Chapter Text
“Only you could come up with such an incentive, Anthony.”
“You know me so well.”
“That I do, darling.”
A smile, a kiss that quickly escalated into the promise of savage lovemaking.
“Is that why you keep me even if I refuse to submit?” Tony teased.
The dark laugher that followed tore a gasp from his throat. The hand wrapping around his neck was gentle, all the power beneath the display of possession carefully reined in, for his sake, and his sake only.
“I don’t keep you, Anthony.” At once, he was filled. It felt so very good to be taken, and cared for. “You keep me.”
There wasn’t much left so say after that.
*
Steve didn’t drink. Back in the days, he used to share a pint of beer with his fellow soldiers, but as drinking with Tony Stark promised to be a very different (and highly embarrassing) experience, he usually declined the offer. Control was key, especially where the inventor was concerned.
Tony, of course, read encouragement into his refusal, and Tony being Tony, he badgered the good Captain with various brands of vodka, whisky, and godly drinks. It followed that Steve was only too happy when enemy robots, courtesy of Doom, invaded the city one Thursday evening. First, he got to sublimate the need to punch Iron Man in a constructive way, and second, a battered Tony was much more interested in passing out than convincing a reluctant teammate to join him in depravity.
Well, reluctant. It was a tad more complicated than that.
Strangely enough, the persistence with which Tony sought him out for a drink didn’t keep them from being friends. When he wasn’t trying to steal what he called his ‘other virginity’ (of course, the inventor thought he knew everything), Tony spent endless days in his workshop tinkering with new and improved defense and attack weaponry for the Avengers. Steve was the first to acknowledge that his Vibranium shield worked better since Tony had gotten his hands on it, and also the first to blush when the engineer hinted at getting his hands on other parts of his improved anatomy. There were still days when Steve hated Tony with all his being, but theses days became few and far behind, as Tony had apparently entered a stable relationship.
Nobody knew who his lover was (Jarvis said he didn't, but that couldn't possibly be true). Tony liked to drive his team nuts, telling Bruce about a black woman, Clint about a dwarf, and Natasha about an alien transgender. As Steve, apparently, was privy to the information if only he agreed to have a drink, he stayed in the dark as well. And in that darkness, he worried… and wondered. Tony being an ass was kind of an assumed feature in his life; he could handle it. Tony with a broken heart, though? He liked to think of the inventor as a friend, and for all his flaws and vices, Tony Stark deserved to be happy and loved.
If not by him, then by someone else. It was all Steve’s fault anyway. He’d gotten over his pining. He really had.
Therefore, he focused on worrying.
“You worry too much,” Tony assured him one night, patting him on the shoulder. It was two in the morning. When did that man sleep? Steve knew better than to ask. “Things are going exactly as planned, you know.”
“You can’t plan emotions,” Steve protested.
The next day found Tony more tactile than usual. More than once, Steve had to step aside to avoid another hug. Getting Tony splattered all across his chest, the double heat of his skin and the arc reactor merging with his own, unnerved him in a way he was too stubborn to consider.
"You think so hard it makes you look grumpy."
Steve turned to get away (he had a meeting to plan, after all), but the other man was faster, and soon a finger was trailing down his cheek, forcing him still. Tony's eyes shone brightly. Mischievous.
Steve gulped. He didn't know what to say and couldn't remember how to talk.
“You're right: emotions can't be planned. But other things can, and are, and I am certainly doing my best in that respect.”
Steve could only stare as Tony left the kitchen, sashaying his hips in a way that was so Tony-esque it couldn't very well be called indecent.
He rapidly shut down that particular train of thought. His and Tony’s relationship was not like that. He couldn’t think of a friend that way, especially if said friend was in a stable relationship, and happy in it. It wasn’t good for his heart, not even his own, serum-enhanced one. He padded to the fridge, brought a jar of milk to his lips and emptied it in a few long mouthfuls.
A laugh wanted out; he swallowed it down and grunted, shutting his eyes and leaning his brow against the wall.
Who was he kidding? All the Avengers assumed he didn’t date because of a fear of promiscuity, and Steve had agreed wholeheartedly, afraid of anyone finding out the truth. It had taken him close to a year to reach the correct conclusion.
He was attracted to Tony Stark. To impossible, annoying, caustic playboy Tony Stark. And now the man was acting as if he shared that interest, although he wasn't already involved with someone.
