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[gotup]

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[myheartglows]

The answer isn't immediate like the others, but when it sends: I didn't hear you complaining. ;) In another line he tacks on a winking emoji that blows a kiss.

[gotup]

I never said I was. I didn't even know that swallowing someone's dick like that was possible.

It's good he's by himself right now, because he's blushing furiously, his face and ears a bright red that threatens to creep down his neck.

[myheartglows]

The dots blink for a while. Slumped in a white chaise his mother loved and dressed in one of his father's robes, Tony runs his fingers over his throat and presses on his Adam's apple, since healed. He finishes typing and sends, Not bad for being a couple decades out of practice, huh? Soooo would you care for a repeat? I miss feeling sore.

[gotup]

Suddenly his jeans feel a whole lot tighter as he thinks about Tony with his lips wrapped around his cock like it's the only thing that matters in the world, and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Can't say I'd mind.


What do you like for aftercare?

It's got a little brainstorming section in his notebook with a header and jotted notes like "blankets, water, chocolate?" Apparently this is important enough that Steve's tried some tentative searching of his own.

[myheartglows]

Tony readies to type "Next time I'm over there?" but Steve continues and Tony freezes. Pepper cuddled and cooed and told him how well he did; how proud she was. How much she loved him. Thumb trembling, he answers, Nothing. I'll be fine. I can sleep it off.

[gotup]

That is, in fact, the total opposite of what every article about aftercare says, and Steve frowns down at the screen. He doesn't want to push it because he's afraid Tony will pull away, but he wants to be able to take care of him, too. Maybe he'll just keep some water handy. His own natural cuddling instincts should be adequate for the rest, if Tony lets him.

If you're sure.

[myheartglows]

The dots play out for much longer than what the text ends up as:

I'm sure.

[gotup]

Next time you're here, then?

[myheartglows]

Ok

[gotup]

Bring my Snuggie with you.

[myheartglows]

The day Tony returned home he pulled off the Snuggie and tossed it onto the banister of the grand staircase, only to stare and curse and pick it up. Carefully folding it, he set it down on one of the chairs in the foyer. Yes, sir, the text says. The fleece, when the day comes, will be dry-cleaned and packaged in plastic.

[gotup]

Tony returns to the compound the day after their text conversation, and after doing a bit of work, he sits down with Steve to go over the business end of things with the Avengers. Steve, perhaps unsurprisingly, focuses more on Tony's mouth and lips, can't stop thinking about them wrapped around his cock. Before long, he's just sort of nodding along with whatever Tony says and agreeing whenever there's a pause in the conversation. He's already hard, his erection trapped uncomfortably in his jeans, and he shifts impatiently in his chair.

"Sorry, what was that?" He's vaguely aware of Tony asking a question, and he blinks, trying to reengage with the conversation. It doesn't really work.

[myheartglows]

Tony sits across from Steve, the polished dark office desk between them and the monitors swiveled out of the way. The Snuggie sits in its plastic where Tony dropped it on one end of Steve's desk. He's been squinting at Steve every once in a while during their one-sided conversation, but as usual since Ultron, everything about him is toned down. He looks at the desk and papers more than at Steve and his expressive face and often sharp gesticulations are weighted. A swift dismissive wave of his hand becomes a brief wiggle of his fingers, the wrist never lifting. The smiles, before enough to crinkle his eyes, become weak things that die faster than they're born; he hasn't smiled much, actually, since Avengers Tower was emptied.

Tony stares at Steve now, squinted again, but this time with a suspicious tilt to his head. He leans closer with his crossed forearms on the desk. "What're you actually thinking of, Rogers?" he probes.

[gotup]

Steve misses those smiles sometimes - the real, genuine ones that not many people see, rather than the sardonic smirks he sports for the press or for casual acquaintances. The crinkles around his eyes are endearing, human, the sort of thing that makes him want to lean in and kiss Tony. (Steve may, in fact, be a hopeless romantic.)

"Uh." He blushes, caught out in his erotic fantasies. "Sure as hell isn't the supplies here, that's for sure."

[myheartglows]

Something loosens around those eyes, suspicion replaced by allure. Tony lifts himself up from the chair just enough to bend halfway across the desk with a familiar, inviting tilt of his head. (He's thought of their scene all day himself; he's just more practiced at reining himself in.) Part of Tony trills at finding something so raw and human in Steve, this obvious fire in a normally composed and militant man. Tony knows it exists (seeing Steve rip that firewood apart with his bare hands stirred something destructive in his gut). He wants to see it unhinged. He wants to turn his cheek to it. He wants to burn. So he goads it on; he stokes the flame.

"Is it me on my knees?" Tony suggests, whispering, eyes dark with promise. "Maybe beneath your desk, sucking you off while you work. I'd be hidden down there from anyone walking in."

