Work Text:
Even in sleep, Tony's hands were shaking.
Phil started awake more out of instinct than anything, because he'd learned quickly how to acclimate to Tony's usual into-bed-at-three-am-still-thinking-about-physics and drank-too-much-coffee-to-function behaviors, his Pepper-is-making-me-sleep and his I-will-steal-all-your-blankets-and-kick-you-in-the-thigh behaviors, but this was different. Tony's nightmares were usually different, composed more of trembling limbs and bitten-off gasps than anything else, quiet in ways that informed Phil that Tony knew the cost of being loud. Long training had Phil conscious instantly and fully, and he watched with cool eyes for a long moment as Tony twitched and panted, a faint sheen of sweat at his temples.
There wasn't a good way to awaken someone in the midst of a panic attack; there were only bad ways and worse ones, and Phil had walked around with a busted lip for a week not too long ago when even the lesser of the two evils had left Tony lashing out on instinct for that first half-second when Phil had called his name and Phil hadn't moved quickly enough. He'd endured the commentary with a cool smile and a purposeful reassignment of anyone who'd voiced an opinion to whatever work Phil knew they dreaded the most. Clint and Natasha were the most practical, of course. One had offered ice, the other coffee, and Phil was reminded gratefully as to why he let them hang around in the first place.
Worst of all, though, had been the way Tony's eyes had lingered on that swollen skin, dark with shame. Phil would not have him endure that again. He sat up, body tensed and ready to move the instant Tony showed signs of reacting poorly, and murmured, "Tony," in a low, warm voice, speaking as gently as he could. "Tony, wake up for me, please." Phil's voice made Tony twitch a little, but he didn't yet stir. More loudly, but still kind, Phil repeated, "Tony, please!"
Tony did exactly what Phil had known he would, once the words got through to him. He started awake with a sharp, hot, gasping inhale, his chest hitching as his panic stopped him from taking a full breath. Tony's hand struck out in blind defense before his eyes cleared. Even here, even now, Tony was quicker than he had any right to be, but Phil had been prepared and Tony's strike swept through empty air. Blinking into proper wakefulness, Tony regained his lucidity, if not his composure. "I didn't—" Tony started, before his voice broke. Sweat beaded at Tony's temples, and his hands were trembling ever so slightly where they gripped the sheets.
"No, you didn't hit me," Phil completed, gesturing at his unmarred body. Well, by Tony, at least. "I'm completely fine, Tony. I'm fine." Phil's calm, gentle insistence made Tony's hands unclench, but they didn't stop shaking. Probably couldn't yet, Phil knew—assuming Tony even realized they were shaking at all right now. Tony's mind, usually a steel trap, expert at cutting itself first and foremost, was always achingly hazy in these moments as shadows clung to the edges of his reality. Phil's heart clenched with sympathy in his chest, directly beneath a long, red scar—a scar with an even more brutal twin on Phil's back; that one was ridged and still ached ferociously some days no matter what he did. "Tony," Phil murmured in the expert blend of steel and softness that Phil had perfected for Tony alone, "I am here."
At long last, the fear began to dwindle in Tony's eyes, and he reached for Phil. Only now did Phil allow himself to reach back, to touch Tony like he'd so desperately wanted from the moment he'd realized Tony was in the throes of a nightmare. Relief made Phil's composure break a little, but it didn't show on his face. Phil's tells were never anything as obvious as a change in his face, his voice. His tells were far more subtle—a split-second hesitation, a gentle touch. Nothing noticeable, by rights, except for how Tony always seemed to know anyways, the bastard. Phil pulled Tony close, safe in his arms, and his fingers were so tender against Tony's skin: callused, scarred, worn, and so very strong, covering muscle built in part from Tony's vanity for looking good, and in part from Tony's genuine love for his work and the long hours required to convince metal to yield for him.
"I'm here," Phil whispered again as Tony fell into Phil's arms and molded their bodies together. "Tony, I'm here." Here to listen, to hold, to cherish, to protect. To love. Phil couldn't quite believe the last one, sometimes, and he'd lay in the dark and stare at the ceiling, diligent mind slaving to pinpoint the moment where Agent and Stark dropped away, leaving just Phil and Tony in their wake, as close to human, to real, as they'd ever gotten with anyone. Perhaps Phil shouldn't be surprised that he knew the curve of Tony's lashes when he slept, the gentleness with which he touched his robots, the smile that Tony had somehow created just to make Phil's knees a little weak, but he was all the same.
"I know," Tony growled, voice a rasp in his throat. "You've said it enough, fuck." His flare of rage would have been more convincing if he hadn't attempted to press his whole being into Phil's body. Then again, if anyone was capable of coming up with the technology to merge two people together, it was the man in Phil's arms. "I know you're not going anywhere, you wouldn't survive two days without me."
