Work Text:
Steve stood in the hall of his apartment, examining the smooth lines of the elevator door. His finger approached the call button, retreated, and approached it again.
He checked his watch. 1858 hours.
He turned back uncertainly, wondering again if he should bring something. Flowers were laughably inappropriate, and any wine he could choose was bound to be far inferior to whatever Tony Stark kept on hand. And anyway, this wasn’t a date.
Probably.
Steve wasn’t entirely sure what it was, and therein lay the problem.
“Come up at seven,” the message read. “We should talk.”
Then, five minutes later: “Sorry, that was ominous. What I mean is we should fuck.”
Two minutes after that, a third and final message had arrived. “No, sorry, I think I was right the first time. We should talk. And then fuck. If you want.”
Steve had composed several answers, but every attempt felt wrong, and in the end he hadn’t replied at all.
Because he did want. God did he want. He hadn’t realized he had this kind of wanting in him, until it had all poured out at Tony’s challenging touch.
He’d fantasized, of course. Idle notions of barely understood biology at first, laughably imprecise and even more laughably impossible for the scrawny boy he’d been. And later, after, startlingly clear and raw and fierce.
Later still, when he had time to wonder, he thought back on the “everything” that had been inside him, before, and wondered if all this had really always been there or not. Good becomes better, bad becomes worse. He had always assumed he knew which one this was.
But whatever the origins, fantasies remained just that, tucked away in some corner of his mind that he rarely visited, and never considered making real until Tony asked and teased and wanted . And Steve had given in and let himself not merely want, but take, and he couldn’t find it in himself to regret an instant of it.
None of which gave him the slightest idea what the protocols were for this.
People always laughed at him when he asked how things are done these days; they told him there aren't any rules for such and such, that people work things out the way they want to. But it wasn't true, because they also laughed at him when he got it wrong—too formal or too direct or too cautious. There were rules, whether anybody could see them properly or not. But knowing that much, it turned out, wasn’t any help at all.
So he was empty handed and maybe underdressed and sporting an ill-concealed erection that had barely flagged since he’d received that second text hours ago. Emily Post would certainly not have approved.
He checked his watch again. 1901 hours. He pressed the call button, and the elevator door opened almost instantly. He stepped in. “Penthouse, please.”
“Yes, sir,” JARVIS answered, and Steve felt the elevator accelerate, coming to a smooth stop seconds later and opening into Tony’s hall.
He stepped out through the door and into the living room, expecting to find Tony at his bar mixing a drink, or on his sofa, immersed in some design spec or other on his tablet. But the room was empty.
He eyed the door to Tony’s private suite of rooms and considered trying it. Tony might have lost track of time. Or he might be waiting there, for him. Steve suddenly imagined that, Tony naked and ready and waiting for him to just walk in and grab him, hold him down, and then— Fuck. This was definitely no way to behave as a guest, whatever the year. His hand went to his groin, making sure that his erection remained tucked up behind his waistband, where, he hoped, it was adequately obscured by the fall of his untucked shirt.
It was just Steve’s luck that that was the moment Tony chose to step out from another doorway, catching Steve with his hand under his shirt and obviously pressed against his own cock.
Tony’s eyes fixed on him. “Fuck, Steve,” he murmured, “you are going to kill me.”
Steve snatched his hand away, shoving both his arms behind his back and ducking his head. “I’m sorry. That was— I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s just that I hope to hell we’re not counting on my self control here, because— I mean, look at you.”
Steve looked up, already flushed with embarrassment, and felt his skin darken further still when he took in the frank appreciation and fierce desire all over Tony’s face.
“You said that we should… talk.”
“Yes, right, I did. And we should.” Tony’s eyes remained fixed on Steve. “So… talking.” He glanced over his shoulder and back at Steve, and hesitated, as if poised on the cusp of a decision.
Steve tried to rip his gaze away from Tony’s face, to say something to begin whatever conversation they were meant to have. He succeeded in glancing down, only to fix on the bulge in Tony’s jeans and absently bite his lip as he wondered what Tony’s cock would look like when he got it free.
When Steve hastily brought his attention back up to Tony’s face he found that desire had entirely replaced hesitation.