[gotup]

Fingers tighten, grip the edge of the desk a little harder, and Steve swallows a little to hear Tony talking like that, to see his eyes darken in anticipation of what's coming. For a moment, his fantasies of blowjobs are derailed as his gaze lingers on the way Tony bends over his desk, and his cock twitches at the thought.

But reluctantly, he draws his thoughts back to the offer at hand - not that it's precisely unappealing. Far from it, in fact. "Don't think I'd be getting much work done." His voice is already a little lower, a little throatier, and he leans in closer to Tony. As much as he tries to keep things hidden, he's incredibly easy to manipulate if you know how to push the right buttons, and Tony's always known exactly how to push every button he has.

[myheartglows]

Tony leans in only enough to tease a kiss, not sealing it unless Steve claims it on his own: suggestive, not decisive. "Order me, Steve," he speaks against Steve's mouth, breathy, and even as he says it Tony hates himself a little, because he's luring Steve in, his voice and body rich honey for an inexperienced fly.

[gotup]

He kisses Tony first, slow and sweet and lingering. His technique is improving by leaps and bounds, at least, and he cups his cheek in a hand like he doesn't want to let go.

But eventually he does, and he leans back in his comfortable ergonomic chair, pushes it back from the desk. "Get- get under the desk, Tony." His voice cracks embarrassingly on the first word, and he has to try again, but after that, it slides smoothly into the right tone, the one he knows he'll obey.

[myheartglows]

Eyes locked on Steve, Tony slinks around the desk, hip brushing the corner, and slots himself neatly into the enclosed leg space. He scoots back into it on his knees so Steve can roll the chair up. His wrists he locks together on the small of his back: a sign that he won't use his hands without an explicit command. He watches Steve above him, sharp and observant. Last time desperation and loneliness drove Tony under hard and fast. Over a week later, he's rebuilt his defenses. He waits for Steve's motive to show; to be confirmed.

[gotup]

Steve slides the chair back in so his knees bracket Tony neatly. He exhales slowly, trying to rid his body of some of its nervous tension. In the intervening week, he's managed to key himself up in anticipation of their next encounter, which has resulted in both a lot of jerking off and a lot of cold showers. As much as he'd like to be slightly less embarrassing this time, he's not entirely sure that's going to happen.

He glances down under the desk, reaches to trail his fingertips over Tony's cheek and jaw, lingers on his lips for a moment. With his other hand, he undoes the fly of his jeans and works his erection out of his underwear. Scooting closer, he presses the head against Tony's lips, smears some of the leaking precome over the skin.

"Open your mouth."

[myheartglows]

Most of Tony is hidden by Steve's body and the desk's top, but his bust is visible between Steve's thighs, face overshadowed by the desk. Beneath Steve's fingertips his lips part, his gaze steady, until his eyelashes fan down across his cheeks, a theory confirmed, and Tony obeys, jaw popping open as he widens it to fit.

[gotup]

He wouldn't mind being able to see Tony's face, but there's something about the illicit thrill of this that makes up for it. (Honestly, maybe not watching will help him last longer.) Steve pushes his cock past his lips, shuddering, the muscles in his thighs tightening.

"Suck."

[myheartglows]

Lips circle shut on Steve's dick, the head balanced on the crest of a tongue. Little wet noises drift up from beneath the desk. Tony creates a short rhythm with just the suction, pulling Steve's cock in an inch and releasing it back out, throat clicking on each release of air, mouth too stretched to silence it and tongue reflexively pressing up into the roof of Tony's mouth. He tries to narrow his concerns to just the musk overtaking him and his mouth stuffed with prick.

His fingers twitch behind his back. They urge to slam Steve's hips forward, to choke himself on the cock like before, but he gets no say here. He gets what Steve gives, nothing more.

[gotup]

Steve's trying to take this slow, to linger on the sensation of Tony's lips and tongue. His fingers tighten on the desk, and he manages to pry one hand free, to slip it under the desk and run his fingers into Tony's hair.

And then the door opens.

Shit, Steve thinks. Why didn't he lock it? Why don't people here knock?

[myheartglows]

Hidden by the desk's modesty panel, Tony slows his administrations to a stop while James Rhodes, dressed in military blues, steps inside with his hand still on the door handle. Rhodes glances once around the office, quick and efficient. Evidently finding nothing, he curses and then says, "Ah. Yo, Steve. Sorry for the intrusion. I'm lookin' for Tony. You seen his squirrely ass around? Swear he's harder to catch these days than a spooked alley cat."

From under the lip of the desk and his own brow, Tony raises his eyes to Steve, his expression hardened. He presses his tongue into the slit and lightly scrapes his teeth, a threat and dare both.