Phil very kindly resisted pointing out all evidence to the contrary. Tony was recovering quickly, breathing and heart rate close enough to normal levels finally that Phil felt capable of relaxing what was admittedly a death grip on Tony's body. "Mm," Phil hummed. After another moment or two, Phil asked "So on a scale of one to ten, how badly do you need hot chocolate?" It was their go-to drink on bad nights. Coffee was always the first resort, alcohol the second. Hot chocolate was third, and meant that Tony's dreams had been bleak enough that even the alcohol couldn't numb the images away.
"Pour in a bottle of scotch, and you've got yourself a deal," Tony said in lieu of properly answering. Phil's brows rose in surprise. Tony had never gone that far before. As though he could feel his fiancé's surprise, Tony mumbled against Phil's collar bone, "Twenty six. I'm at a twenty six on a scale of ten and I'm pretty fucking sure I can't close my eyes without being back there, drowning, falling, fuck, this is seriously ridiculous." Tony's breathing was starting to get aggravated again. Phil let Tony pull away this time, let him put the physical distance between him and the horror. Phil didn't completely relent, however, keeping a light hold on Tony's wrist that he could easily break if he felt he couldn't bear Phil's touch any longer.
Phil was rewarded by Tony twisting his hand so that he could grip Phil's wrist right back. When Tony's breathing slowed, Phil said softly, "Go to the balcony, Tony. Cool off for a moment or two. I'll make some hot chocolate and just this once, I'll add the scotch."
Tony's smile wasn't real, not by a long shot, but it was there and it was steady. Phil gazed at it, squeezing Tony's hand gently. Tony squeezed back. "It's not just about the falling, you know. Or not just about the falling. Sometimes—most of the time, it's you, thinking what I'd missed out on. On what might have happened, should have happened, and then there's the gaping hole, and so much darkness—" Tony's smile was humorless. "I bet you thought that my crazy would go away after all of this." He rested his hand on his chest, which was dark. "I told you though, I'm a fucking mess." Tony pulled free completely and ran his fingers through his hair. The dark smudges beneath his eyes were especially prominent, the ribbed tank sweat-stained. Even his hair was standing on end despite the last of produce. "And I still can't catch my fucking breath!" Tony's face twisted, caught somewhere between "in pain" and "desperate".
He walked out, the door to the balcony slamming shut behind him.
Phil was left in bed, in shadowed pain. Coming at Tony, head to head, would probably work—but not without a lot of shouting on Tony's part and icy silences on Phil's, which he didn't think either of them could endure. Not tonight, when Phil's scars were two lines of bright fire on either side of his torso and Tony's own pain was carved into his face.
Kitchen it was, then. Phil got up, throwing a t-shirt over his bare chest and padding out into the hallway. Lights came on automatically as Phil walked, but JARVIS didn't have any helpful commentary, thank God. Once Phil had gotten back on JARVIS's good side, after the whole "forcibly disabling Stark Tower's security despite JARVIS's best efforts" right before the Chitauri invasion, they'd gotten along well—even better after Phil proved he was in this for the long haul. Still, Phil was always aware of just how nasty JARVIS could be when crossed.
In the kitchen, it was soothing to reduce his motions to cocoa powder and chocolate and milk, making the most luscious homemade hot chocolate Phil was capable of. Only then did he take one of the whiskies, worth thousands of dollars, and pour a dozen generous shot into the mixture. Phil whisked in some cinnamon and orange zest, giving the whole concoction a few more minutes to combine before he poured two enormous mugs full to the brim and topped it with whipped cream.
Walking carefully, lest he spill his goods everywhere, Phil made his way back to their room, calm partially restored by the ritual. He was able to open the balcony door and gaze at Tony, perched on the balcony railing and gazing out at the sprawling, still wounded metropolis in front of him, without feeling the slightest qualm.
"They've finally got the last of the rubble officially cleared away from the buildings that were completely destroyed. From what I hear, they'll be breaking ground on the rebuilds as soon as the weather warms up a little," Phil pointed out. Clearing away the remains had been an arduous process, hindered first by a brutal summer, then by a quick winter. Nevertheless, it seemed fitting that they had finished clearing everything away barely two weeks into January. A fresh start, and there was no better time than now.
"Aren't you cold?" Phil asked, wrapping one of Tony's hands around the mug when he remained silent. Phil's toes were freezing against the bare concrete, and he turned, leaning his back against the railing, facing their balcony door while Tony continued to watch the city that never slept. Tony had to be freezing as well, since he was dressed in as little as Phil, but when Tony didn't acknowledge that gambit either, Phil pressed their arms together, a point of warmth. The only point of warmth Phil had to survive on, actually, besides their hot chocolate.
