Work Text:
Steve had lived at the Avengers Complex for a few weeks. An inconvenient bomb blast set in his apartment by a villain - thankfully there were no fatalities. It was an indelicate plan, but effective. It forced his hand to ask a favour of Tony’s and let him set up at the complex for a while. It wasn’t like a lot had changed. The complex had a gym, had a full kitchen, and a quiet apartment-sized space for his privacy, he could maintain his diligent routine happily and easily.
Steve devoted hours at the gym every day. Today was no different. An hour of swimming, an hour of running, an hour of weights, and an hour and a half of combat training every day. The regular duties of a diligent man. A man who carried the weight of his decisions every day.
A man who could use a break.
Sweat dripped off his brow. The chains holding the punching bags lurched, he was twelve minutes into the final part of his exercise routine, blue eyes focused intensely on the task at hand. All in silence. He would not notice music or radio stories (he never understood what a podcast was), so resolved in his constant workouts.
Weeks ago, Steve found out that he was a celebrity crush. Watching TV with Tony and Clint, he was astounded to find out that, during a comedian’s set, “I would ride that Captain America, it’s my duty as an American to sleep with the hottest American and bolster his morale” was a punchline. He was uncomfortable. And angry. Tony and Clint never, ever would let that joke go unnoticed. Darn it, he thought, censoring himself. They’d bring it up casually to relative strangers, to She-Hulk, to Thor, to anyone because it was funny and weird.
Something in Steve, though, something in him didn’t entirely mind, and he couldn’t square that away.
----
Peter Parker, sweet kid, friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, moved into the Avengers tower for his own tragic reasons. Much more tragic than loss of property. His uncle had passed a few years ago, and very recently, his aunt - and legal guardian - had passed away too. Peter was a resilient guy, but tragedy compounds and you need a place to bounce back.
A duffle bag over his shoulder, the kid was scrappy, adventurous, a little rash, but ultimately a good guy. Well, maybe the puns could be a criminal, just awful, awful puns.
Still, it was mostly quiet at the Complex. A villain might try to blow up parts of midtown, an ancient dragon would threaten to eat a bridge, and occasionally a green goblin themed villain wanted to exact ridiculous, outsized revenge against Spider-Man.
But the days would feel safe there. Normal. Like Peter could become himself again.
That was, well, until Steve.
...
Steve saw him first. Well, technically, the kid did. They did meet in Germany, but without a mask, in the full light of day, Steve met Peter.
“Steve,” Tony beckoned him over, “I know you met but have you met Peter Parker?” Steve looked over the boy in front of him. A full foot shorter, round, boyish features. Steve wondered why this kid was moving to the complex, in a room near his own.
“Uh, where did we meet, son?”
“Germany, Mr Captain. I’m,” in a hushed tone, “I stole your shield.” Looking up again, the boy smiled, a little more resolved. “My name is Peter, Spider-Man.” His eyes cut through Steve in a way, even though a slight blush appeared at his cheeks.
A little shy, maybe, but then Peter began asking questions. Dozens of questions, nervously, a creak to his voice, but still, never-ending. And puns, jokes, banter, but with an uneasy nervousness. Hero worship. Peter would ask questions, seemingly strange, like “what movies do you like?” or “was it like this when you were in Brooklyn?” or “do you like apple pie too?” Silly little questions, but through the nervous chatter, Steve could see the respect Peter felt for him.
With Tony, Peter seemed fearful. Steve had choice words for a man who brought the teenager across continents to fight in a fight where he didn’t understand the sides, but he could tell that Peter felt beholden to Tony for a similar reason that Steve did: Tony Stark created the conditions that allowed for the Avengers to exist through his resources. He may have not been very ethical, but he did at least let the space exist.
Peter started to train three days after settling into the Complex. Steve would remember it vividly.
"Mr Steve, Captain Sir," the boy called out to Steve as he entered the gym, "hi hi nice to see you here!" Dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweat shorts, Peter looked the part of a high school student at the gym. Steve, by contrast, wore underarmour shirt and shorts, designed to free up his movements. Unintentionally designed to show off the biceps that threatened to burst from the shirt, or the cleft between two massive pecs, or the ass that bounced while Steve ran on the treadmill. None of that was intentional for Steve. It was an unintended consequence no one dared complain about.
