The covers pulled up under his arms, Tony lies facing the edge of the bed with his hands tucked near his face. The kiss gently closes his eyes and his lips move, soundless and vague. He squirms back into Steve's embrace, bending himself at the waist. Secured and cared for, Tony sleeps.
Steve buries his nose in the short hairs at the nape of Tony's neck, inhaling the scent of him and marveling at how completely bizarre his night has been. This is the last thing he'd expected when he'd gone to Tony's workshop earlier, but somehow, he feels comfortable like this, even content. It takes him less time than usual to fall asleep, and it's a sound sleep, without any of the usual tossing and turning.
Although he wakes up early, as is normal, he just smiles sleepily and lets himself be dragged back down into slumber. When he wakes again, the sun slants across the bed, illuminating Tony's curled up form. The other man is still pressed against him, and it's then that Steve realizes he has a problem. His erection is nestled right up against Tony's ass, and it's not going away anytime soon.
Tony shifting between sleep cycles probably hasn't helped; he tends to shimmy his hips to either roll forward or back. Now, he sleeps halfway on his back, twisted at the waist. His arm crosses over Steve's at his middle and his legs are still pulled up, which rounds his ass against Steve's problem. Mouth parted, face slack, his eyes lie still beneath the lids.
Steve just lets his head fall back against the pillow and sighs. As much as he'd like to get up and take another cold shower (for an hour or two), Tony has him effectively trapped, and he doesn't want to wake him. God knows the man probably needs every second of restful sleep he can get. So he stubbornly ignores his erection, inhaling through his nose, breathing out through his mouth, trying to relax again.
Tony's bare torso really doesn't help matters. He finds his gaze lingering on the dusting of dark hair just below his navel and sighs again. Why did this seem like such a good idea last night?
Over twenty minutes later, Tony's lungs fill to capacity, diminished as it is, and exhale the air as a groan. Thoughts of Pepper flutter at the edges of his consciousness but they vanish as soon as he opens his eyes. For the first time in months, he feels rested. Balanced. Settled, like everything bad has been scooped out.
A masculine arm circles his waist. Something, also, digs into the crack of his ass. Sleepily Tony covers the arm with his own hand even as his brow furrows. "Steve?" he calls softly, lethargic.
Somehow, Steve's managed to space out, halfway back to dozing off again. He's still aroused, but it's an arousal that's blurred by sleep, almost dreamlike. "Huh?" he responds to Tony, and, unthinking, slowly rolls his hips against him. He's almost aching by now, and the movement brings him back to himself with a sharp shudder.
Right. Yeah. That.
"You doing okay?" he asks, his voice still rough with sleep, arousal pitching it a little lower. He's not sure if he wants Tony to let him make his escape or to indulge him.
Tony stops breathing when Steve's hard cock presses into him and his hand tightens as he tries processing it. That voice blankets him and he remembers with startling clarity it controlling him last night. Caring for him. It tugs at him; beckons him down where everything is smooth and easy. Some strangled noise escapes. "Yea-up," he says, tongue confusing yeah and yup. After a pause, he rolls his ass backwards, slow and deliberate: wordless permission.
Steve groans softly; apparently they're opting for the latter here, which isn't a surprise, considering that Tony is still Tony. He nuzzles into the curve of his neck and shoulder, and although he's not actively kissing him yet, his lips brush against skin, simply exploring.
His breath is hot against Tony's neck as he grinds against him, and he's so glad to finally get some relief, some stimulation, instead of just holding very still and hoping things get better. Steve imagines what it might be like if they were both naked, the slide of skin on skin, and he moves a little faster. One hand settles on Tony's hip, gripping it, pulling him closer.
Tony shudders. He bends his head down and reaches his arm over and behind it to grab Steve's hair at the crown. With a tug he encourages Steve to kiss-lick-nibble at his exposed neck, the muscle wrapping down it exaggerated and raised collarbone smooth and sloping. He rocks his hips in sync with Steve's, reducing to squirms once Steve grips them. Then, he straightens out his top leg and points it straight ahead. It hangs off the bedside from the knee down and the blankets drape over it. A particular buck drives Steve's engorged dick downward, where it slides between Tony's legs and catches on his hole through the thin cotton. From thereon Steve can thrust across Tony's perineum, nestled between pert ass cheeks.