“Don’t break me,” Tony instructed evenly as he sauntered—sauntered was really the only word for it—across the room to Steve and placed one palm on his bicep. Steve’s skin felt hot where Tony touched him, and come to think of it everywhere else too.
"Don't make me pass out,” Tony continued, “and make sure I always have some way to tell you to stop if I need to.”
Steve nodded vigorously and otherwise kept his body as still as he could manage, afraid that if he moved even a little he would have Tony on the floor under him before Tony even finished talking.
“I’ve been tested—no STDs, and I’m pretty sure you’re biologically incapable of getting anything anyway. But I’ve got condoms if you want.”
Steve shook his head. The idea of fucking Tony bare was impossibly erotic, and according to his doctors, he didn’t have anything to worry about.
Tony’s hand traced a line down Steve's arm to his wrist. “Use lube when you fuck me."
Steve trembled with the effort of stillness, his whole body coiled and tight.
Tony’s hand moved to Steve’s hip and up and under his shirt to run a finger over Steve’s erection where it peaked up over his waistband. Steve’s discipline cracked and he bucked and let out a gasp which turned rapidly to a moan.
“Enough talking?” Tony asked, his voice low and dangerous and sultry and containing in it a world of invitation.
Steve tried to find it in himself to be sensible, to stop and have a reasonable conversation about limits and safety and why the hell this was something Tony wanted anyway. But when he opened his mouth what came out was “yes. God yes.”
Tony didn’t answer—just stared at him, one hand still stroking the head of Steve’s cock, derailing Steve’s thought process with every slide of his thumb. Steve was vaguely aware that he ought to say or do something, but he couldn’t wrench his thoughts from their single-minded focus on the glide of Tony’s fingers over the sensitive skin of his cock.
Tony leaned in, and at first Steve thought it was for a kiss, but Tony bypassed his lips in favor of whispering into his ear. "I'm taking my offer off the table if you don't have me bent over something in the next forty-five seconds."
The words raged through Steve’s blood, amplifying and echoing his want until nothing in the world felt more important than touching, grabbing, taking Tony Stark.
He reached for Tony's arm and Tony dodged out of the way, but it was an easy thing to grab his other wrist and force him around, drawing his arm across his body and pinning both his arms to one hip.
Steve thrust once, enjoying the rub of Tony's ass against his prick, and the quiver that ran through Tony's body. He reached around with his free hand to open the fly of Tony's trousers and wrap his fist around Tony's cock. "And if I don't want to bend you over something? If I want to take you right here, like this?" He pumped Tony's cock a couple of times and Tony cursed.
"Fuck, yes. Also acceptable. Please."
Tony’s cock was hot in his hand, long and just thick enough to fit nicely in his grip as he stroked up and down. Tony gasped and whined in his arms, trying to thrust but mostly unable to do so with Steve’s other hand gripping him tight. Tony’s need, his obvious want, all within Steve’s arms and under his control, blazed deep into his belly like cheap whiskey, intoxicating him like alcohol never had.
He stilled his hand. “Beg for it.” The low growl almost seemed to be someone else’s voice.
Tony shuddered and his head fell back against Steve’s chest, exposing the smooth lines of his neck, which still wore bruises that Steve’s fingers had left there. “Please. Please, Steve, I need it. I need you to take me. Want to feel your cock so deep in me.”
The words went straight to Steve’s dick and he thrust against Tony’s ass again. But he didn’t move his hand or shift Tony in his grasp. “Like you mean it,” he hissed into Tony’s ear.
Tony whined and pressed back against Steve. Steve just held him tighter and enjoyed the way Tony’s muscles strained helplessly against him. “Jesus, Steve. Fuck me. Take me. Hurt me. Use me.”
Steve didn’t even think. He shoved Tony around and down face first against the dining table and yanked his pants down to his thighs. He ran one hand over Tony’s pale ass before pulling his arm back and bringing his open hand down hard. Tony gasped and squirmed, and Steve watched with appreciation as the spot flushed red against the white of Tony’s skin.
“That—“ Tony gasped out, “that all you got?”