Peter couldn’t help his eyes scanning the older man. He just couldn’t. It was hard to avoid looking. He was huge, he was so handsome, and he was just such a legend. The boy remembered that poster in his old apartment. Or the Captain America pinups he found and bookmarked and saved into a folder on his laptop. A blush appeared on his face. He’d better get to working out before Steve noticed the blush. A blush that ran down his chest a little and, Peter would find out, Steve fucking loved every time he saw it.
It was a nice workout for both of them, Steve had begun the weights component of his workout, when Peter, 30 minutes out from his cardio, shifted into weights. Steve knew the boy's file, but to see him adjust Tony's weights so high, and then even higher, Steve was intrigued at the kid's strength. Of course Steve couldn't keep up with him, even with the serum. When he prevented a helicopter from flying off with his own arms and nothing else, Steve was sore in the biceps for a week. Peter could easily have handled it without a second thought. How strong was he?! He couldn’t help the flash of “this dude can definitely lift me, no problem.”
Before he let that thought linger too long, with the thrum of blood and the increased heartbeat, a small idea flashed in his head. It was simple: train this kid to fight. His strength was off the charts, his powers were phenomenal, helping with Peter's training only serves to better the Avengers' overall goals. And it helps Steve get to know his new colleague.
“Hey, Peter,” Steve started saying.
----
"Shower?"
The sweat dripped down his brow and nose, down to the soaked through shirt. Damn, Steve thought, the boy was strong. He would think over that strength a lot in the upcoming weeks.
Sparring with the kid had really tested his limit, his chest heaved in the shirt, his arms were sore, and he just needed to take a break.
He turned on the shower in the small communal shower area and let the warm water wash away any aches from his enhanced muscles. He'd unlearned shame in the army, his body was accustomed to pokes and prods from strangers, and a culture of "who gives a shit" existed in the forces. So he stood, a super soldier in the nude, water cascading down his body, and a full sigh of relief as the muscles loosened.
Peter, nervously, joined in the shower. He was still a kid, really, and while his body benefited from his own scientific marvel, a gymnasts body, all tone and slenderness, he felt shy around the living legend.
"Peter," Steve intoned, "join me! The water's nice." Peter couldn't hear any ill intent in Cap's tone. He still couldn't help but compare himself to the giant living legend. A body of heft and height, at least a foot taller, just huge and muscular next to his dainty little self. Plucking up the courage, now or nothing, he thought, as he pushed down his shorts and joined the Captain in the small communal shower area.
"I'm glad you could j-" join, that's the word Steve wanted to say, but as he turned to face the teenager, to smile encouragingly, he just froze and looked down and caught a glimpse of his cock.
It was soft. But it hung limp and imposing, at least twice his own shaft, thick, and the water running down it. He could barely tear his eyes from it. That cock was something he'd never seen in his time in the army.
His own little dick was no source of shame, he was well endowed before the serum, but he would never measure up to Peter. Steve's shaft filled with blood, but there was no way Steve getting hard would be noticeable next to Peter's marvelous, gigantic dick. Even hard, Steve couldn't really compare.
Peter saw that shocked look on Steve's face, and then recognized the hunger. A hunger he set off.
When they finally made eye contact after what felt like an eternity, Steve's eyes couldn't hide the surprise mixed with hunger. He could finally understand that feeling from the comedy special when comedians talked about him.
Looking Peter in the eyes, Peter recognized the hunger in Steve. Steve recognized that Peter saw it, and saw him staring. Peter saw his tongue swipe across his lips in a "I've got my work cut out for me" way.
But then reality set in for the soldier, the boy was, well, just a boy. A very strong, very very strong boy who could lift him with one hand and use the other one to... he was just a boy. A teenager. And he was Captain America. Living symbol. Legend.
Uttering a nervous word, Steve rushed out of the shower. Hoping the boy wouldn't join him in the locker room.
Ordinarily, Peter would have felt uneasy, unhappy, but the way the older man looked, he felt a surge in confidence as he remained under the spray of the shower. Rinsing his hair, all he felt was an arrogance. That man, that tower of muscles and morals, with the tits and ass that jiggled as he hurried out of the shower, that man would be his. He didn't care how long it took, Peter would leave the Avengers Complex with Steve.