"S'okay. Take your fill," Tony whispers, compliant out of gratitude, thanking Steve with his body. His own dick twitches at the treatment, but he grits his teeth and tries to remember Pepper in the distance.
Steve takes a moment to tug at his own clothes and free his cock, the fabric bunching around his thighs. He can feel the heat of Tony's body through the fabric, and while skin might be better, the cloth provides friction, so it's not all bad. There's a muffled keen against Tony's neck, and he finds the exposed hollow of his collarbone, laves his tongue along it while his hips keep working back and forth.
"God, Tony," he whispers, and his voice is filled with a kind of awe. He's still amazed that Tony is just offering himself up like this, and while there's still a part of him that protests that it's uneven, that he should be doing something for Tony - well, he is doing something, after all. Just not at the same time.
Each piston of Steve's hips chips more and more away at Tony's resolve, punching holes into his reasons for resistance. He clutches tighter at Steve's hair, strands splitting between his fingers, pulling at the scalp. Steve rutting coaxes Tony's prick into filling. It bulges in his briefs, restricted. Face and ears glowing red with shame, Tony struggles to stay afloat; to hoard at least this single remaining piece binding him to Pepper, reluctant to let go.
He's in the middle of leaving a series of tiny love bites on Tony's neck when Tony really starts pulling harder on his hair, and there's something about that touch of pain that only makes him harder. Steve's fingers dig into Tony's hip, and his movements grow more urgent, more erratic.
Groaning Tony's name, he arches his back and spurts long, hot strands of come between his legs, all over his clothed thighs. He hasn't noticed yet that Tony is hard, too intent on taking his own pleasure.
Tony bites back a groan when Steve's come shoots onto his inner thighs. Releasing Steve's hair and refolding his leg to hide his straining crotch, he tugs up the blankets for good measure. He just needs Steve to leave for a morning jog or whatever. "Worked it outta your system?" His voice quivers and cracks.
"At least for the next five minutes." Steve's tone is dry. "Can't guarantee anything if you stay here." He knows what his libido is like, and he knows what Tony is like, and the two of them are a bad combination. Or good, depending on how you look at it.
"You can have another pair of pants," he offers. Since the only thing worse than a walk of shame would be a walk of shame with actual evidence of said shame. "Or a shower, if you want. Well, more like and a shower, it's not an either/or kinda thing." Yeah, he's babbling again.
Tony screws his eyes shut. Oh my God, Rogers. Just get up. Leave. Soul pulled in opposite directions, he resists the more basic instinct of rolling over, displaying his body, and going all soft and sir, please. Now that he's found this outlet and Steve's proven himself, Tony wants to indulge. Cars, women, alcohol -- subspace. Any relief, varying throughout the years, that he can get his dirty mitts on... Wow. He probably needs therapy.
Weak, he hears Howard Stark chide. He shoves back at that particular demon, down, down, down. Thanks, Dad. Really helpful. Over the edge priorities claw at the lingering peace, black writhing pits beyond the serene white. Through his teeth Tony grits, "I have jeans. I'm not walking out of here in pants recognizably not my own."
"Hey, it's not like all my pants are covered in the Stars and Stripes." He does have a pair like that (and some boxers), because literally everyone gives him flag-related gag gifts. And, yes, he knows that it's easy to tell because of the size difference, it's a joke. Just to make that clear, he adds, "You're welcome to borrow my Snuggie, too."
He's also welcome to just stay here and cuddle with Steve some more. It's much warmer and more comfortable.
Addled brain slowly connecting the dots, Tony realizes jeans plus circus tent Snuggie equals concealed stiffy and blurts out, "Yup! I require it. Post-haste, soldier. One patriotic Snuggie."
Steve just stares for a moment before muttering "It was a joke" under his breath. But he tucks his own junk away and hauls himself up with a dramatic groan. If Tony wants the Snuggie, then he can have it.
He crosses over to the dresser and digs through a drawer for a moment before he pulls out a seemingly unending bundle of patriotic fleece, and he tosses it over to the bed in a billow of stars and stripes. "I'd better have it back in time for my next Netflix binge," he warns.