Tony shrugged, without answering, gaze still lost. Phil stopped his attempts at conversation then, and waited, quiet and endlessly calm, coaxing Tony to speak without ever saying a word.
"So I'm in my workshop," Tony finally said, giving in and filling the silence because he could never resist doing otherwise, not when he needed to tell and Phil needed to listen so badly. "I'm in my workshop, working on one of my suits, because I have to, because I need to, and—and fuck, I don't know, Loki shows up between one second and the next, I don't even know how he gets in. He looks—I didn't know it was possible for him to look crazier, but Jesus, he's got this look in his eyes like he is going to take me apart." Tony's hands clenched around the cup then eased, very purposefully. "So I call my suit to me, 'cause fuck, no way I'm going head to head with Loki, not without some kinda fucking protection against a god, it took the fucking Hulk to get him to stay down." He shook his head, falling silent for long moments until Phil is almost convinced that's all he's going to say.
"I run, alright? I plan to escape as fast as I can, and every time I close my eyes—it's some sort of inception, because every time I close my eyes in that nightmare, I see another one of my nightmares, I see the press of the darkness of space all around me, choking me. I can't breathe, Phil, and Loki's coming after me." Tony doesn't sound like he can breathe now, either, voice choked and hot for all his expression is distant and clear.
"We fight. Loki follows me, every second of the way, and we fight. Forget the Chitauri. Loki and I single-handedly level downtown. It's like we're the bomb the World Security Council sent after us, except now there's just me and him left, and I've got nothing. I'm tapped-out, done for, exhausted." Tony's voice was shaking more than ever. The clearness had disappeared from his eyes, and now there was nothing more than hazy pain and familiar, creeping bleakness. "So I think that if I'm going to go, I'm fucking going out fighting, and I can only hope that you forgive me." Not for dying, that much Phil knew because they put their lives on the line each and every day, and would sacrifice themselves in a heartbeat to make sure the other would be safe and sound. Tony was asking forgiveness for the destruction, for the lost lives, for the undoing of Phil's work, and Phil was briefly breathless at the thought that he had any ability to grant Tony absolution.
Before Phil could offer any words, however, Tony continued, "So I give it everything I've got, try to blast Loki back to whatever hell he crawled out of, and then there's nothing but ground zero left, so I crawl forward, trying to keep myself awake until I see what I've done—and—and—" Tony's lashes were fluttering, his expression in pieces that Phil didn't know how to put back together again, not even with the help of all the king's horses and all the king's men.
"Loki—smiles at me, ruined, and—and the illusions fades, and it's just you lying at the center of the crater, the Tessaract blue fading from your eyes, leaving just you, only you, and I can't—I can't understand why you're there, when Loki took you, I don't know what to do. I broke you, you're barely bleeding anymore, because it's all around you. We look at each other, and I—I think you try to say something, I'm not sure, but I—I—" Tony had to stop, he had to, because he was numb all over, not even shivering. So lost, so alone, watching his love die then and there, no last words, just fear and confusion and despair as Tony couldn't do anything but watch.
Helplessly, like Tony couldn't stop himself, he choked, "I'm falling, Phil, it's a thousand times worse than that drop from another world, I know I can't do this without you—"
Phil couldn't keep from trying to drag Tony out of the reality playing out in his head, the reality that Tony was living over and over again. Setting his mug on the railing, moving slowly, delicately, Phil wrapped his arms around Tony. Tony didn't fight Phil's hold, but he remained stiff and cold, instead of melting into the touch like he ought to.
"Do you think I don't have dreams like that?" Phil whispered, voice cracking embarrassingly. "Where I end up putting you in the ground because I wasn't smart enough, fast enough, merciless enough? It's the one thing I will always fear, even if we survive to be tottering old men, because it's the one thing I can't control. Death comes for us, sooner or later, in this business, and more often than not there's collateral." Phil's voice was almost cold, except for how his eyes weren't. Except for how his eyes mirrored every one of Tony's fears and were warm anyways.
"And that's it?" Tony demanded, voice strangled. "That's all you've got to say?"
"Do you need anything else?" Phil whispered. "I know this, know what it's like to live with this sort of fear, I've done it for years at SHIELD where a good year is if you've only got one or two funerals to attend. You make friends and lovers anyways because that's the fucking difference, Tony, between us and them, all the monsters under the bed and the nightmares and the otherworldly gods bent on revenge: we see all this evil and horror and we find it in ourselves, for some reason or another, to reach out and give some part of our selves away to someone else for safe keeping."
Tony was silent for a long time. "Is that what we are to each other?" Tony asked softly, voice weary. "Safe keeping for our hearts? Do we even have hearts left, Agent?"