The blue, hungry eyes scanning his cock were enough to convince him to try and take Steve Rogers and keep him. Peter filled to full hardness too, and used the isolation to think about all the parts of Captain America he would own, pumping a load into the Avengers Complex tower plumbing.
Behind Peter’s puppydog looks, Peter tried to think through his next move.
----
Steve couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Peter was not just hung, but huuuuuunnnnnggg. He couldn’t stop thinking about the little drop of water running down the whole length in the shower, and fuck there was so much length to run down. He was Captain America, the Living Legend, and here he was licking his lips on his couch, daydreaming about how a boy’s precum would taste on his tongue.
He would go back to the look on the boy's face in the gym shower quite often. A mix of surprise mixed with recognition, as the boy looked at Steve's face. Steve would feel shame looking at Peter. He was a boy, a child, and Steve should be so much more responsible.
But then he would think about that water running down his cock, and the lithe toned body, and lose himself in his daydreams again.
----
Peter was a grain of sand in a microchip. A small change to an ecosystem that knocked it off balance. A small shift in a planet's orbit that alters the entire relationship to the star it orbits.
Steve Rogers was a man of habit. He would wake up at 5 AM, run 5 miles without breaking a sweat, drink a bottle of water, run five miles home, make a simple egg white scramble with toast and frozen fruit, and begin his day cleaning, doing dishes, gym laundry, rinse lather and repeat. Sometimes danger struck and the Avengers called on him, sometimes he left for a mission, but the routine was the man.
When Peter walked into the kitchen in a tank top and shorts, Steve took notice. When Peter stepped out of the swimming pool with a small speedo, Steve noticed immediately. He almost faltered in his run and missed a step. When Peter walked into the tower with groceries, in regular clothes, Steve couldn’t help but admire the teen’s arms carrying tote bags of food. And it would be the little things, the way the mop of brown hair curled in the heat, the strain of his thighs when walking up a flight of stairs in shorts, the thick bulge he couldn’t help but blush when he would think of it.
He couldn’t stop noticing him. But, he told himself, noticing didn’t mean anything if he did nothing about it. Despite what he said, he did a lot of things in private. Over the next few days they live in the complex together, catching Peter in the pool, in his too tight, too revealing speedo, Steve would hold onto those images, stroking his cock, toying with his hole until he’d cum. And then immediately try to pretend he wasn’t doing exactly that.
Three times a day. Every day for two weeks. The boy would crowd out his usual thinking, his routine remained, of course, but the routine was dominated by a heavy fog in his mind. “Will Peter come work out?” or “Is Peter here?” or “Fuck (yes)! He’s here!”
Steve thought no one would notice him fucking his fist every couple hours, thinking about Peter and the things the teen would do to him, the super soldier serum ramping up the horniness and sensitivity beyond a normal man’s.
----
When Steve initially thawed out from the ice, he felt the thrum of his blood through his veins, the joy of being alive, and doctors pulled him aside to explain, quietly, a few facts about the serum about which he was unaware at the time. Words flowed out of one doctor’s mouth well above the ability for a man from the 1940’s to know, and more importantly, well beyond a man in his 90’s to grasp - he would jokingly tell them, a small shred of worry hidden beneath the quiet joy of renewed life.
“Captain Rogers, the serum was a blessing to you. You are alive as a result of the serum, but there’s more,” the scientist continued, to which Steve cocked his head and arched an eyebrow, “we noticed an above average nerve sensitivity, uh,” the doctor paused to clean his glasses, “heightened testosterone.”
Still confused, Steve asked, “I, uh, don’t understand, Sir.”
“In essence, your reflexes, your strength, your increased musculature, it all comes with heightened physical responses. Your fingertips are more sensitive, all of your nerve endings have heightened responses. This will help.”
Steve was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
----
“On your right, Steve,” Peter touched the small of his back, passing by him in the kitchen. And the soldier felt an electric thrill run up his spine. The past few days, he felt in a daze. Electric. On edge. The boy didn’t help, but Steve couldn’t entirely tell why, but he would touch him. Would pass by in the gym and touch his shoulder, and a little thrill. He would swim for a half hour, the light, toned muscles of a teen boy, and then accidentally spray a little water from the pool while shaking it off of him.