Steve groaned and struck him again, twice, three times, watching Tony writhe and moan like he was going to come just from Steve’s hand on his ass. “Hell, Tony, the way you love it—” Steve smacked him again and Tony babbled his agreement. “You want it to hurt when I take you?”
The noise that Tony made at that was glorious, and he struggled under Steve’s grip, trying to push his pants down and off. Steve obliged him, tearing them off one leg so that he could force Tony’s legs apart and spread his ass open, ready to press a finger into his opening and see just how tight he was.
Before he could do it, Steve noticed a small pop of color and realized, with a rush of heat, that Tony had something inside himself already.
"What—?"
"A plug," Tony gasped out. "So you wouldn't have to— so I'd be ready for you."
“Fuck,” Steve swore under his breath. He grasped the protruding end of the thing and pulled a little—not hard enough to draw it out but apparently enough for Tony to feel it, because suddenly his hips were thrusting back against Steve, his fingers scrambling for purchase at the other end of the table.
"Oh yeah. Please, yes, more. Please.”
Steve pulled it out further and shoved it in again. He noticed a wet sheen on the thing and remembered what Tony had said. “Lube? Like vaseline?”
Tony gasped out what Steve suspected was a laugh. “Shit, no. Pocket,” he managed, and gasped as Steve shoved the plug into him again. “My pants pocket, left side.”
Steve reached down and fished around in the pocket to find a little bottle. He opened it and poured a little of the contents into his hand. The liquid was incredibly slick, like molten silk. He pulled out his own cock and fisted it, the sensation smooth and tight and better than any lotion. He stroked himself a couple of times and let out a little moan of pleasure.
Tony coughed pointedly, and Steve looked over at him, his ass still in the air and chest lying awkwardly on the table. “Glad you’re enjoying the lube, but maybe enjoy it somewhere else?”
Steve gave him a wet smack on his ass, barely holding his strength back at all this time, and Tony gasped, the sound of pain eclipsing pleasure, and for an instant Steve feared it had been too much. But Tony sucked in another breath and spit out “more like it,” and Steve groaned and hit him again.
Tony’s whines were almost more than Steve could stand, and he realized that if he didn’t move things along he was going to come all over Tony without even entering him. And suddenly in his mind’s eye he could see the image of Tony’s ass, red from his hand and covered with streaks of Steve’s come. He moaned softly at the idea.
Yeah, he definitely had to move this along.
He grabbed the plug and pulled it out. Tony gasped as it left him, and Steve spared it a glance—it wasn’t small, but it was a lot smaller than Steve. Good. He wanted Tony to feel this.
He took Tony by one hip and lined his cock up against Tony’s ass. As soon as Tony felt the head of Steve’s cock against him he started to struggle, bucking backwards. Steve moved his hands to grip Tony’s hips on both sides, and in one sharp motion pushed all the way in.
Tony was tight around him, hot and slick and so good that Steve barely registered the delicious sounds of pleasure and pain mixed together in Tony’s voice. Steve pulled back and thrust, lifting Tony’s hips until the angle was just right. He felt Tony struggle, and realized that his feet couldn’t find the ground from this angle, his weight all on his chest on the table and in Steve’s firm grip.
Steve didn’t care, lost in that perfect sensation, fucking Tony fast now, and hard. He was so close and every cry and moan from Tony’s throat brought him closer to the edge. Steve felt every thrust in his balls, in his core, deep in his belly and up and down along every nerve. He gripped Tony’s hips harder and Tony shuddered and Steve pumped once, twice more, and then he was throbbing, shuddering, spilling into Tony.
“Holy hell, Tony.” Steve slumped over him on the table, more satisfied than he could recall ever being, and still shivering through his aftershocks.
Tony lay still underneath him for a moment, but finally let out a little whine and tried to move an arm out from under their bodies. “Please, Steve, I need to—“
Steve made no move to release him, or even to pull out. Tony’s tight heat around his soft cock was incredibly intense, almost painfully so, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. “What do you need?”
“Just a hand, please. I’m so close.” Tony sounded wrecked, desperate in a way that cut straight to Steve’s baser instincts.