Phil didn't react to Tony's skepticism, or the bitterness that came with that title on Tony's lips after everything—the one surefire way to hurt Phil, and Tony knew that well. Phil just kept Tony wrapped up in Phil's arms. "Well, do you have a better description?" he asked sensibly. "Is there something else we're supposed to give each other, beyond our hearts and all that comes in keeping with that? Our future, our hopes, our understanding, our desires. Our lives. Our love. Where the heart leads, the mind and soul will follow." There was a certain inescapability to Phil's words, a grandness that he so rarely indulged in because that sort of fairytale language was foolish, and belong to the realms of children, to the realms of those who would never, could never understand the lengths to which Phil had gone. Phil used it anyways, because he'd seen too much and done even worse, but that didn't matter now because it was dark and quiet and sometimes the dragons needed slaying, no matter the cost.
"And are your mind and soul following?"
"You know they are."
Tony nodded, and finally sagged in Phil's arms. This time the release was less obvious, but no less complete, giving himself over to Phil for that sorely-needed safe keeping. Exhausted, terrified tears leaked into Phil's shirt, a point of strange heat and chill as the wind bit deeply into their bodies. "Drink your cocoa," Phil murmured, though he'd have been shocked if there was any warmth left.
"What makes it cocoa and not hot chocolate?" Tony bitched, and Phil laughed and kissed Tony, and here was the heat they'd been missing, cold fingers on cold skin and searing hot lips plundering each other's mouths, desperate and needy.
Tony broke the kiss, but only to drain his entire mug in one long pull, licking his lips before sliding from the railing, reaching down, and shoving Phil's own mug at him. Narrowly missing spilling it over them both with the force that Tony had employed, Phil smiled, bright and dangerous, before swallowing down the heady combination of the spiced alcohol and chocolate, which didn't do nearly as much to warm Phil's frigid heart as Tony's gaze did. As Phil finished the last drop, hardly even tasting the rich flavor, Tony headed inside, knowing that Phil couldn't do anything but dream of following.
Though Tony's gaze was still haunted by traces of darkness, it was at least a familiar shadow and Phil welcomed it, stepping inside their room.
The heat pummeled Phil, a shocking burn on extremities that cried out in protest. Phil could feel it everywhere; this wasn't the first time he'd endured such a sudden change in temperature, but it never got less overwhelming. It grew even more overwhelming when Tony grabbed Phil in a burning kiss, his own skin still a cold more suited to glaciers. It wasn't long before neither of them could tell hot and cold apart anymore.
Moving stiffly, the pair of them tumbled backwards onto their bed. Tony continued to kiss Phil insistently; as though Phil would ever object to the way Tony made a concentrated effort to obliterate each and every one of Phil's thoughts. It wasn't long until their kisses turned sloppy, quick, and inelegant. Phil ran his fingers through Tony's hair, relishing the way it made Tony murmur, "God, yes," into Phil's mouth. Phil's response was more a low growl of approval than anything, and Tony laughed. "Neanderthal," he teased.
"Agent," Phil corrected seamlessly, and this time when Tony hummed his enthusiastic agreement there was no lingering bitterness at all, just the way Tony tasted when he wasn't trying to disguise how much he wanted Phil.
"Mine," Tony suggested last of all, and though Phil raised an eyebrow, he didn't think of contesting it for an instant. Pleased, Tony kissed Phil some more until their lips were tingling with fire, with chill, with their constant greedy kisses.
Those kisses would never be enough to satisfy on their own, however, and Phil pushed Tony onto his back, climbing on top of him, lightly pinning his wrists to the sheets. "However, I'm pretty sure that if I'm yours, that most definitely makes you mine." Tony's arms twitched up, but Phil had the leverage and no intention of allowing Tony to dictate the terms.
"Is that so?" Tony challenged, brow furrowing like he was angry. It would have been more convincing if Tony hadn't been half-hard against Phil's thigh. The darkness in his already dark eyes intensified, half lust, half the unrelenting image of Phil lying in the ruin of Tony's work, mostly dead and without salvation in sight. Phil's next kiss, rich with the enduring taste of the drink they'd shared, whispered "Mine" and "I'm here" into the secret corners of Tony's long-battered heart; Phil hoped that it might work to ward off bad dreams.
Phil had already used the language of fairytale endings once. Maybe he could borrow its power just a little while longer, to ward Tony from his ever-present nightmares, if only for a single evening.
Tony's breath caught, lips a soft pink, goatee just a little rough against Phil's skin, as Phil bit, none too gently, at the curve of Tony's lips. "What are you going to do to me?" he whispered, and Phil was still hot and cold all over, composure shattered in all the ways that mattered, everything but this ancient need stripped from his world: to love, and be loved, in this primal fashion.
"Tie you down," Phil murmured, speaking on pure instinct. "Tie you down so you can't run, so you have to give yourself over to me, because I'm sure as hell not going anywhere and I dare people to try and make me." Agent Coulson of SHIELD had nothing on Phil, who'd endured worse ordeals than a mere agent could dream of in the name of the people Phil considered family. They'd left their mark in the form of some of the scars littering his body, but also in the forging of an iron will and indomitable spirit, a calm ocean surface with the potential for great, righteous fury beneath.