Tony sits up the moment Steve leaves the bed, his back to him. He inspects the fleece till he finds the collar and sleeves and slips it on. Standing, he steps out of the soiled pants, giving Steve the quickest view of his ass in black briefs before the Snuggie drapes down. "Next time I'm on site. Promise," he says, because he knows without a doubt that he'll come back, and he also knows he'll send Steve an e-mail of links about dominance containing no other message in it.
Steve tosses him a lazy salute. Now that he's out of bed - and now that Tony's no longer there - he's not inclined to get back in. But he does shamelessly enjoy that brief glimpse of Tony's ass, smiling to himself as he remembers grinding against it just a few minutes ago.
"I'll be waiting." Maybe a bit too eagerly, but Steve can't be blamed for his overactive libido.
Tony gives a fleeting smile, rigid in every sense of the word, and a tingle travels up his spine. Out of Steve's sight he flattens his erection to his left hip to trap it behind the jeans, which he yanks up from the floor. He coughs to hide a pained grunt. Steve's presence somehow envelops him, the remembered body heat like hot wax poured over his hunched shoulders. He shoves his sneakers on and darts to the door. Halfway through, he backpedals, squeaks out a thanks, and flees.
Consumed by escaping temptation, he completely forgets about his A-shirt still wrinkled on the carpet beside Steve's bed.
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Although he wakes up early, as is normal, he just smiles sleepily and lets himself be dragged back down into slumber. When he wakes again, the sun slants across the bed, illuminating Tony's curled up form. The other man is still pressed against him, and it's then that Steve realizes he has a problem. His erection is nestled right up against Tony's ass, and it's not going away anytime soon.
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Tony's bare torso really doesn't help matters. He finds his gaze lingering on the dusting of dark hair just below his navel and sighs again. Why did this seem like such a good idea last night?
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A masculine arm circles his waist. Something, also, digs into the crack of his ass. Sleepily Tony covers the arm with his own hand even as his brow furrows. "Steve?" he calls softly, lethargic.
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Right. Yeah. That.
"You doing okay?" he asks, his voice still rough with sleep, arousal pitching it a little lower. He's not sure if he wants Tony to let him make his escape or to indulge him.
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His breath is hot against Tony's neck as he grinds against him, and he's so glad to finally get some relief, some stimulation, instead of just holding very still and hoping things get better. Steve imagines what it might be like if they were both naked, the slide of skin on skin, and he moves a little faster. One hand settles on Tony's hip, gripping it, pulling him closer.
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"S'okay. Take your fill," Tony whispers, compliant out of gratitude, thanking Steve with his body. His own dick twitches at the treatment, but he grits his teeth and tries to remember Pepper in the distance.
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"God, Tony," he whispers, and his voice is filled with a kind of awe. He's still amazed that Tony is just offering himself up like this, and while there's still a part of him that protests that it's uneven, that he should be doing something for Tony - well, he is doing something, after all. Just not at the same time.
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Groaning Tony's name, he arches his back and spurts long, hot strands of come between his legs, all over his clothed thighs. He hasn't noticed yet that Tony is hard, too intent on taking his own pleasure.
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"You can have another pair of pants," he offers. Since the only thing worse than a walk of shame would be a walk of shame with actual evidence of said shame. "Or a shower, if you want. Well, more like and a shower, it's not an either/or kinda thing." Yeah, he's babbling again.
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Weak, he hears Howard Stark chide. He shoves back at that particular demon, down, down, down. Thanks, Dad. Really helpful. Over the edge priorities claw at the lingering peace, black writhing pits beyond the serene white. Through his teeth Tony grits, "I have jeans. I'm not walking out of here in pants recognizably not my own."
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He's also welcome to just stay here and cuddle with Steve some more. It's much warmer and more comfortable.
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He crosses over to the dresser and digs through a drawer for a moment before he pulls out a seemingly unending bundle of patriotic fleece, and he tosses it over to the bed in a billow of stars and stripes. "I'd better have it back in time for my next Netflix binge," he warns.
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"I'll be waiting." Maybe a bit too eagerly, but Steve can't be blamed for his overactive libido.
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Consumed by escaping temptation, he completely forgets about his A-shirt still wrinkled on the carpet beside Steve's bed.