Steve brought one hand up to circle around Tony’s throat and leaned in close to Tony’s ear. “I’m not done with you yet,” he growled.
Tony let out a wordless whine, plaintive and questioning.
“Peak of human perfection, remember?”
Tony’s groan as he caught on was a thing of beauty, and Steve could already feel himself hardening again. “Jesus Christ, Steve. You’re like a wet dream.”
“This is your wet dream? Being thrown around like a rag doll, used any way I want to use you?” Steve reached around and between Tony’s legs to grasp his balls and give a gentle tug.
Tony gasped and squirmed and whined.
“Answer me.”
“Yes. Yesyesyes. Any way you want.”
“What if I want to pull out, paint you with my come?”
Tony moaned in answer. Steve could feel the vibration in his dick, which was harder now, almost hard enough to start fucking him again.
“Maybe shove that plug back in, make you walk around covered in my spunk inside and out. Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, walking around with some soldier’s come all over you. Think people could tell?”
“Oh God. Christ, Rogers.”
He barely knew what he was saying, but the words kept tumbling from his lips, as if they came from someplace deep inside him and had been struggling to get out all along. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everyone knowing how filthy you are?”
Tony whined in answer.
“Can you feel me, hard again inside you? Ready to take you again?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh God.”
“Tell me you want it.”
“Thought I already--” Tony gasped as Steve gave a little thrust, “made that obvious.”
Steve’s hand tightened around Tony’s throat. “Tell me or I leave you here to jerk yourself off.”
Tony made a sad little noise, pitched high and needy. “I want it. Need it. Fuck me, please. Need your cock. Need to feel you—” Steve thrust again, “take me.”
Steve obliged, with short sharp thrusts that pounded his hip bones against Tony’s already bruised ass. He could feel the vibration of Tony’s moans under his hand where it curled around Tony’s throat, and it drove him wild.
He thrust faster, caught up in the pleasure of Tony’s body, needing the friction, the rush of release, as if it had been days and not mere minutes since he’d come.
Tony arched against him, babbling wordless pleas to take him, use him, more and faster and harder—even without words Tony’s voice spoke eloquently of his need.
Steve gave him everything, took everything of him, shifted, thrust, shifted again, and suddenly Tony’s pleas became a mantra of tension, one syllable that might have been “yes” repeated over and over. It was the most glorious sound Steve had ever heard. His hips jerked to the rhythm of Tony’s moans until he felt Tony unravel with a pulsing, throbbing drag against Steve’s cock.
Steve gave one more hard thrust and paused inside Tony, feeling his aftershocks ripple through both their bodies. When they finally subsided, he regretfully started to withdraw.
“Don’t,” Tony hissed. “Keep going.”
Steve sucked in a breath. “But you—“
“Don’t care. Please.”
It was impossible, unreasonable, the effect that Tony had on him. The invitation bypassed his higher reasoning and went straight to his hips, which were thrusting again before he could quite process what Tony had offered.
“God Steve, I can feel you everywhere. All over me, and—” he gasped at one particularly sharp stroke, “so deep.”
Steve couldn’t form words to reply, lost in the increasingly harsh friction and hot wet heat of Tony’s body.
“Yes, Steve, fuck. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Tony groaned, and some part of Steve’s mind registered that his voice carried more pain than pleasure. Maybe he should have been horrified, and maybe he even was, a little, but Tony’s encouragements went straight to his dick, and the pained note in his voice curled through Steve’s balls and drew them up tight.
Steve returned his hands to Tony's hips and gripped them hard. Tony let out a noise that was all pain at that, and Steve froze.
"No, don't stop," Tony insisted, and Steve groaned and thrust back in. And then froze again. Had it really been "don't stop?" Or: "No. Don't. Stop."
Half a second after the thought crossed his mind he was out and three feet back. "Tony, are you—?"
“What the— I’m fine.” Tony stood, but slowly, as if it hurt him to move.
“You— you said ‘stop.’”
He turned. “I said ‘don’t stop,’ actually, which is an excellent illustration of why ‘stop’ is a terrible safeword.”
“I— I wasn’t sure.”