Steve eyed the bottle of alcohol on the counter, considering. And then what? He grabbed the whisky, unaware of two green eyes surveying his every move.
*
The feeling wasn’t entirely bad, Steve decided, trying not to trip over his own feet on the way up. He had decided to take the stairs, because why the hell not? After forty of them, he reconsidered the wisdom of that decision and pushed the door to that floor. It was Tony’s floor, a helpful voice informed him. Under normal circumstances, the door was locked. Since it wasn’t, Steve didn’t stop to have a debate with his conscience and just went in search of the damn elevator.
He was slightly tipsy, nothing more. Tony would never know. He just had to find... what was it he sought again?
His sharp ears picked up a noise. Protest. Were they being attacked without his knowledge? Suddenly more alert, Steve charged in the corridor, only to stop in his tracks at the next corner.
Tony was on his knees, fists clenched in Loki’s jacket. The god wore a three-piece suit, complete with an emerald green bow matching his eyes. Polished black shoes completed the ensemble, one of which disappeared between Tony’s knees, moving up and down in rhythm with Tony’s gasps.
Steve’s eyes narrowed on the engineer, who was presently rubbing his face against Loki’s clothed stomach.
Tony wasn’t blowing the god as he had first thought (and feared and hoped): he was merely mouthing at his jacket, fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically around the expensive fabric. The hand in his hair, pulling, was Loki’s. The god stared down at the mortal with an intense expression that bordered on mania, but when Steve heard Tony pleading for the privilege to give the god relief, Steve felt every last drop of worry leave him.
Lust flooded him in it stead. He reached for the wall and wondered how he could get so hard when the two men wore still all of their clothes. Shame coursed through his veins, inflaming his sense in one rush of adrenaline. He ordered his body to turn around, his stalking eyes to close, but the pull of sheer sensuality permeating the scene forbid him the quick exit a small part of him still wished for. A part that kept getting smaller and smaller, efficiently crushed by the yearning in his loins.
So Loki was Tony’s secret lover. Steve would expect to feel rage at the treason, or disgust; neither, if they so much as reared their ugly head, could stamp down the heady desire filling his body.
He hadn’t had sex in more than seventy years, and still he had steadfastly refused to watch porn; it was no wonder his libido turned on him now. Enslaved to the sight unraveled in the dimmed light, he had no choice but to watch, and envy the dominant party. He didn’t allow himself to consider how fine-looking the God of Mischief appeared holding Tony in place, giving orders in a purr so lustful it could only be considered sexual.
Oh my god. And Steve was referring to Loki, for once.
Tony had been granted a small liberty: untying Loki’s pants, but not taking them off. After a couple of hard slaps to the face (Steve’s fingers itched to do the very same), Tony was finally granted the permission to suck.
Steve had never seen Tony getting to work so fast; he wrapped his lips around the god’s hard length, taking him all at once, breathing erratically in his enthusiasm.
Instead of slowing him down, Loki snapped his hips forwards, fucking Tony’s mouth with abandon.
"You are doing so good, pet. Go on."
Saliva dripped down Tony’s chin, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Painful noises left his throat, but still he kept on sucking, thighs rubbing against each other in what could only be an attempt at relief. He didn't know if Loki's shiny foot helped, but Tony looked like he was ready to burst. His head bobbed up and down, slow for a while, than faster as Loki cornered him against the wall.
Steve noticed too late that he had tugged down his own pants to stroke himself. He tasted blood in his mouth; the effort to keep silent was excruciating. It felt dirty and wrong, but it didn’t stop his hand. He was dizzy from desire, and maybe from the alcohol as well. He imagined himself in Loki’s place and had to hurt himself not to let out the little noises he felt building up in his chest. God, he wanted. He wanted so much his knees shook from the inner pressure.
He didn't remember his self-control so brittle. He also didn't recall leaking so early in the game.
"Góðr, mjǫk dóðr. Have you had enough yet?” the god crooned. Was Steve imagining things or was the god's breathe catching on that last word?
Loki adjusted his hold in Tony’s hair and pulled hard to free himself. Tony could only whimper as three fingers were shoved in his mouth. Not questioning, not wanting the fantasy to elude him, Steve did the same with his free hand. He felt the need to kneel but found the strength to resist that urge.
He could do that later, in his room. When he thought back to that forbidden moment.
"Hands against the wall, pet.”