Tony looked at Phil and saw what lay beneath and fought to kiss him, to steal his breath, as though this couldn't be possible, Phil's fearless love for Tony. Phil didn't relinquish control, but continued, "And when you're all tied up, I'm going to open you wide and fuck you and the only way you'll be allowed to come is untouched. You'll come because you can't help it, not even a hand on you, just me all around you, inside you, until you can't think of anything else." Tony moaned and pushed up against Phil's hands again, eager, and finally the ice turned entirely to fire—nothing but hunger and passion and the simplicity of touch.
Tony was definitely Phil's, just like Phil was Tony's, and they stopped even pretending otherwise, stopped pretending that they wouldn't do anything for each other. Phil pressed Tony down against the sheets one more time, mouth searing hot, so needy, and Tony matched Phil for every single second. "Come on," he gasped. "Fuck, do it, Phil."
"Get naked." Phil stood and grabbed their rope, noting with satisfaction the way Tony tossed his clothing aside and knelt without Phil needing to say a word for once, ass in the air and hands outstretched against the slats of their headboard, just the way he knew Phil liked him. As though he could tell Phil's gaze was on him, Tony shook his ass a little and Phil laughed without being able to help it, coming back with the rope in hand. He snapped the rope end at Tony, leaving a bright red line that almost made Tony look back at Phil at the sudden, sharp pain that had occurred while Tony's brain informed him that Phil should still be out of reach. Coming closer, Phil swatted Tony's ass a few times with his hand for good measure, leaving faint pink marks that would probably fade soon but were enjoyable to look at while they remained.
Tony hissed, shivered, but didn't for a second protest the rough treatment. Instead he moaned, an edge of delighted showmanship to his voice, as Phil swiftly wound the rope around Tony's forearms in complicated, beautiful patterns that wouldn't cinch too tightly, no matter how Tony pulled. Phil admired the way the sturdy rope bit into Tony's tanned, muscular arms, the way Tony strained in earnest against them without the slightest possibility of being able to get free without Phil's help.
It was something Tony always did, something he couldn't help but test. As though if he could get free, if Phil ever slipped up enough to let him go, if there was ever a single heartbeat where those ropes didn't keep Tony trapped, he would disappear in a flash, never to be found again. Every time he found that he wasn't going anywhere, that Phil was holding him fast, it did something to Tony, made him that much more ready to fall apart beneath Phil's touch, to be wrecked in the most beautiful of ways. Phil loved it, almost couldn't stand how much he loved doing this to Tony, taking him to places where nothing but them existed, where Tony could let go of everything but Phil.
"Now you've got me where you want me," Tony murmured archly, like he was the one in control. Phil's hand smacked Tony's ass once more for good measure. "Seriously, spanking? That's so cliché, I'm rather disappointed in you, Phil, there are so many options—" His voice remained steady through the first three blows that Phil dealt him, but when the fourth landed on top of them all, Tony's voice caught and broke.
"It's not a cliché if it works," Phil pointed out, rather smugly, adding another impact from the length of rope not wrapped around Tony's arms. Tony unsuccessfully bit back a moan. Even when Tony on his knees, arms and chest mostly flat against the bed, Phil could easily see how hard he was.
Tony shoved back against Phil's hand, which was sliding over the heated skin, and muttered, "Cliché," under his breath, sounding annoyed and rather breathless all at once, which made Phil's lips twitch. A final, sharp smack in the same place his hand had hit before, using considerable strength, and Tony yelped again. Only then did Phil lean down and kiss Tony's pink skin, nipping gently to leave layered marks that made Tony jerk in interesting ways without doing enough damage to make it difficult for Tony to sit down in the morning. Well. Maybe a little bit difficult to sit down.
They indulged some of their darker instincts together on nights like this, but not today. Not when both their hearts needed comfort so badly. Phil would find other ways to claim, to possess, to break Tony down into gorgeous, moaning pieces, to make him give everything up to Phil.
Pausing his torment of what was soon to be bruised skin, Phil shifted so as to sit at Tony's side, fingers tracing the edges of the rope that held Tony confined. Lips followed fingers, a feather-light touch in comparison to Phil's earlier work, caressing every inch of exposed skin. Tony's muscles jumped beneath the treatment, flexing, because this was the part Tony hated and loved, especially when he was trussed up: not the pain, but the pleasure that Phil always made a part of it, the pleasure and softness that Tony had no ability to hide from, but that Phil made him endure anyways because Tony needed it, however little he wanted it.