"No, hey, definitely the right impulse. I was having fun, but you didn't know that, so stopping: definitely a good call."
"I almost—" He almost hadn't stopped, and found himself too horrified to say so.
"You didn't almost anything. I would have stopped you if I needed to."
Not exactly comforting. The fact that Tony still seemed to think he had the slightest chance against Steve without the suit was generally equal parts amusing and frustrating, but in this context it made him a little sick.
Tony obviously read the skepticism on his face. "Cantaloupe cantaloupe."
Steve barely had a chance to wonder what the hell Tony was talking about before blaring alarms and flashing lights derailed his thought process altogether.
"JARVIS, cancel." The alarms cut off and the lighting returned to normal. "See? ‘Cantaloupe’—way better safeword than ‘stop.’ And just for the record, if I don't cancel it within thirty seconds, JARVIS calls security."
“Oh,” Steve managed. “So... that’s a safeword?”
Tony’s lips quirked, and Steve tried to ignore the suspicion that Tony was entertained by his ignorance. “A safeword is just a word that isn’t likely to come up during sex, so things don’t get confused. If either of us says it, everything stops and we sort things out. I usually go with ‘cantaloupe,’ but we can change that if you want.”
“No, that’s fine. That makes sense. And the bells and whistles?”
"Are for if someone ignores my safeword. Never needed it, but I figure why not have the option?"
"So you... do this a lot?" Of course he did. Why it even occurred to Steve that it could be otherwise he didn't know.
“Less than you might think, but often enough that I’ve got some safeguards in place. For a sub I’m quite the control freak.”
“Sub?”
“Submissive.”
Steve blinked. “Submissive,” he repeated. He tried to think of a word less applicable to Tony Stark and drew a blank.
“You don’t bat an eyelash when I invite you to shove me down and fuck me, but the terminology’s giving you pause. Huh.”
"I just— you're not exactly—"
"Fair. Look, this is probably a much longer conversation, and we probably should have it now. But if I try to explain what it means that I'm submissive while your dick is hanging out and I'm half naked and leaking your come from my ass, I don't think we're going to get very far."
Steve swallowed hard at that and nodded his agreement.
"So, I'm going to get cleaned up and then maybe dinner?"
"That, uh, sounds good. I'll just..." he trailed off, nodding in the direction of a bathroom.
"Knock yourself out.”
Steve cleaned himself up and tucked himself away and returned to the front room in a matter of minutes. His eyes lit on the bottle of lube, sitting on the floor where he’d discarded it. He picked it up and idly popped the cap open and shut a few times before pocketing the bottle. His gaze shifted to the dining table, and he swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on whether he ought to do something to clean it, instead of picturing what they’d just done there.
He hadn’t moved when Tony returned and saw his gaze. “Dinner in the kitchen, maybe.”
Steve shifted to face Tony. “Sure.”
Tony led him down a short hallway to a large, brightly lit kitchen. The design was a bit sterile for Steve’s taste, all stainless steel and polished black stone, but at the moment the room was anything but. Pans, knives, and cutting boards cluttered half the available surfaces.
“You... cook?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I didn’t even know you had a kitchen.”
“Obviously I do.” He examined a pan on the stove and wrinkled his nose. “Well, the linguine’s a lost cause, but the lasagna should be edible,” he opened the oven and took out a pan. “And there’s bread, and salad,” he gestured vaguely at a bowl and basket on the counter. “And wine,” he added, his hands already deftly uncorking a bottle.
Steve still hadn’t moved, his eyes taking in the spread that Tony had, apparently, made.
“Uh, or I could get food brought in, whatever you’re in the mood for.”
“This is just— why did you do all this?”
“Don’t freak out, I’m not getting gooey and romantic.” He shrugged. “Once in a while I feel like cooking, and I figured if I had food ready we’d actually have dinner and talk before screwing like rabbits. Obviously a tactical miscalculation there, but that was the thinking.”
"’No battle plan survives contact with the enemy,’" Steve quoted.
"Right. So, food?" Tony pulled down a couple of plates and handed one to Steve.
Steve served himself and sat on one of the stools along one side of a counter. Eating home cooked food in Tony Stark's messy kitchen felt somehow weirder than having fucked him. But it wasn't, on balance, weird in a bad way.