“Loki…”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Loki slapped Tony, hard. The engineer licked his lips (they bled slightly), taunting the god with his frustration. Steve thought back to all those times he had punched Tony and marveled at the lost signification of that gesture.
"I am in need of your sweet ass, pet. Do you understand?"
"Y... yes."
A blushing Tony was gorgeous. Steve swallowed hard as Loki magicked Tony’s pants away and pressed one glossy finger against his entrance. He dropped one hand to his balls, fondling them as he kept caressing his length with the other. Tony would be tight, he knew. Even if Loki fucked him senseless many times a week (as he had no doubt he did), Tony would still be tight. The god apparently made sure of it, as he slid a second finger past the ring of muscles and exhaled sharply.
“So tight, my Stark. You will feel me for days to come.”
Steve’s legs were getting increasingly unsteady. He wanted to fuck Tony. He wanted to get fucked by Loki (it didn't matter that he trusted the god only as far as he could throw him, not now). He didn’t give a flying fuck which it was as long as he was invited to partake in the sexual frenzy blossoming not two meters away from him.
For a moment, Steve pretended the precum dropping at his tip was Tony's saliva.
“Please, Loki, please…”
Please. Loki kicked Tony’s shins apart and pierced him in one lascivious thrust. Tony’s brow hit the wall, then Loki’s hand was back in his hair, pushing one cheek against the wall as the god fucked the mortal with the strength only a god, or an enhanced human, could muster. There was no offer coming out of Stark’s mouth, no sarcastic reply this time; the inventor was reduced to pleas and gasps, moans of startling devotion.
"Yes, yes, fuck, Lo... Urg!"
His ass was jutting out, ripe for the taking, and Loki did take it, again and again, pounding in violently enough to bruise. Throaty moans permeated the corridor, loud and louder, until Steve thought he would go deaf with all the blood rushing in his ears.
The need was tearing him apart. Fuck, he had to get laid, tonight, no, screw that, he couldn't wait that long. The group session could be postponed. He saw himself fall from the tree of self-righteousness and hit gleefully every branch on the way down to decadence. He was in to the hilt, literally and figuratively.
He wished.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
Tony was crying, and Steve could tell it was from the pressure of an oncoming orgasm. Loki had his hands on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart, and hadn’t his rhythm gone a bit erratic? He was till wearing all his clothes, and Steve had the sudden, vivid fantasy of tearing with his teeth the bow adorning his delicate neck. Like a fucking, filthy animal in rut. He hadn’t felt like that in… ever. It would have been easier to blame the alcohol.
“Loki, gonna… gonna…”
“Yessssss.” It was an order and a claim, the victorious snarl of a lover.
Steve closed his eyes. It was too much, he was going to come, he couldn’t keep silent, they would hear him and then…
His shoulder hit the wall as his sight went blank. Sperm burst forth and slid down his muscled thighs, warmer as the mouth he wished it was. Pleasure stroked him like a bolt of lighting, and for the shortest moment, he had no concern in the world. He chased after his senses eventually, vaguely conscious that he had just masturbated in front of Tony and Loki having sex.
Two pairs of eyes welcomed him back to the real world.
“It would seem you were right,” the god said, chuckling. “He is not as timid as I expected.”
“Of course he isn’t.”
Steve couldn’t bring his body to move. Tony walked to him, the awkward way he moved drawing Steve to the front of his pants. Stained. A finger on his chin brought his eyes to an amused face.
“You have sperm on the corner of your mouth,” was what came out of his mouth.
Tony’s eyes flashed. “Do you want a taste? Or you may go straight to the source, if you wish.”
Loki’s length was still in plain sight, long and thick and gorgeous. Ready to be licked and sucked and… Steve had blushed a lot in his life, before and after the icing, but that gaze in the god’s eyes was pushing ‘intimidating’ and ‘arousing’ to a whole new level. He might be developing a uniform kink, and not the spandex kind.
“I told you that good things would come from a little alcohol,” Tony slurred, running his hands down Steve's oversensitive chest. His tongue darted, licking at the white spot at the corner of his own mouth. Then he kissed him, softly, exchanging Loki’s savor for whisky. “I can’t come again, not right now, but I can certainly make you come, Steve. Come?”
Loki vanished. Steve managed not to jump as two cold hands set his shoulders. An invitation.
And Tony was still worshiping his chest, grinning. “What do you say?”