He would smile, look up at Steve with his big brown eyes, and smile a shy smile while saying, “whoops, sorry Cap,” and then bounce out of the room, leaving Steve’s eyes glued to his ass or back.
Steve couldn’t escape his thoughts about him, even in his regular routine. On his nighttime run, he would still be consumed with the boy, every little touch, the casual indifference, the ways Peter ignored him on his way to the kitchen, or the ways the boy asked him simple questions.
Peter would lean close, Peter would compliment Steve’s workout, would wear tighter shirts, shorter shorts, a little stud, asking him about dates, asking him how he was doing, and Steve didn’t know what to do, but escape, and daydream about the stud while he jerked off furiously.
----
Steve walked by Peter's room, the door ajar, while he was on his way to the gym. There was nothing out of the ordinary with a slightly open door. But something hung heavy in the air, a foreboding sense that fogged over Steve's senses when he heard, faintly, deep in the Avengers Complex apartment, a small moan of "Steve."
Slowly, so slowly, Steve nudged the door. The apartment wasn't fully visible from his vantage point, but he could hear better. Sighs and moans, and the familiar, distant sound of flesh slapping against flesh. He knew he shouldn’t go in, but his curiosity would not be satisfied until he checked on Peter. He knew what Peter was doing, but the power of lying to himself was quite strong. “Maybe Peter needs my help,” Steve told himself.
Steve told himself he had no clue what that meant as he ventured into the boy's space. Whatever it was, Peter was 16. It was obvious, but Steve lied to himself in a familiar way: "boys don't do that when I came from." Of course, Steve did. Bucky did. Every kid in Brooklyn did. Girls. Boys. Neither. Both.
No Steve's curiosity wouldn't be sated until he saw with his own eyes, he told himself. Softly, he moved into the place, turning to close the door behind him - he wasn't sure why he closed the door, but it felt right. Best not have someone else with heightened senses slip into Peter's apartment. When the door clicked, as silently as he could click it, Steve didn’t entirely reflect on what that would mean, he closed his own door to escape.
Padding through, a few silent steps at a time, Steve rounded the corner and he could see Peter sitting on the couch, eyes closed, both hands wrapped around his fat cock. It was beyond big. Fuck, the kid could wrap both hands around that cock and there’d be a few inches on either side.
He tried to look away, to look at Peter's face, and his eyes scanned over a toned body. He’d seen it before, of course, swimming laps, but this context was all new - he was flushed, his eyes were closed, his chest was heaving a little from the strokes. Steve couldn’t look away, and Peter’s eyes were shut, so he just moved a little closer.
And that cock. The drip of pre that leaked out the head, the way Peter’s balls hung low and heavy, bouncing every time he thrust up or brought both his hands down.
Steve looked at the kid, that thick meat, the toned body, and remembered vividly being weak, small. The serum may have changed him, and he was not a small guy in the cock department now. But he just felt himself shrink next to the teenager, a boy of sixteen, next to a 36 year-old. The twenty year gap meant nothing. Steve approached slowly, no thoughts beyond Peter and the deliciousness of his fat cock.
Step by step, stroke by stroke, Steve felt his heart stop when he heard the words, “Well, Cap, why don’t you get down on your knees?” Commanding, authoritative, Steve never heard the boy speak to him with so much verve and clarity, and without a second thought, Steve did exactly as asked. Exactly as told. Peter issued an order, the sentence might end with a question mark, but there was certainty in it that Steve could not help but obey. He looked up at the boy, awed at the shadow over his face with that dick stretching from Peter’s crotch, intimidating and powerful.
Peter looked down at the man on his knees, and saw in his blue eyes an eagerness and a question: What would Peter tell him to do next?
“Get to work, Cap.”
A little note of hesitation entered the blue eyes, but he was already on his knees in front of a teenager, he was fucked, so why not just push past in and get fucked?
Slowly leaning in, Steve extended his tongue to the mushroom head cock, hoping to catch a small drop of pre that had just leaked out. How could he be so weak, on his knees about to service a teenager, his own jeans far too tight from how thrilling he found it! This was wrong, but the instant he could taste Peter on his tongue, it would be so wrong and so hot. Just that one taste, and Steve wanted more. Ever since the serum, he was the dominant partner. The man with a plan. Captain Steve Rogers.
