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The brightness from the hallway light dazzles him, the only thing distinctive the silhouette in his doorway but even that Steve can’t identify from shape alone. He sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, as the figure steps forward, shutting the door behind him.
“Tony?” he tries.
It’s darker now but he doesn’t turn on the light. In what there is, Steve can make out loose sleep pants, slipped low enough that they hang from his hips, and a tight tee; it looks soft.
Tony doesn’t say anything, stands at the foot of the bed. Waiting.
Steve pulls the covers back, an invitation to join him. Tony slips in next to him and they lie close together, Tony pressed tight along his side. Turning his head, Steve kisses him, gentle, possessive. Tony returns them in kind, equal parts soft and demanding. The day’s stubble catches on Steve’s and he thinks they’ll both be rough-faced tomorrow. He doesn’t care.
He kisses Tony once on the cheek then moves down, licking and kissing at his neck, nose bumping his Adam’s apple.
“Daddy,” Tony says, half moan, half whisper.
So it’s like that, then.
“I’m here, son,” Steve murmurs, continuing to lavish attention on the sensitive skin of Tony’s neck.
He bites his bottom lip, eyes closed, the dark hair of his goatee poking out from under his front teeth. Tension that Steve didn’t even realise Tony was holding slips out of his shoulders. He kisses Steve again, a little desperate now. Steve feels Tony hard against his bare thigh through the thin pyjama fabric.
Without pulling away, Steve reaches down to grab the hem of his own shirt, pulling it off over his head. Tony runs his hand over Steve’s chest, looking at it longingly.
“You can if you want to,” Steve tells him, leaning back, presenting himself.
A smile breaks out on Tony’s face. Not the suave, charming one or even the one he saves for his real friends. This one is excited, playful, like when he has a new toy to play with. He dives down, rubbing his face across Steve’s muscles, pressing kisses as he goes. When he gets to a nipple, he gently kisses it once, almost shy, then touches his tongue to it as if experimenting.
“That’s good,” Steve says. “Well done, sweetheart.”
It’s the right thing to say. Tony goes for them, licking and sucking both with enthusiasm, until they’re wet and tender, Steve hard and leaking in his briefs. Tony grins, nips at the taught flesh of his stomach, trailing kisses downwards. When he reaches the waistband of Steve’s briefs, he stops, eyeing the bulge hungrily.
“Please, Daddy,” he breathes, looking up at Steve from under long dark lashes.
“Please what, son?” Steve asks.
“Please,” he repeats. Steve doesn’t say anything else, just waits, hands fisted at his sides in the bedclothes, for Tony to find the words himself. “Please can I suck it. I – I want to suck your cock, Daddy.”
“Go ahead, baby.”
Tony kisses him through the cotton, runs his tongue down the length of him, before pulling the elastic down just enough that he peeks out the top. Steve hisses with pleasure when Tony swipes at the head.
“Daddy, am I doing it right?”
He’s Tony Stark: of course he’s doing it right. He knows exactly how to use his mouth to best effect, he doesn’t need instructions. But that’s not why he’s asking. Steve slips his fingers in to Tony’s hair as the wet heat of his mouth engulfs his cock.
“Doing it so good. You suck Daddy just right, sweetheart.”
Tony hums at the endearment. Steve swears he can feel it all the way through his balls.
“Oh, baby boy.”
That earns him another hum. Steve groans. Tony really kicks it up then, cheeks hollowed obscenely, suction tight, bobbing furiously. He’s pulling Steve perilously close to the edge and Steve doesn’t want that just yet.
He fists his hands in Tony’s hair, holding him still. He stops moving but keeps sucking and that’s too much for Steve, has to pull him off his cock. Tony looks so sad, so disappointed, lips pink and shiny with spit.
“Did I do it badly?” he asks.
Steve pulls him up in to his arms, presses kisses to his brow, cheeks, even to the tip of his nose.
“You sucked Daddy perfectly,” he reassures him. “You were perfect, you are perfect. In fact, you were so good, you were gonna make me come. Don’t want that just yet.”
Tony snuggles closer, pushes his still clothed erection in to Steve’s hip.
“I wanted you to come,” he whispers. “For you to come down my throat, come all over my face. Wanted you to dirty me up, Daddy.”
Tony bites his lip again so Steve leans in and bites it himself, slips his tongue in to Tony’s mouth. He strokes his way down Tony’s back, fingers ghosting over the thin cotton, feeling the firm musculature underneath. Slipping his hand down the back of Tony’s pjs he finds, between his cheeks, him already slick and loose.
“I did all the work so you don’t have to,” Tony murmurs in to his mouth. “So you could just fuck right in to me.” Steve slides two fingers inside him and he moans loudly. “Oh, Daddy. Was I bad? Was I a filthy little slut for stretching myself?”
“You did it very well, baby. But we could have done it together. Daddy would’ve helped you.”
Tony buries his face in Steve’s shoulder.
“Are you mad at me? For being such a dirty cockslut?”
“How could Daddy stay mad at such a sweet, beautiful boy?”
He twists his fingers, making Tony whine.
“Fuck me, Daddy,” he begs. “Please.”