"So, I think we left off with your eyes popping at 'submissive.'"
Steve nodded.
"It's kind of a catch all term. It’s not all kneeling and 'yes, sir,' 'no, sir.' It just means I like it when you’re in control. As you may have guessed, my particular weakness is for you taking control.” He took a sip of his wine and gestured with the glass. “And by the way don't even think of applying that in other areas. This is strictly bedroom only. Well, bedroom in the metaphorical sense. I'm actually pretty flexible about locations. Obviously."
Steve made a face. “And here I was hoping that fucking you senseless would bring you to heel in the field.”
“I mean, give it a shot, though,” Tony suggested with a leer. “It might take a lot of times, and you probably won’t see results right away, but keep at it.”
Steve chuckled at the joke but marveled at the wheedling tone behind it. As if Steve could conceivably need any ulterior motive for this. As if his fingers weren’t even now itching to tangle themselves in Tony’s hair and force him to his knees at Steve’s feet.
“Yeah,” Tony breathed. “The way you’re looking at me right now? Like you’re thinking of half a dozen filthy ways to use me to get yourself off? I want you to do all of them. Hence, ‘submissive.’”
“But... why would you want that?”
“Pretty sure I already explained that. To say that it turns me on would be a considerable understatement.”
“No, I mean, why would that turn you on?”
Tony shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.” Steve frowned, and Tony relented. “A lot of people have a lot of bullshit theories about why people have the kinks they do.”
“Such as?”
“Psychology crap.” Tony waved his hand. “Insecurities or repressed aggression or what you happened to lay eyes on the first time you got a boner. It’s a total waste of time.” Tony gave him a steady look. “Being submissive, with, for the record, a healthy side of masochism, doesn’t say anything about me except what I like in bed.” His eyes narrowed. “But that wasn’t really your question, was it?”
Steve glanced down.
“You are clearly a dom—dominant—and I’m pretty sure also, and this is a technical term, a sadist.”
Steve swallowed hard.
“Technical term,” Tony repeated. “You like being in control, you like fucking me, and you like hurting me.”
Steve winced.
“Don’t do that. It’s not an insult. Trust me, I could not be happier about your sadistic impulses.”
Steve still couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s pretty messed up.”
Tony scoffed. “Did you like hurting people in fights? During the war?”
Steve couldn’t help but feel stung by the accusation. “No. I just—I do what’s necessary.”
“Exactly. See? Whole different thing. Just keep it in the bedroom. Again, the metaphorical bedroom,” he amended with a leer, before turning serious again. “Your kinks doesn’t say anything about you except that you are basically made to fuck me.”
Steve didn’t know if he was entirely satisfied by Tony’s explanation, but he couldn’t deny that every time Tony said something like that, it set off little fireworks in his brain. However odd it might be, Tony clearly wanted what Steve wanted to do to him, and Steve couldn’t quite care about anything else.
“Speaking of,” Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a little silver ball. “This is for you. Well, for me, really. What it’s for is for you.”
Steve blinked a moment, trying to parse Tony’s wording. “What’s it for?” he finally asked, if for no other reason than that Tony obviously wanted him to.
“It makes noise when I drop it. In lieu of a safeword.”
Steve felt heat pool low in his belly. “And why would you need that?”
“It’s very difficult to tap out or talk when I’m tied and gagged.”
Steve’s cock twitched at that image, and he didn’t even try to resist the urge to press his palm against himself.
“And I’m sure it will be even harder when I’m tied up and I’ve got your cock shoved down my throat.”
Steve sucked in a long breath. “Are we done talking?”
Tony considered. “We could be. But I think I’d rather chat a little longer.” Tony swung off his stool and up onto Steve’s, straddling him and grinding down onto his lap. “Trust me,” he whispered into Steve’s ear, “let me talk for three more minutes, and then let go and have your filthy way with me. It’ll be worth it.”
Steve felt lucky that he didn’t come from that alone. His hands found Tony’s hips and pulled him down hard, rubbing their erections past each other and making them both gasp.