But here, his lips wrapped around a teenager's cock, he gave in to the boy. When Peter gently threaded his fingers in the hero's hair, Steve leaned into the touch. When Peter sighed and said, “that's it, baby, let's see how much you can take of me” while gently guiding him down the shaft, Steve chose to cede control to the teen. When Steve felt the dick in the back of his throat, his breathing stunted, Steve worried, but trusted in Peter enough to keep pushing that cock into his throat.
It weighed so much on his tongue, and Steve realized he wouldn't breathe unless he adjusted a little, shifted his head slightly, the temptation to gag really strong, but he wouldn't let himself, as he found a way to breathe through his nose.
Steve was a soldier, he would soldier through the discomfort because Peter wanted to test how far it would go. And Peter was happy with his work. Leaning his hips back, he experimentally canted them forward and, noting how well Steve took it, whispered “OK slut, I'm so impressed with you. I'm going to start thrusting, and if you're a good boy, maybe we can move on from just blowjobs.”
Steve nodded. Or tried to. He hoped the blue eyes looking up at his stud were enough to convey his excitement. A dream come true, the little stud fucking his throat!
Drool, snot, precum, it all dribbled out of his mouth as Peter slowly began to fuck the living legend's throat. He was hard to keep up with, so Steve decided to just go with instinct. No overthinking. Let this happen. Feel the way his own cock was confined in his pants. The way the mix of drool and pre dripped down his chin into his shirt, making this experience so fucking hot. Maybe he would smell like Peter, and that idea kicked off another pang of lust and made him leak even more into his pants.
Minutes went by, in and out of his throat, and Steve persisted. Teary eyes up at Peter, his striking blue focused on Peter's face exerting itself, the brown eyes opening to look at his prize, the way he would sigh or moan or say “baby, you're doing so good for me” while canting his hips in a dirty grind. And the balls slapping lightly against his chin.
“Aw slut, you’re getting your shirt dirty! Do you get off being a messy toy for me? Does it turn you on feeling your shirt get dirtier and dirtier?” Steve progressively hummed and sucked more intensely as Peter spoke to him, especially with every utterance of “good boy,” or the intimate little gesture of Peter rubbing his hands softly through the older man’s hair.
Peter’s balls tightened slightly, and he pulled back despite Steve trying to chase after the boy’s cock, “Slut, I’m not wasting my first load in you on your mouth. I’ll feed you later, but I want to tear into my slut’s fat ass first.”
His eyes must’ve shot full of fear, he’s never been fucked before. But a part of him fantasized about Peter’s lighter, gymnast body pounding into all the meat, all the muscle, that Steve had, and he couldn’t lie to himself: it was fucking hot. He moaned as Peter pulled his thick cock out of his mouth, picturing that cock splitting him open.
Looking down, he could see the mix of pre and drool stains and sticks his shirt to his chest. He could tell his hair was messy. He could feel a growing spot in his underwear from how hard and how much he leaked into his jeans.
Peter leaned back in his seat, looked down at Steve, trying to appraise the man like he was a shirt or a book he might buy.
Standing up, a casual indifference in his face, he gestured for the hero on his knees to stand. “You know, Cap, I’ve watched you in the shower too. But I need to look closer, because I might decide to keep you after this.” Steve felt a little pang of panic and lust in equal measure, but nodded. What if the kid decided he didn't measure up?! He was in so deep already, spent minutes relishing the heavy cock deep in his throat, he couldn’t pull back now. But he could pull off his clothes. Fuck it.
Stripping the tight shirt took some effort, and at some point, Steve tore it down the centre and Peter gasped. Steve was here, and fuck it, he was going to make the most of his time.
Pulling down his jeans, left Steve in a too-tight jock straining against his hung cock - hung in comparison to normal people, but inches shy of the teenager in front of him. He knew he must look the part of a slut, but the boy licked his lips, an appraising look in his eyes as his brown eyes scanned the older man. Looking at his chest, his abs, his brawny arms. Circling around him, Steve puffed out his chest with a look of pride, but a gnawing worry sat in the pit of his stomach, hoping he was good enough for Peter.
