he'd enjoyed himself last night. Steve should be familiar enough with his sarcasm by now, anyway.
But then Steve's throwing the question right back at him, and Tony blinks. For a guy who can afford to indulge literally any fetish, he's surprisingly vanilla, and he (rather unsurprisingly) gets off more on pleasing his partners than specific kinks.]
Mm. You might've noticed I have a bit of an oral fixation. Light bondage is good, voyeurism and exhibitionism, obviously sex toys, body worship, edging - and speaking of edging, that multiple orgasm thing you do is amazing and I really want to see how many times I can make you come. [Tony worries his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully.] I've been known to enjoy the odd bit of sexting, too. Cross-dressing, on occasion. I'm a consummate dabbler.
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Huh. [ Yeah, that's all he's got, at least for a couple of minutes while he processes everything. ] Okay, no objections. Although I don't think it's edging, technically, if you're making me come.
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Although with your hair trigger, I don't think there's much of a difference. [And maybe the idea of edging specifically appeals to Tony because he wants to "help" Steve last longer.]
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Hair trigger is a bit of an exaggeration, [ Steve says defensively, because it's not like he came prematurely or anything. In fact, he tried very hard to make sure that didn't happen. ] You're the one who came without so much as a hand on your dick.
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He tips his head up to study Steve and narrows his eyes thoughtfully for a moment.]
Hold that thought.
[Gradually, begrudgingly, Tony unwraps his limbs from around Steve's body and pads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He rummages through the contents of the cabinets and drawers without any thought for Steve's privacy - though it doesn't take him too long to find a pair of scissors. He opens them, grits his teeth, and drags the blade across the palm of his good hand.]
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But of course, the scientist in Tony can't leave an unanswered question alone. Steve watches him retreat into the bathroom with his brow furrowed. Then a piercing pain carves into his palm and he hisses, loudly enough that Tony likely heard it. What the hell was that? ]
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Goddamnit. Will you fucking get in here and help me clean this shit up?
[Tony pitches his voice so Steve can hear it, though he sounds a little strained. It's probably, you know, the gaping wound in his hand.]
-it's not literal shit, [he elaborates after a moment of thought.]
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I assumed as much, but thanks for clari— Jesus, Tony, what happened here? [ He's still taking in the bloody scene; it doesn't click right away that he's looking at a mirror image of what he just felt. ]
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[Tony shows bloody teeth in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The smile's a little manic - blame the pain endorphins hitting his brain - but also very much one of his masking smiles, an expression that isn't quite genuine. In this case, it's an instinctive reaction to fall back on, something to reassure Steve that he's all right.
(He is very much not all right, judging from the blood dripping from his hand onto the sink.)]
Just gonna run some cold water over thi- [Tony reaches to the faucet and turns it on while he speaks, and the water hits the wound and turns his voice into an undignified yelp-] ohhhhjesusfuck-
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I know it's not my forte, but this doesn't look very scientific. [ With the hand that isn't acting up, Steve reaches for Tony's wrist and turns it gently, giving himself a better glimpse at the gash in Tony's palm. ] This might need stitches.
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[Tony sounds remarkably cavalier about the wound itself, once the pain ebbs to a more manageable throb. The cold water slows the bleeding and, as a plus, numbs the wound a little.]
I've had worse papercuts.
[Maybe he's exaggerating a little, but Tony feels like that's necessary in front of a guy who jumps out of planes regularly. He has to redeem his masculinity somehow.]
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You absolutely don't have anaesthetic in there, do you?
[Of course he doesn't, because it's Steve. The man probably just grits his teeth and stitches his own wounds. Hell, he probably uses actual catgut for sutures.
Fine, whatever. Tony figures he did this to himself (literally).]
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He leaves the water running over the wound— it's doing a fine job of flushing the blood away— as he finally goes in with the needle. As soon as he punctures Tony's skin, the pain in his palm returns with a sharpness and he pulls back, dropping the needle into the sink. ] Shit!
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[Don't ask about Tony's logic, really. He's the one who cut himself with scissors to begin with.
Tony frowns when Steve drops the needle into the sink, leaning in closer to peer at him.]
Slippery fingers?
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Steve picks up the needle, sanitizes it under stream of rubbing alcohol, and goes in again. The pain returns as soon as he starts suturing but he grits his teeth and tries to put it out of his mind. ]
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You can feel it, can't you?
[Orrrrr maybe he's just crazy. Could be that one.]
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