Steve has a sudden thought about how he can make this even more fun. He takes his hands out of Tony’s pants and lightly taps his ass.
“Up,” he instructs. Tony’s face twists in confusion. “Since you seem to want to do all Daddy’s work for him...”
Realisation dawns and Tony squirms quickly out of his PJ bottoms as Steve kicks off his briefs. He slings his leg over Steve’s hip.
“Look at you, baby boy,” Steve says. “So good for understanding what I wanted.”
Tony looks gorgeous, flushed and writhing in his lap, cock hard and legs spread. The tight fabric of his shirt rides up. Steve reaches for it, to push it off, but Tony stops him with a hand on his wrist and a shake of his head. Tony doesn’t want to be totally naked, not right now, not for this. He’s too vulnerable, too bared; he needs some armour, even if it’s only a thin piece of cotton.
Instead, Steve puts his hands on Tony’s waist, rubs one thumb along the trail of dark hair running down from his navel, peeking out from beneath the hem of his shirt.
“Make me all filthy inside, Daddy.”
Tony sinks down on to him with a groan, eyes fluttering. Then, he starts to move, undulating his hips, rocking them expertly.
“You like that, sweetheart?” Steve asks.
“So big,” Tony moans. “Forgot just how big you are.”
Steve thrusts upwards sharply, breaking Tony’s rhythm. In response, Tony increases his ferocity, twisting his hips, bringing Steve right to the edge, then stopping, moving only the slightest, grinning down at him.
Taking his hand off Tony’s waist – noting absently the round finger marks already beginning to bruise just above his hip – Steve wraps it around Tony’s hard cock, starts to jack him with strong, smooth movements. He starts to tremble, hips faltering and thrusting in to his fist.
“No, Daddy,” Tony gasps, still rocking forward. “You’re gonna make me- I’ll make a mess.”
“You can make a mess,” Steve tells him.
Tony shakes his head vigorously.
“Don’t want to. Only bad boys make a mess. Don’t want to be bad.”
Steve doesn’t challenge the logic that doing something will make him bad when he’s already said he’s inherently bad. It’s Tony’s fantasy and he’s too lost in it to care. Instead, he says,
“Make all the mess you need to. Even good boys make messes. You’ll still be a good boy, still be Daddy’s good boy, my good boy.”
Tony comes, moaning out Daddy, striping Steve’s stomach with his release. He pants, flushed and glowing, then leans down to kiss Steve.
“I made a big mess,” he murmurs. “But you haven’t made yours yet. I can be better, work harder-”
Steve cuts him off with a firm kiss, wraps his arms around Tony and tips him backwards, Tony sprawled on the sheets, legs spread wide and welcoming. He resettles himself inside Tony, gives an experimental thrust and Tony’s eyes roll back.
“Let Daddy do some of the work now, sweetheart,” Steve says.
“Yes, Daddy,” Tony whimpers. “Use me, do what you want to me, take me, make me filthy.”
Steve doesn’t confirm it, doesn’t tell him that he is filthy, is dirty, is a bad, nasty little slut. He won’t contradict it either, won’t tell him that he isn’t. What he does is keep up the stream of praise, as though the good can overwhelm the bad and drive it out of him.
He cradles Tony’s head as he fucks him, the come smeared across his belly rubbing in to the soft fabric of his shirt.
“My sweet boy, baby boy, good boy –“
“Yours, Daddy, all yours, your dirty little cockslut –“
“Precious, so precious, so good for me –“
“Give it to, I’m filthy, a filthy boy –“
“So good, sweetheart, just right –“
“Bad boy, Daddy, naughty, slutty boy –“
“Perfect baby boy, getting Daddy so close –“
“Come in me, Daddy, please Daddy, fill me up Daddy, I can take it, take all of it, please Daddy, Daddy please, please, please –“
Steve groans his way through his orgasm, wave after wave rippling through him, hips pumping erratically in to Tony. He takes shuddering breaths. Tony lies underneath him, loose-limbed and relaxed. Steve peppers his face with tender kisses, whispers loving praise to him, tells him how proud he is, how wonderful, all the things that sound too sentimental to them normally.
Slowly, Tony returns to him, shoulders tensing, eyes clearing. He pulls away and that’s the moment Steve knows the game is over. Steve pushes himself up, slowly withdraws his cock and a trickle of come follows it out, slides its way over Tony’s ass and on to the sheets.
Tony crawls away to the far side of the bed. But he doesn’t leave, just lies with his back to Steve, arms wrapped around himself. He looks fragile in a way the boy in his arms a moment before hadn’t. Steve draws the sheet up over him and settles in behind him, not quite touching.
“What brought this on?” Steve asks softly.
When he doesn’t get a reply, Steve presses himself along Tony’s back, not caring about the stickiness, and holds him close. As he’s about to slip in to sleep, he hears Tony say,
“Things are better when we do them together, aren’t they?”
“That’s why we rebuilt,” Steve reminds him. “That’s how we do things from now on. Together.”
“Right,” Tony says, hoarse. “Together.”
Steve rubs a soothing hand over his belly, trying to ease some of his tension.
“Sleep, Tony,” Steve instructs. “It won’t go wrong again. We’re together now, remember?”