Steve felt worried inherited from his life pre-serum. He was huge. He was hot. But, was he? Would he even be good enough for the little stud who was looking at him like property.
It was wild! Steve may have been taller, more muscular, older, but in his mind Peter towered over him.
Feeling a hand drift lightly over his skin, Steve felt goosebumps of excitement drift alongside the fingers. Steve couldn’t contain his excitement, a slut standing in a jock, waiting for this teen to make a choice for him. He was twenty years Peter’s senior, but he couldn’t imagine doing more than waiting on a single head tilt from Peter.
“Mm, Cap, this might be your best feature,” he intoned quietly, almost a whisper, with a swift backhanded spank to his ass. “Fuuuuuck, dude, it fucking bounces too,” he said with another quick spank to the other cheek. Steve barely contained the shudder than ran up his spine, he was so excited, leaking into the jock.
He was being appraised like a stallion, and fucking loved every second, from Peter’s eyes on his skin, from the way he touched and groped at him. Coming back round to the front, Steve saw Peter’s brown pupils dilated, his own excitement palpable in the air.
Reaching up to Steve’s chin, Peter just pulled the war hero down a half foot, connecting their lips to one another, hunger coursing through the kiss. Peter loved their first kiss. Steve was perfect. Never leading, but hunger evident and coursing through the touch. Peter kept one hand on his head, guiding the man. The other hand drifted over his pecs, cupping one in the way that Steve had felt a woman’s tits.
Pulling into Steve’s jock, Peter pulled out his dick and stroked them both together, Peter’s fat cock at least 2.5 inches longer and a full 1.5 inches thicker than the older man. At least. Steve felt nothing but joy.
As Peter pulled back, Steve wanted to charge forward and continue to make out with him, but Steve knew better than to push forward. Peter wanted his slut his way, and Steve would have to accept it.
Nodding to the couch, Peter softly said, “on your back, hold your legs up at the knees, I'm going to get you ready.” Steve got into position so quickly on the couch cushion where Peter sat previously. He'd thought about this for weeks. Every run, walk, time at the gym consumed with how Peter would use him.
And Peter descended upon his ass like a meal. He was ravenous looking down at Cap. The way his tits were bunched up, his huge thighs and ass, Peter had a meal laid in front of him, in a tight little jock too. Depending how well Steve did, he'd buy him a Spider-Man jock or two so even during missions, Steve would belong to Peter hidden under the Captain America uniform.
When Peter dove in, tongue lapping at his hole, he vaguely remembered those scientists telling him something about sensitivity.
The boy had no patience. That measured control when they were kissing, it was gone when he started rimming the older man. Steve had never heard these noises coming from his own mouth, moaning, begging, praising the teen who was just eating him out. He knew this was just a prelude, but Steve's nerves were electric.
Peter treated him like a meal he wanted eaten quickly and fully, licking the plate clean. Steve felt used. Used. That wasn't a good word, but it was a word Steve would come to appreciate.
Used. Because Peter needed to use him. Needed him. Fuck. His own cock was throbbing, and Steve wanted nothing more than to reach over and grab it, but the boy told him to hold his knees and that's what he committed to doing. He wanted nothing more than for Peter to let him come back again.
What this kid did to him was so unprecedented, he was wracked with pleasure. The joy, the undeniable shiver running up his spine, felt like he was submerged in warm water. Overtaken by feelings of pleasure. Could Steve really give this kid up if he felt an electric current running through his entire body?
When Peter pulled back, Steve had to will himself from cumming, the kid's mouth felt so good. He’d never felt so fucking good just with a tongue at his hole.
Obediently, Steve looked up at Peter, arms still hooked to his legs. He was never going to disobey, that soldier discipline, if Peter could make him feel so good.
The brown eyes met his blue, and Peter almost seemed to dare Steve to beg.
A dare.
And Cap met the dare head on. He looked Peter head on, his blue eyes feigning bravery, but deep, so deep in the back, Peter caught a look of weakness, of giving in, of letting Peter take over. Maybe Steve was laying the bravado on a little too thick, but that didn’t matter, both the boy and the man knew Peter was gonna fuck Steve, and Steve knew he was going to love it.