Like tonight. Tony cleared his throat, voice emerging rough as he said, "Something interesting about that rope I should know about? Cause I'm pretty sure it's the same stuff we've been using for months."
Phil didn't answer, still brushing his mouth along Tony's bound, trembling arms. Tony sucked in a huge breath when Phil nuzzled his upper arm, where an old scar from Tony's workshop remained. Like Phil, Tony's body was littered as much by the little mishaps of life as by huge, life-changing trauma; one need only look at Tony's chest, even now covered with scars, to know the truth of those words. "It's not the rope that's entrancing. It's you," Phil murmured.
"Flattery will get you everywhere. Including inside my ass," Tony pointed out, voice still rough, as though his throat was dry. "Just saying."
"You're incredibly impatient tonight."
"I'm impatient always, you cannot just be noticing this, if you are, your observation skills are shit and I am officially afraid for the fate of the free world."
"You always bluster when you think you need to hide. It's rather amusing, at least like this."
"You know what else is amusing? My ass. Play with it, oh super-secret agent. Make me scream."
"The only thing that's amusing is how hard you're trying right now."
"Well, if I could, I'd roll you over and ride you like a fucking horse, take that enormous cock of yours deep inside me," Tony purred, and even Phil had to admit that short of gagging him, Tony would never sound like anything less than sheer lust, just barely contained by a human frame. The desire in his voice alone made Phil palm himself through his pajama pants before he'd realized what he was doing; it took a lot, even in bed, to convince his instincts to override thought. Even that wasn't enough, though, so he shucked his clothing and stroked himself properly for a second. "I'd ride you until you couldn't breathe, until you screamed loud enough for the entire Tower to hear. Then we could walk out the next morning for breakfast and I could look at everyone and inform them that yes, that was Phil and no, you can't know how I did that to him or I'd kill you in the most brutal and bloody way possible."
"The Tower's walls are all reinforced," Phil reminded, like the notion of Tony just pressing him down to the sheets and driving Phil slowly, wonderfully insane didn't make him have to touch himself again. Tony's mouth was a dangerous thing for multiple reasons. "No one would hear me scream anyways."
"All the more reason to properly enjoy ourselves," Tony coaxed, straining against the ropes. Phil could see how Tony's dick twitched at the way he still had no leverage, no way of escaping, still trapped by Phil. Moving back behind Tony, Phil lavished attention along his spine, down to the dip of his lower back, and finally returned back to his ass, admiring his handiwork and adding a few more bites. Tony's skin was mottled pink and red, with a few spots that were already burgeoning into full-blown bruises. Phil focused on every single bruise, darkening them further, making them painful to the touch. Tony's breath hitched every time he exhaled now, caught on that delicate balance between pleasure and pain, and if he was falling this time, well, at least he knew Phil was right there to catch him.
Grabbing the lube, Phil slicked up his fingers. Tony had stilled, the greedy bastard, the second he'd heard the snick of the pump. Phil remained perfectly still and perfectly quiet—thank you, army rangers and SHIELD—until Tony was canting his hips, as though Phil would be swayed just from the curve of Tony's ass. "Fuck, Phil," Tony groaned when all his efforts were for naught. "Come on, open me up, hell, don't even open me up, just get your cock in me, I don't mind, not even at little, you know how I like to feel the burn of you, so fucking huge." Phil leaned down as Tony spoke, pressing a kiss to Tony's ass and then his mouth widened in a shit-eating smile because Tony was the most stubborn man in the world, but he'd whine and beg and plead like this for Phil alone.
"Fuck, I am going to die, you will make me dead," Tony bitched, his whole body screaming for the contact that Phil wasn't yet providing. "And then you will be sad, because you won't be able to make me—" Phil shoved two fingers inside Tony, snapping off the rest of his words.
"Only because I enjoy making you scream," Phil said placidly. He felt hot all over, still, hotter even. Forget fires, Phil was at the core of the Earth, need and affection and desire liable to melt him down to nothing if he wasn't inside Tony as soon as humanly possible. Phil's thumb slid against Tony's perineum, and then further forward, brushing against the back of Tony's balls and an undeniable whimper escaped Tony's mouth. Fine tremors were already running down Tony's spine and he was pulling on the ropes again, another whimper escaping when Tony rediscovered that no, he couldn't get free and yes, he would just have to take anything and everything Phil gave him.
God, Phil loved watching Tony give in.
Tony's head dropped to the sheets, squirming like he couldn't help himself, and Phil moved his fingers steadily. He brushed against Tony's prostate in an uneven rhythm, and Tony breathed, "The death of me, Christ, Phil, Phil!" and Phil grinned against Tony's skin again, so hungry for all that Tony was offering.
"If you're still this coherent, I'm not doing my job," Phil sighed, like all of this was just another thing on Phil's To Do list: make Tony Stark completely incoherent with pleasure. To that end, Phil pressed another finger inside Tony, curling them all against Tony's prostate, no tease this time, just steady pressure.