“It doesn’t really matter what I say right now,” Tony continued, his voice rough and low. “The point is to get your blood boiling. To make you wait until you can’t keep your hands off me, until you’re ready to knock me down and shove your cock in me. Because I want you to make me take it. Want you to make it hurt until I can’t take it any longer, and then I want you to make me take it anyway.”
Steve cursed and wondered if there was any chance the three minutes were over. Then again, Tony had only said they’d keep talking that long—he hadn’t said that Steve had to sit still while they did. He checked that Tony still held the little silver ball before moving his hands to Tony’s wrists and pulling them both behind Tony’s back.
Tony hummed his appreciation. “Whatever I say, however I sound, if I don’t drop the ball or use the safeword, you get to do anything you want to me.”
Steve groaned and pressed Tony’s wrists together.
"If you get worried you can ask for a color—I'll tell you red if I don't like what's happening, yellow if it's ok but I don't want you to go any further, and green if I want you to keep going. The hand thing? Very green."
Steve bit his lip and wrapped a thin kitchen towel around Tony's wrists. He heard Tony’s breath catch as he knotted it tight.
“Fuck, Steve. Damn, that is— damn.” Tony leaned in again and spoke against Steve’s ear. “What do you want first?”
Steve reached up and threaded his fingers into Tony’s hair and clenched until Tony gasped a little in pain.
“Your mouth,” Steve told him. “I’m going to come down your throat and then I’m going to take you on the floor.”
“God yes.” Tony arched backwards and thrust himself down against Steve as Steve pulled his head back by the hair, baring his throat.
“I thought you were going to keep talking.”
“Shit, Cap, I was counting on being the one driving you crazy.”
Steve chuckled and slipped a hand under Tony’s shirt to take one nipple between thumb and forefinger and twist.
Tony keened at that. “I want your cock down my throat again. I’m still sore from the last time, it’s going to hurt like a bitch, and I want it. Do it, it must have been three minutes by now.”
“One minute, twenty-four seconds,” JARVIS corrected.
“I did not ask you. Steve, do it.”
Steve apparently did need to be asked twice, but no more than that. He stood, letting Tony fall to floor and catching him only at the last moment before his knees would have smacked hard against the tile. He slid one hand back into position in Tony’s hair and the used the other to draw out his cock. Even that slight touch made his erection leap in his hand.
He didn’t wait, just dragged Tony’s head to his groin and pulled his open mouth over Steve’s cock, not stopping until he felt the incredible tightness of Tony’s throat. He held there and felt Tony swallow around him with careful rhythm and sweet suction that made Steve’s hips buck with need. He pulled back slightly and thrust in again, fucking Tony’s throat with short, satisfying strokes.
Tony’s moans became whines, and his careful rhythm disintegrated into a struggle to pull back. Steve didn’t stop, didn’t even slow. The control of it, the power, feeling Tony—incredible, irrepressible, impossible Tony—struggle under his hand set his nerves alight with vicious joy. He felt the wrongness of it. It twisted through him, and only added to his pleasure.
The struggle lasted only seconds before Steve pulled back, all the way out. He grasped himself and felt waves of delicious heat flow through his body—through and down and out, shooting in hot ropes over Tony’s cheeks and chin and still-open lips. He let his head fall back and listened to Tony’s harsh breaths as the final ripples of pleasure coursed through him.
“Goddamn,” Tony finally managed, and Steve lifted his head and looked down at him. Tony’s eyes were wide and dark, and his tongue darted out to lick Steve’s come off his lips.
Steve felt his cock twitch and groaned. Even he should have a refractory period longer than this, but, shit, Tony Stark on his knees and painted with Steve’s seed… Steve was pretty sure that as long as he lived just the memory of that image would never fail to get him up.
He untangled his hand and brought it around to cup Tony’s face. He ran a thumb over Tony’s lower lip, dipping in and out of the heat of Tony’s mouth, and Tony hummed his approval and sucked at Steve’s skin.
Steve enjoyed that simple sensation for a long moment before pulling his hand away and down to the front of Tony’s shirt. He wrapped his fist in the shirt and used it to jerk Tony forward onto the floor, his legs bent under him and his arms still bound behind his back.