He nodded. When Peter brought his massive cock to the spit-lubed hole, teasing him on the rim, Steve looked up with apprehension and excitement in equal parts. He’d only tried toying with his hole, occasionally fucking his fist and using a finger, but now he wanted it to hurt. He wanted to feel Peter. He wanted to remember that the boy was going to use him, because Steve knew from then on, he would be Peter’s.
Spitting once down at the hole, Peter gradually pushed his way in. And fuck Steve was tight.
Peter didn't even have patience, just kept pushing in, rushing that thick cock to brush along Steve's prostate, but it just took a long time for the teen stud to go the hilt. Pushing in, Peter was riveted by the tightness, and Steve's look of shocked joy. And the noises he was making, how would the boy give those up? Steve moaned beautifully.
Steve understood what the scientist meant by heightened nerve response. That fat cock brushed along his prostate and Steve knew his old self would never be the same. Peter began to rock out, canting his hips back, and Steve couldn't help the sounds, the begging, the abortive sentences that start as praise and end as moans.
In and out, the teenager didn't even give a fuck, pistoning in and out. Steve couldn't follow the rhythm, let alone steer it. All he could do was hope he could hold his knees to Peter's satisfaction. He would do anything for Peter's satisfaction, because fuck the boy was so good at this.
Grabbing Steve's hands, the little stud moved them off his knees, and placed one leg over his shoulder, the other on the side of the couch.
“Hey Cap, why don't you touch the body that's making you feel this good?”
Arrogant little stud, but Steve was so happy. Peter was perfect to him, lean muscles and a beautiful face, both cherubic and selfish. God, what a stud! As Peter still thrust in and out and in and out, Steve felt the teen boy's body. Awe. Joy. Moaning.
How did Steve wait so long? He should've sucked Peter's cock in the showers, he should've let the boy fuck him then and there. He never wanted to let go. Here he was leaking like a little girl, a helpless slut, and Steve never wanted to stop.
Leaning forward, arms braced by Steve's head, the stud continued the slap slap slap slap slap of his punishing rhythm, and studying the war hero's face, the ways he looked shocked, awed, happy, Peter leaned in again to claim that mouth.
Never once leading, Peter was so pleased with Steve. No illusions that the older man set the rhythm. No, Peter might not be old enough to drive, but he was steering everything.
“I knew I wanted you the instant you stared at me in the shower. You're beautiful, you know that? And I needed to have you!” Steve moaned. Peter knew?! “I just knew I needed to, fuck, needed to own you.”
Threading his fingers through Steve's hair, he pulled his head back, while the older hero obediently let him. Sucking a bruise into his neck, Peter continued, “I just needed you. This. Beautiful. Fat. Ass,” punctuating each word with a thrust, “would be a waste not to use it.”
Somehow, Peter still made jokes, still mocked, pushing Steve to his knees, forcing the slut to arch his back, guiding Steve to the side so that thick cock plunging deep into Steve’s fat ass. Peter was lying, back to the couch, and practically hidden from view if someone looked directly at the couch, except from the raw, intense thrusts and the arm draped over Steve’s torso, gripping and toying with Steve’s nipples.
Turning Steve’s face to him, if only to further assert his ownership of the older man.
“Steve, you’re gonna ride me.” Steve nodded. No question in his mind. He stood up, letting Peter get comfortable, no thoughts but how best to please the little stud, how to ride him, he looked forward to rolling his hips, showing off for Peter how well he would perform for the boy. He was a soldier, martial, and disciplined, even in seeking his own slutty pleasure. Straddling the boy, he got to work - all while Peter leaned back, arms behind his head, with a cocky smirk.
“Steve, your tits are so hot, I love seeing my slut bounce in my lap like a good, obedient toy.” Steve nodded, arms to Peter’s shoulders. Peter was right, he was Peter’s toy. Peter’s obedient toy. Nothing had ever hurt so good, stretched out around Peter’s cock, the whole thing dragging intensely against his prostate. He would obey because Peter said so.
“Promise me you’ll keep working them, bitch,” Peter was slapping, grabbing, and kneading both of them, “I just know you’d cum just from seeing these my dick fucking between your tits.” An especially dirty grind and Steve was babbling, begging, promising he’d keep his tits worked out, a steady rhythm of words and bouncing and toying with the plump chest.