Tony had gathered a huge, shaky breath, probably to tell Phil off, as though that'd accomplish anything, but it emerged as a low moan instead, Tony's hips pressing back against Phil's hand like he couldn't get enough. Phil's free hand slid over muscle and skin, flushed and gorgeous, around to Tony's cock. Phil wrapped his fingers loosely around Tony, thumb rubbing over the head, spreading the precome that welled there in ever-widening circles. Tony had already leaked onto the sheets as well, and all Phil could think was that Tony was lucky he had a truly ridiculous, opulent bed, because Phil had no intention of sleeping in the wet spot Tony would inevitably create. At the touch, Tony moaned again, rocking first back onto Phil's fingers and then forward into Phil's hand, neither of them enough to drive Tony over the edge but more than enough to leave him a panting, aching mess that only thought of getting more.
"Slut," Phil murmured affectionately, gratified when Tony clenched around his fingers. "Capable of taking anything—this doesn't even break the top ten extreme things I've done to you, but you don't care, so long as it's me, so long as you have me fucking you in the end, you're so desperate for it." Phil crooned the words against every inch of Tony's skin. "I've got you, you're mine, tied up and spread out and begging for me."
So it was; as Phil added a fourth finger, stretching Tony so damn thoroughly that it would be easy to fuck Tony the instant they slid together, and still Tony pleaded for more. "If I'm a slut, I'm your whore, fuck me, need you so bad, need you all the time, can't breathe without in in me, tied up for your use." The tremors were getting worse, Tony on the verge of coming, and when Phil pulled his hand away from Tony's cock he whimpered. "So close..." he moaned, searching for Phil's warmth again.
"What did I say?" Phil hissed, stilling his fingers. Tony made a needy, eager sound, forehead pressed to the sheets. Phil withdrew his fingers completely, leaving Tony slick and wide.
"No, no, no no no don't go, fuck me, I'll make it so good," Tony pleaded, voice cracked. Phil could see Tony clench around nothing, an aborted, choked sound leaping to his lips. "Fuck, I'm a slut only for you, need your cock, Phil, please, you're the only one who can fill me up. Please, please." Tony was straining against the bonds again, rope biting into tanned skin and turning it white then red then white again with every movement. "I'm falling without you, fuck, don't go." Tony's voice shattered, and Phil relented just a little at the genuine pain in his voice, mouth pressing delicate kisses across Tony's shoulders. That only made the noises worse, because Tony shook apart under the gentlest of touches the same way he shook apart under the worst of the pain. Phil wielded them as necessary, and always caught Tony at the end of it all.
"I asked you a question." There was a frantic pause as Tony scrambled to recall exactly what Phil had said. For every second he tried to recall, Phil twisted and pinched his nipples and Tony's breaths went harsh and ragged. That brilliant, complex mind was all Phil's, and he kissed Tony's throat as fingernails bit into sensitive skin and held, drawing forth a bright bead of blood that Phil could feel slipping over his skin. "Tony." A warning.
"To—that I, I wouldn't come with your hand on me. I'd come untouched, just from having you everywhere," Tony finally breathed. "Or I wouldn't—I wouldn't come." His body was motionless, a rare sight.
"I ought not to let you come at all, after that," Phil chastised, and though Tony whimpered again he knew better than to beg for clemency; Phil was just contrary enough to let Tony exhaust himself and then give Tony nothing at all. Phil's fingers drifted to Tony's ass again, thumb pulling lightly at the edges of his opening. Another sound escaped, soft and needy, and Phil would have loved nothing more than to spend the rest of his life cataloging each and every one of Tony's noises until Phil had memorized them all. Tony's breathing was still harsh, desperate, saying without words how much Tony needed this release. "I love you, though. I'll give you what you need. I'll keep you safe."
Phil waited, just touching—not even anything particularly intimate, just grounding Tony. Letting him know Phil hadn't left. Suddenly, Tony's breathing calmed, going slow and even and deep, a kind of release thrumming through his veins.
Phil rose on his knees, hands gliding up Tony's back while Phil's cock rubbed against Tony's ass, teasing friction. "Phil," Tony breathed, nothing more, nothing less. The heady peace in Tony's voice was what arrested Phil, however, along the undercurrent of trust that Tony so rarely demonstrated. Phil turned Tony's head just enough so that they could kiss as Phil finally, finally entered Tony's body.
So much heat, so much tightness—Phil always wondered if he'd get used to the sensations, but hoped he never would get over the shock of that first joining. More ridiculous, fairytale language, but Phil gave not a single, solitary fuck—especially not when the breath Tony let out was almost a sob, entire body pressing back against Phil like they could somehow get even closer.