Steve followed him down, his free hand making short work of the fastenings of Tony’s pants. He wrestled them down to Tony’s knees, leaving his bruised ass in the air. The image was gorgeous, and Steve wondered if Tony had a security camera somewhere recording this. He hoped so.
“Fuck, Steve. You are the goddamned energizer bunny.”
Steve had no idea what that meant—something along the lines of screwing like rabbits, he supposed—but he really didn’t feel like stopping for long enough to find out.
“You want me to make it hurt,” Steve hissed.
“Yes. Fuck, please.”
Steve pulled his belt out of its loops and held both ends in one hand. He brought it down across Tony’s bare ass in a sharp motion, without warning, and Tony yelped. Steve did it again, and enjoyed Tony’s choked moan. He set a steady rhythm, listening as Tony’s whispered encouragements turned shriller, more garbled, more strained. Finally the noises streaming from between his lips dissolved completely into little cries of pain that made Steve’s cock jump with every blow.
It shouldn’t feel so good, but Steve couldn’t deny that he was as hard as he’d ever been.
He made himself pause. “Tony?”
Tony only groaned in answer.
“You said— shit, the… color thing?”
“Green,” Tony gasped out. “Greengreengreengreen, please Steve.”
Holy hell. He landed one more blow and dropped the belt, scrambling in his pockets for the lube. He got it open and poured the silky liquid over his fingers (and his pants, and the floor, and fuck if he cared where else).
One finger entered Tony easily, two with a little effort.
“No more prep. Do it, Steve, don’t make me beg.”
Steve was tempted—Tony begging was probably the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, but he was out of patience himself. He slicked his cock and pushed in, watching Tony squirm to press backwards onto his dick in spite of the little gasps of pain that fell from his lips.
Steve slammed in the rest of the way and Tony cried out. Steve ignored it, which is to say that he reveled in it as he plunged into the impossible tightness.
“Fuck, Tony, never felt anything like fucking you. So filthy— you make me crazy.”
Tony just moaned and took it, letting Steve use all his strength to plough into him, taking him every bit as hard as he’d ever, in his wildest dreams, imagined.
He leaned over Tony, pushing him down, fucking him hard against the floor. Tony squirmed against the tile, and Steve realized that he was rubbing his cock against the smooth surface, desperate to get himself off under Steve’s assault.
“No,” Steve breathed, and stopped with his cock buried deep in Tony, pinning him and holding him still. “Gonna see you when you come.” He pulled out altogether, almost immediately regretting the loss of the hot pressure, and easily flipped Tony over onto his back.
Tony made a small, wordless complaint, and tried to lift his hips. His hands, tied behind and now under him, prevented him from lying flat on the floor. He struggled, and Steve realized that he was trying to get his pants off. Steve grabbed them and pulled. He heard a noise of fabric ripping, and was too eager to get Tony naked and spread under him to care.
Steve tossed the ruined pants aside. He reached between Tony’s legs and positioned one hand on each side of his ass, lifting him easily and forcing his legs up and apart. The grip made it easy to pull Tony back onto his cock, and he groaned at the return of that tight heat around him. He held Tony up and started to fuck him again, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head fall back to concentrate on nothing but the exquisitely perfect sensation.
“Fuck, oh holy fuck, Steve, you are—Christ, fuck, goddamn.”
That voice, low and rough and wrecked, was too much. Carried too much. Pleasure and pain and need and smug satisfaction, and— and awe. Steve tipped over the edge and fell, thrusting all the way. He kept Tony up with one hand and reached around desperately to grab at Tony’s cock. Tony bucked up and swore and then his muscles were rippling around Steve, and Steve could swear that he came all over again just at that.
He held them together, joined and sticky, as warm satisfaction flowed through his veins and his breathing slowly returned to an ordinary rhythm. He finally pulled out and laid Tony on his side, almost absently reaching over to untie the towel that held Tony’s hands.
Tony stretched, but made no move to sit up or stand. Instead he reached up and pulled Steve down next to him, and draped himself over Steve’s body. “Yeah, that’s what I call talking.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Good talk.”