Steve was reduced to motion, moaning, knocking himself out of rhythm from how fucking good it feels. The waves of pleasure crashing, crashing, and then that feeling was cresting. He could feel the buildup. Peter could feel it too.
Peter’s balls tightened, and Steve in concert, but Steve would force himself to not cum until the boy had not fully enjoyed his super-soldier ass. Peter couldn’t stop himself anymore, his slut was so fucking hot, so needy, and Peter just felt the waves of joy cresting gradually, building and building in tension until, “Fuuuucckkkk” the boy called out, many, many shots at Peter rolled his hips. Shot after shot, rolling his hips like that ass was his, Peter buried his load deep in the older man, all while Steve’s eyes rolled back, his own load dripped through the jock, his breathing labored. His muscles twitched. He wasn’t even touching himself.
Steve looked down at Peter, breath completely uneven. The boy was beautiful. The messy locks, his own breath coming in heavy, and the lean muscle that had bent Steve into all those delicious positions. Peter's cock slipped out, and Steve could feel the thick, delicious teen load drip down his thigh. Such a fucking waste, he should have tried to keep it in him. But there was so much, and Peter could probably breed a few more loads into him before the hour was up.
Making eye contact with the boy, Steve dragged a hand up the back of his thigh, collecting, fuck, so much cum and bringing it to his mouth to taste. It defied logic how much Peter had fucked into him. And it would be a waste to not eat it. To have it stay in him.
And that taste. That salty, sweet taste. That would stay with him for a while.
Peter swore he saw Steve’s pupils dilate the instant he tasted a single drop of his cum.
---
Steve had no objections when Peter effortlessly picked him up and brought him to the top of a nearby rooftop to fuck him in uniform. The boy was insatiable and Steve had cum so hard through his jock while the boy fucked another load into him. The Spider-Man themed jock Peter bought him as a joke, he wore it as a badge of honour. He was on his knees while Peter removed the helmet, threaded his fingers in Steve's hair, and fucked into his older slut like a jackhammer, pulling the older man upright, back to chest.
All Steve did was work out, fight bad guys and christen every room in the Avengers Complex with Peter and his cum.
The shame he felt about Peter's age was bright hot, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. Something about this cherubic teenager with that fat cock stretching him open, a boy twenty years younger than him reducing him to moaning pile of muscles, it was impressive.
It didn't make sense, Steve was a formidable, hot, handsome man. Blond, beautiful, but he couldn't quit Peter. He didn't want to. He wanted the boy, hot red shame too, up against the shower wall in the gym complex while the small teenager held him on his cock with no effort. So much stronger than Steve ever could be.
When Peter sighed and whispered “you're such a beautiful toy for me to play with,” Steve blushed at the compliment. In this moment, he was a toy Peter bounced on his cock, and Steve beemed with pride at the notion that he was a beautiful toy for the teenager.
---
After 4 weeks, Steve felt earnest sadness that his apartment was ready for his return. The Avengers Complex was fine, but he worried he couldn't return to regular life. Peter had so completely taken over every corner of his thoughts. His time at the gym was devoted to making his tits bigger for the boy to grip, to making his ass even thicker so the teen could spank him while he rode him, to making his thighs stronger when he bounced in his lap.
And the boy was insatiable. All those teenage hormones and superpowers buzzing, his balls just full to the brim and overflowing with charisma and teen boy cum. Well, that is when Steve didn’t drain them all over and inside of him. He’d had sex, sure, but the kid could just fuck him into a new state of consciousness.
Steve was consumed with being not just a slut, but Peter's slut. And he couldn't see an upside to moving home, away from Peter.
In a simple bomber jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt, Steve made his way up the stairs to his unit. Unlocking the door, Steve nudged it open and dropped his bag. The hairs on the back of his head stood up when Steve heard the words, “Slut, I was bored without you. Get in the living room and lose the clothes.”
Beaming, Steve rushed in, his tits bouncing heavily, and immediately getting to his knees in front of his boy, smiling, in awe, when he saw all of Peter’s bags were just in his eyeline in the bedroom. And the boy spat into his hand, stroking his huge cock, a cocky swagger when he pointed to the floor in front of him as Steve eagerly got to his knees. “Give me your credit card, I’m ordering in takeout, and push those fat titties together for me, slut, I’m gonna fuck my cock between them.”