Phil didn't wait, couldn't, and knew Tony didn't want it either, could read it in the lines of muscle and bone that kept Tony in one piece. His hips began a slow, steady rhythm, not yet overwhelming, but more than enough to leave both of them gasping and eager for more. "Tony," Phil whispered against the curve of Tony's shoulder, and everything in Tony responded.
Phil indulged himself for long moment, in the feel of Tony, hips working steadily. It wasn't until Tony's breath started to gain a hint of a pleading whine that Phil shifted, fucking Tony faster, cock sliding over Tony's prostate. "You feel so fucking good," Phil whispered. "Wish I could keep you like this always." Tony's soft agreement was a shuddering, wrecked sigh, so lost to Phil's body, just like Phil was lost in Tony's.
Phil fucked Tony until they were both just barely in control of themselves; Phil was smearing gasped praise and obscene kisses along Tony's throat, back, shoulders and if Tony hadn't already been tied up, his arms would have given out as he tried to keep himself together. Tony's body was so tight from trying to hold back, to keep from coming, to keep from disobeying Phil's orders and Phil smiled; he knew Tony's body inside and out by now. "You can come, just like this. Please, love you, Tony, so much, come for me, please," Phil groaned. He was leaking, balls so damn tight, the need to come near overwhelming. "Tony, fuck, I'm here." Here all around you, here to catch you, here forever.
Tony keened, words and touch penetrating deep until it was all he could do not to fall to pieces and Phil couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but pour himself into this fierce, wild connection. "Come for me."
Between one heartbeat and the next, Phil felt Tony tighten around Phil's cock, no longer holding back, and that set off Phil as well, pleasure devouring them both. Phil groaned Tony's name, mouthing at the back of his neck as they pressed impossibly close, the bliss briefly whiting out his vision. Tony whimpered again, hips jerking, and another hot roll of pleasure made its way down Phil's spine. Phil's hand found Tony's cock and stroked once; Tony made a noise like he'd been shocked, and Phil pressed a kiss to Tony's jaw. Tony shuddered, so obviously still high from coming that Phil smiled. "I love you," he murmured again, and Tony only sighed in response.
Reaching up, Phil undid the ropes and let them drop to the sheets as he rolled Tony away from the puddle of semen he'd left. Hands gentle, Phil checked Tony's arms for circulation, rubbing the skin a little and brushing his lips over every bit of skin that he could. Tony remained quiet, eyes shut, and Phil murmured, "Dim the lights?" to JARVIS. When the room was quiet and dark, Phil wrapped Tony up in his arms and they lay there, letting their hearts calm. Depending on how shaken Tony was, it could take him a while to resurface, but Phil never counted the minutes, just used them as an excuse to wrap up together, warmed beneath blankets and with their hearts beating close. When Tony finally stirred, Phil kissed his temple.
Tony stretched, long and luxurious and satisfied and settled more firmly against Phil. "On a scale of ten, I officially rate you as a twenty-six," he drawled, sounding faintly slurred still, and grinned when Phil shook with silent laughter. Tony's voice was far from his usual mellifluous tones, but the contentment in his face was more than enough. Just as wonderful was the way his body had gone wholly boneless.
"I appreciate the support," Phil said with light humor in his voice. He hated to address this so soon after Tony had started to recover, but Phil needed to ask and Tony needed to tell. Without changing his tone or body language, he asked, "How are you doing?"
Here, now, the truth was easy, and Phil was grateful that Tony didn't even try to pretend to misunderstand. "I'll probably be able to sleep for another few hours, until you have to get up for work." Tony's smile was a little pained; he didn't sleep around very well without Phil beside him. That was alright, given that Phil sometimes woke half a dozen times a night on bad days, usually after missions, grasping for Tony like he was convinced he'd disappeared sometime during the night. "I don't—I know it was just a dream. It's still there," all of it, the haunting horror, the shame, the agony, "but I know that it's a dream." Not a reality, not yet. Maybe not ever, if they were lucky. Phil nodded, rubbing Tony's back.
"I love you," he murmured, and Tony kissed Phil like they were both fragile. Maybe they were.
"I know. I love you, too," Tony whispered back, just as soft and intimate. "You caught me, Phil, kept me safe." He smiled, simple and clean.
Whole.
Sure.
They'd been granted mercy until sunrise.
Maybe that was the power of fairytales, of making impossible promises: it urged people to keep them, even knowing that they might fail, because of the huge, beautiful potential. Maybe that was what mattered: that sometimes, amazingly, incredibly, stunningly, those words were worth their imposing grandness, passion, and sheer weight.
Or maybe Phil was just deluding himself. Maybe he was a tired old man chasing after phantoms. He kissed Tony, everything about him curling close. Protective. Cherishing. Loving.
Safe.
"Yeah, Tony. I'll always keep you safe."